A temporary treasure and a thank you

Thank you, Janet Webb! Thank you for adding me to the list of people that this book (currently selling for £36 British pounds on Amazon.co.uk!) has been circulated amongst over the last few months! As the last person on the list, it now falls to me to return it to its rightful owner...

I stayed up till 1.30am finishing this book the other night. These old Baloghs are such a delight.

The hero of TTW is the heir to a dukedom who decides to upset his cold, stern father's plans to marry him to the girl he chose to be his son's duchess years ago. After an eight year estrangement, Anthony has agreed to return home because his father is gravely ill. His father has arranged a betrothal ball - but Anthony intends to arrive with a wife already in tow.

Anthony advertises for a governess - he wants his 'temporary wife' to be a genteel woman. He has no intention of consummating the marriage or of annulling it or of divorcing. He intends to present a fait accompli marriage to his father to show he makes his own decisions. Having disrupted his father's plans he intends to effectively pension off his wife. In return for her assistance, she will get a comfortable annual income and her own house.

The heroine, the aptly named Charity, is an impoverished gentlewoman looking for work as a governess to support her siblings. She is a forthright, kind woman given to speaking her mind, a quality that lost her her last position and that has not helped her gain another in the last six interviews she has undergone. For this interview therefore, she intends to play the demure mouse.

Anthony is taken in by Charity's act and makes his proposition. Realising that this will enable her to pay off her father's debts and help her family, she agrees.

It is not long after the wedding that Charity's mask falters and they consummate the marriage before they even make it to Anthony's home. Once there, Charity meets Anthony's father, four siblings, their spouses and children. Unlike Charity's warm loving family, Anthony's family are damaged and distant and there are a variety of wounds that have been inflicted on different family members by others, albeit all are loosely connected to the fundamental defect at the root of all of this: the angry marriage between Anthony's father and late mother.

Charity sets about putting this to rights. The reader is given to understand that it is her fundamental nature to try to do this: to confront problems head-on, to speak plainly. Charity is not the 'managing female' we see in books like The Grand Sophy, but the sort of strong, empathetic woman that we see often in Balogh books, the sort of woman who demonstrates qualities that might be thought of as quintessentially female strengths: communication, persuasion, the ability to resolve conflict. (Interestingly, in my last post, I mentioned in passing my question over whether what I like about high conflict books is the resolution of conflict. I did notice as I read this book, how very satisfying I found Charity's ability to do just that.)

If I was to be picky, I might comment that it's rather incredible that Charity and Anthony meet, fall deeply in love and she heals his family all in the space of about a week. But frankly, this is a category and I make allowances for that. Yes alright, it's all tied up rather quickly but it's not all tied up in a perfectly neat package. Anthony and his father only achieve a very muted reconciliation at the end that the reader must suspect will continue to cause Anthony pain in the future. There's nothing facile about the resolution. Anthony's father is shown to have both faults and virtues and Anthony eventually admits that the mother he adored had made grave errors too.

This is a deeply moral book - as many of Balogh's books are - and there are messages. Charity exhorts Anthony not to alow his new insight into his mother to change his love for her but to understand she was an unhappy woman who endured a great deal of sadness in her life*. She reflects, too, on how wrong of herself it was to agree to marry someone for money and indeed the very title of the book invites the reader to think about what marriage is, to deplore the idea of a marriage that is temporary and that lacks the proper commitment. Permanency, of course, is part of the basic HEA. Received wisdom has it that the romance reader requires the H/H to walk off hand in hand into a future that is relatively certain of continuing happiness (ignoring for a moment the less comprehensive HFN ending and the no doubt numerous exceptions to the general rule). This book prompted me to a variety of reflections on this and I intend to post in more detail on this idea of permanency in the HEA very soon.

One final thought: *Anthony's mother endured 17 pregnancies, giving birth to 13 children, of whom only 5 survived. I could not think of any other historical I've read that features this historically accurate situation.

Thought for the Day

Nothing is important but life. And for myself, I can absolutely see life nowhere but in the living. Life with a capital L is only man alive. Even a cabbage in the rain is cabbage alive. All things that are alive are amazing. And all things that are dead are subsidiary to the living. Better a live dog than a dead lion. But better a live lion than a live dog. C'est la vie!

