Anne here again, bringing you the next post in the Georgette Heyer series, with excerpts from Jennifer Kloester's upcoming book, The Novels of Georgette Heyer, which has not yet been published.
Today I'm focusing on Faro's Daughter, another favorite of mine, and focusing on a few excerpts from letters Heyer wrote to her publisher. They read almost as a conversation — or at least as if he's sitting beside her and occasionally arguing or interrupting. The tone of the letters is most entertaining — funny and ironic and familiar — and you can see that they got on well.
Of particular interest (to me, at any rate) is the letter in which she begins telling her publisher about her still quite vague ideas for her new novel, and by the end, she's worked out the whole plot! And beware, if you haven't yet read Faro's Daughter, there are spoilers below.
Georgette Heyer to L.P. Moore, letter, 28 April 1941.
Must talk to you about my new book. No, not Casca – he’s nearly finished, & nothing to talk about anyway. The new one, I said. Do you recall a short I once wrote, & you or Norah sold to Woman’s Journal for a pittance? Well, it was a poor short, but it has the makings of a novel, & it is going to grow into a lovely romantic bit of froth for Heinemann. Title will remain the same – Pharaoh’s Daughter. Not Moses’ girl-friend, but a lady addicted to gaming.
Georgette Heyer to A.S. Frere, letter, 16 July 1941.
My dear Frere,
Such trouble as I have been having over that wretched girl, Faro’s Daughter! Or Pharaoh’s Daughter – which do you like? You needn’t bother to answer, if you’re busy: I shan’t pay any attention, anyway. And I haven’t unraveled it all yet, perhaps because there has been a Moon, which affects me strangely, so that I am not certain, and even my complexion shifts to strange effects – et seq.
And perhaps because the Muse is just obstinate – you must, in your dealings with Inkies, have encountered this phenomenon before, and if you thought that this author was not dependent upon inspiration in all its more aggressive forms that is just where you are wrong …
Your razor-edged mind (copyright) has by this time leapt to the conclusion that all is not well with the child. Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that exactly. It’s just like you to go leaping to a lot of false conclusions: that’s what I always felt about you, Mr Frere: believing the worst, and goading me on to present MSS at idiotic times of the year, and then grumbling and cursing because they don’t turn up , and not listening to a word I say in my own defence, but going on interrupting like this, and reminding me that I said whatever you think I did say, which I couldn’t possibly have in any case, and very likely losing bits of it when you do get your impious hands on the rotten book, or even refusing to publish it out of sheer spite, which just shows that you can’t have any head for Business, because naturally it’s a very fine work, and immensely entertaining, absorbing, witty, scintillating and erudite. Well, what I mean is, it will be, when I get around to writing it. No, then, I haven’t started it, since you must know…
Elusive, that’s what it is. The plot, I mean. I see it up to a point – and damned silly, I mean damned good it is – but I don’t quite see what it’s all leading up to, or what to do with the ends, or why the hell I should make up such a lot of rot – make up such an ingenious story at all.
Mr Ravenscar is a winner from the word go. I won’t hear a word against him, and if the schoolgirls don’t like his being tied up and dumped in the cellar they will just have to put up with it. I think myself that Miss Grantham took rather an extreme view of his delinquencies, particularly when you consider that she was in love with him at the time, but she’s so strongminded that it’s no use arguing the matter. And if more men – particularly publishers – were dumped in cellars – but I’m sure I’ve no wish to be offensive. Treat me right, and – I seem to have wandered. Where – oh, yes! Well, as I said, Mr Ravenscar (Max to his friends) is a winner, and no trouble at all. Nor I fancy shall I have much trouble with young Lord Mablethorpe. He seems too big a simp to bother anyone, and can be provided for nicely. Hence Phoebe Blandford.
But what, I ask you, is the precise role of the Earl of Ormskirk? Yes, yes, of course he’s villainous: that’s obvious. But what does he do? Did he really want to marry Phoebe? It seems frightfully unlikely to me, and I would rule it out of court if it were not for the fact that someone objectionable wanted to marry her. Max? Yes, I admit that’s an idea, but there would be certain difficulties. Still, I’ll think about it. But if that were so, what do I do with Lord Ormskirk?
It’s no use saying jettison him, because you don’t suppose, do you, that I’m going to abandon a lovely name like that? He’ll have to have Worse-than-Death designs on Miss Grantham, and buy up the bills, and mortgages and things. Then he can call her his Cyprian in public, and Mr Ravenscar, who’s been calling her a lot of much worse names, can knock him down, and then they can have a duel — guess who wins! And Max can buy the mortgages and things off Ormskirk, and — Gosh, yes! I’ve got it! Eureka!
Must write up Mr Lucius Kennet, soldier of fortune to make him look like possible hero, so that Mr Ravenscar (outsize in cads: women love cads) can go on being objectionable, and use the mortgages and things not as deus ex machina, but as persecutor. No, no! Not, I think, improper designs on the poor girl: just to get her to relinquish young Mablethorpe, who is Max’s cousin, and starts off by being in love with Miss Grantham. I really can’t go into it all now, because it’s very complicated, Miss Grantham never having had the least intention of marrying Mablethorpe, and the whole imbroglio having arisen out of the idiotic way in which Max handled the situation.
By the time she was finishing the letter, Georgette thanked him for ‘listening’ and told him triumphantly that ‘I really think that’s done it. After weeks of fretting around in a sort of Hampton Court maze, too!’
Don't you love how the ideas just tumbled together and we can see the final book taking shape under our eyes. I am so envious of the apparent ease of that kind of plotting — and it's a superb plot, as well. I tried to upload a greater range of covers, but Typepad wouldn't let me. so I hope you enjoy these few.
You can read more about Heyer and Faro's Daughter on Jen Kloester's page here.
What about you — have you read Faro's Daughter? Did you enjoy it? What did you think of the tone of her letters? And do you have any of the above editions? Which do you like best?