Why the Novel Matters

DH Lawerence

I've posted an extract from this essay before. It is a wonderful thing to read and I recommend it to you highly. Read it all. Read about how the philosopher because he can think, decides that nothing but thoughts matter (no offence JessicaRRR) and how the scientist has absolutely no use for me so long as I am man alive. To the scientist, I am dead. He puts under the microscope a bit of dead me, and calls it me. Read about how the novel is the one bright book of life and how it is better than other tremulations on the ether. Read about how the novel helps you develop an instinct for life.

Do you think DH Lawrence would abhor me using his words of wisdom in relation to romance novels rather than Great Novels? Probably he would. But unfortunately I didn't like Sons and Lovers.

I met Laura V earlier this week and just as we were going our separate ways, we touched on the question of whether the allure of romance novels has anything to do with what the reader thinks is a Good Life. Unfortunately, I didn't get the benefit of Laura V's words of wisdom on this but there is something here - for me - around this idea of developing an instinct - or something - by reading, reading. Something too around that idea of author lenses/views and whether they 'fit' the reader. A search for something. And possibly repetition and reinforcement.

Oh and something else we touched on and never explored - that felt to me like a revelation - was a throwaway comment about my love of high conflict in romance novels having something to do with having a professional interest in resolving conflict.

What do you think?

Threes and sevens

I count myself a good judge of character. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's one of my major strengths. When I speak to people at work about issues that arise on cases, I'll often find myself starting with a character sketch of someone involved. I'm very aware of the tendency people have to formulate a view of themselves and then try to make their actions 'fit' that view - often with hindsight.

My view of myself includes a belief that I take a rational approach to life and that I am a sceptic. I am non-religious and I don't believe in non-rational things. I am not superstitious.

This week, my view of myself - in this respect and in others - has been tested. Not least by the fact that three separate shit things have happened this week: one related to work, one to family and one to community.

My mother always says that bad things happen in threes. Usually she says this after someone has recounted three bad things. It is not the sort of thing she would say after someone has recounted two bad things because she would not want the person she is conversing with to worry about the third not-yet-happened thing. She is a very thoughtful person.

I had a moment today - I had just gone through (again) with Mr T the Three Shit Things of the week - and I quite genuinely felt this sense of relief. I thought, that's three things - my run of bad luck is over.

It's funny how these ideas do implant. When I was about six years old, one of my friends told me that anyone who writes a "7" by putting a horizontal line through the middle of the veritical axis was a catholic. I've never quite shaken off that belief. To this day, if I see someone do that, I think catholic. Even when I do it. And I'm not a catholic.

Three and seven. Both significant numbers. Both elegant and mystical, even for rational, sceptical non-believers like me.

For the romance reader, the magic number is generally two; two protoganists finding their HEA. I shall put my threes and sevens aside again, pick up my brand new read (His Every Kiss by Laura Lee Ghurke (2004)) and forget my problems for the rest of the night.

T

Same words; same tune; different meaning

The first time I heard the Burt Bacharach classic Wives and Lovers, it was the Jack Jones version.

I heard it first at this great club I used to go to in my twenties, the name of which I can't quite remember - Cabaret something or other. It was very kitsch; lots of easy listening music from the 50s and 60s; sort of an anti-cool-vibe.

I enjoyed the Jack Jones version but his smooth, unremarkable voice suggested a lack of irony over the lyrics. When he sung:

Day after day there are girls at the office

And men will always be men

Don't send him off with your hair still in curlers

You may not see him again

For wives should always be lovers too

Run to his arms the moment he comes home to you

He's almost here....

It sounded like the most literal of warnings; a well-meaning, smiling, but slightly sinister bit of advice from a man of a conservative views. The sort of man who'd have been burning women as witches a few hundred years before.

It's amazing how different the song sounds sung in the cool, low, elegant voice of Julie London. I love this version. In my mind, Julie London's version is still a warning, but of a different sort. I think of her as an older woman in the same position giving advice. Perhaps somewhat ironical advice.

Risk

This week I have been pondering Risk.

I am a litigator, so risk is at the heart of what I do. My meat and drink is what happens when risk comes home to roost. Personally - and this is a typical lawyerly trait - I am quite risk averse. Every day, I am told about situations that make me think I can't believe you did that. But those who take risk gain material rewards that those of us who abhor risk never will.

Risk is good and bad; positive and negative; attractive and off-putting. To say something is risky may be to condemn it forever or give it a sheen of irresistibility.

Risk features heavily in romance. Will X risk all for love? we are asked on countless back blurbs. It's associated with high stakes, conflict, hazard.

To be risk-averse is to say.... What if? What if, (s)he doesn't love me in return? What if my heart is broken?

Romance is full of hero(in)es that will throw themselves in front of bullets and swords or rush into burning buildings;who risk bankruptcy to build up phenomenal wealth; who engage in dangerous occupations - but who don't dare to love in case... they get hurt.

Is there is dichotomy here - the hero(ine) who embraces of physical risk but is emotionally risk averse? Is it credible that someone who is a risk-taker in one sphere would be risk averse in another? Is the physical risk-taker/ emotional risk-averse protagonist any more than a genre convention?

What do you think?


Point of interest: the photo is of Philippe Petit, who famously tightrope-walked between the twin towers. In the documentary Man On Wire, Petit speaks powerfully and passionately about what drove him to do this. His language - the object of my dream - is stirring and evocative.

Three things that cheered me up this week

Colours

My boys are fantastic. Although my general tone on this blog - indeed in life - is pretty cheerful, life gets really stressful sometimes. But they make me laugh every day. Here's three things my older one did this week that made me happy.

1. Colours

He asked me: what's your favourite colour? I said: red. What's yours?

It took him about ten minutes to answer me. First he had to think for ages, then he gave me an answer but then changed his mind at least half a dozen times. Then eventually he said: my top three are blue, gold and silver, in that order.

I loved that it was so important to get it exactly right. In that order.

Optimus Prime

2. Obliviousness

We were in the car and Radio 4 was on and it was reporting a pretty disturbing news story. I looked at him in the rearview mirror and saw that he was looking pensively out of the window at the Sainsbury's supermarket we were passing. I switched off the radio and he said: mummy? And I mentally prepared myself for the difficult question that was coming.

And then he said: do you think Optimus Prime is bigger or smaller than that Sainbury's?

Fish Monster

3. Writing

He has written a book called The Tunnel of Doom. It has a wonderful ending. The closing words are "Let's go and tell the others." Don't you think that's powerful? That 'let's go' leaves you with this feeling of some frozen moment of time that is somehow eternally going forward into some hazy future.

He is now writing The Fish Monster and the Tunnel of Doom.

Quixotic Friday Music

I was introduced to Don Quixote through the whistling talents of Roger Whittaker.

My parents had a very small vinyl collection when I was child. They had maybe twenty albums so we played them all a lot. Abba, Glen Campbell, Neil Diamond, Melanie, The Spinners. And Roger Whittaker.

No Beatles. No Rolling Stones. Nothing remotely cool. Except now it sort of seems like the coolest album collection EVER. In a weird way.

I loved that Roger Whittaker album. He was this Anglo-Kenyan-singer-whistler-guitarist type who used to be on a lot of TV shows in the 1970s. He looked kind of dweeby but had this really urbane manner. And MAN could he whistle! If you want to check him out, watch this.

On this truly amazing album, which featured such delights as the Mexican Whistler Song and Old Durham Town, there was The Impossible Dream, from the musical Man of La Mancha.

At this stage, I only discovered the stirring music - for it was a whistled rendition. The even more stirring lyrics would come later, when I watched the Peter O'Toole and Sophia Loren BIG SCREEN VERSION of the musical.

I think I was about 11 or 12 and I remember it was just me and mum on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

I remember finding the Don Quixote character puzzling and embarrassing with his unapologetic strangeness and just his - rawness. But I ended up crying my eyes out at the end when 'Dulcinea' comes to his bedside and reminds him of his impossible ideals and reignites that fire in him, just as he dies. You can watch it here if you persevere to the end of the vid (Peter O'Toole is wonderful in this scene - but he's not singing).

Man of La Mancha is not Don Quixote and I have never read the novel by Cervantes. (I suspect Laura Vivanco has....) However, I am nevertheless going to claim a love for my impression of this character. There's something so appealing about his indefatigible optimism and his dedication to chivalric ideals despite all the scorn that gets heaped on him. He's both pathetic in his inability to see reality and noble in his ability to see greater truths, and the coincidence of these two things is painful and rather glorious.