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My character-driven historical fiction grips readers' emotions and surprises them with unexpected twists. “The social realism of Jane Austen meets the Southern Gothic of Flannery O’Connor” in The Silk Trilogy, set in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Sign up for my free newsletter on the right-hand sidebar.

Wednesday, December 7, 2022

Shelf Unbound 2022 Award for 'Tapestry', as well!


Proud to be a two-time overall-competition finalist in the Shelf Unbound Best Indie Books Awards. Silk received the 2021 medallion, and now Tapestry is being honored with the 2022 medallion. You can read their interview with me in their magazine on pages 28-33 here:  https://issuu.com/shelfunbound/docs/awards-issue-2022-december-january 


Thursday, December 1, 2022

'Agnes Grey' by Anne Brontë Deserves the Utmost Respect

Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë is a morality tale, in essence, and provides a nice contrast to a few of my recent criticisms of both Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen. I can’t say that Anne Brontë outdoes her sisters Charlotte (Jane Eyre) and Emily (Wuthering Heights) as a novelist, but of the three—or four, if we include Austen—I would certainly choose Anne as my minister, be that religious or governmental. Charlotte doesn’t as fiercely engage core issues, Emily is perhaps not even sane, and Austen is sometimes narrow-minded.

Agnes Grey Anne Bronte Sophia Alexander
Author Sophia Alexander
with Anne Brontë's 'Agnes Grey'
I leave the story of Agnes Grey with the greatest respect for Anne’s principles, especially relating to her bent for animal rights. Agnes’s solution to a dire situation in which she had limited authority to take charge leaves the reader taken aback with both awe and horror.  Much, much respect to the author of Agnes Grey.

As one reviewer puts it, Agnes Grey is more of an ‘exposé on governessing’ than Charlotte’s more
romanticized view of it in Jane Eyre. Not only that, but it seems that Charlotte actually wrote Jane Eyre after Agnes Grey was written (though Anne’s book was published two months later than Jane Eyre was), both stories about plain governesses. I can’t say that Agnes Grey was as charming as Jane Eyre, overall, but I certainly approve of it heartily, all the while still shaking my head about the disaster of a romantic situation for Jane Eyre.

A state of coquettish affairs eventually arises in Anne’s novel quite similar to what I’ve criticized some of Austen’s works for, but Anne manages it far more gracefully. She acknowledges at once that Agnes wouldn’t have believed the situation plausible herself had she read it in a novel, but that she’d experienced it first-hand—making me believe Anne herself really had! So, my qualms that way were settled in one deft statement by Anne (even if now I wonder how her vindication so absolutely settled the question for me—but I think it’s because she’d proven herself trustworthy already).

Even then, however, Agnes does her utmost to focus on her own behavior, her own reactions. She is always monitoring herself, often scolding herself for being uncharitable or ridiculous. I was impressed when I started to take issue with Agnes, and then Agnes herself takes issue with Agnes! So by the time Anne describes Agnes’s tender, pained feelings surrounding a man that a beautiful woman is only toying with, the reader really is provoked to feel the utmost sympathy for Agnes. Perhaps a bit of scorn for the coquette, too, but that’s not the point. The point is Agnes and the thoughtful sincerity of her affections and morality. Our hearts break for her.

Agnes does her best not to hold a grudge. Later, when the coquette is caught in a bad marriage, Agnes is truly sympathetic but gives her advice that we readers today would despair over. Her advice does seem quite sound for the time—to make the marriage work as best she can, to be the best wife she can be despite the man’s countless terrible faults and wandering ways.  However, let me credit Anne Brontë with this: her next novel is centered on a woman who actually does leave a bad marriage, so I can’t but think that her own advice troubled her somewhat, that perhaps she even felt guilty about the fate of the poor coquette. Anne’s sympathetic, thoughtful soul kept her pushing her own bar.

Bravo on a work that I admire greatly, Anne Brontë! Happy 175th publication birthday this December to Agnes Grey!

P.S. She used the expression ‘kill time’ in this 1847 novel, which sounded quite modern to my ears! But if you do have a little time to kill—the book’s not long at all—you could do far worse than spending it on this thoughtful, poignant, well-written narrative that speaks to both the heart and mind.

 

Sunday, November 27, 2022

Fanny Kemble’s Damning Journal about Slavery on a Southern Plantation

Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation in 1838-1839 by Frances Anne Kemble is a series of journal entries that she wrote in the form of letters. The editor suggests that she didn’t send them at all, that she crafted much of the journal later from brief notes taken at the time, but I am not convinced that she didn’t send the originals to her friend Elizabeth in Pennsylvania after all. It was commonplace at that time to keep a letterbook, recording correspondence for later reference. Her letters were so long that she may have just jotted summaries for some of them, then elaborated on it all for publication over two decades later. This English actress was also a prolific, eloquent writer, and her call for justice and humanity rings clear.

Sophia Alexander Fanny Kemble
Author Sophia Alexander
with Fanny Kemble's Journal
The journal begins with a moving essay against the institution of slavery, even before she arrives in the South:  “the slaves of a kind owner may be as well cared for, and as happy, as the dogs and horses of a merciful master; but [their happiness] must again depend upon the complete perfection of their moral and mental degradation… if they are incapable of profiting by instruction, I do not see the necessity for laws inflicting heavy penalties on those who offer it to them… the moment they are in any degree enlightened, they become unhappy.”

Her goal is eventually clear as she ventures to reside on a rice plantation with her Southern, plantation-owning husband and two children: she intends to document the abuses that she sees—or perhaps it was simply the purpose of the publication, with some of the journal re-crafted to suit. Since the point of the journal’s publication was to expose the cruelties of slavery, it makes sense that it would begin with a powerful anti-slavery essay. Her accounts go from terrible to worse to even worse so that you begin to question if the original wretched hovel that is eventually likened to a palace in comparison to the later ones was really so wretched after all.  I’m sure conditions were poor, but I’m still not quite sure just how loathsome they really were. While the details left me waffling, Fanny’s powerful writing did convince me more than ever before, in a visceral way, that slavery is a wretched, horrible crime against humanity.

Almost ironically, I’m not convinced, however, that she admits to all the crimes she’s privy to. I suspect she’s trying to protect her daughters’ family’s reputation—for the girls’ custody was given to their father, Pierce Butler, at their divorce. I personally believe she alludes to one, however, that may have fueled some of her rage, and justifiably (if it’s true): Fanny readily admits to the loveliness of a mulatto slave named Psyche—and relates an incident of Pierce giving Psyche’s distraught husband away, almost as soon as they arrive at the plantation. Later, Psyche is placed in an exalted position on a riverboat ride that almost doesn’t make sense if she isn’t Mr. Butler’s concubine. Perhaps I’m reading into it (was I supposed to?), but I could only imagine that Fanny was seeing red. 

Aside from my confusion as to the precipitously ever-increasingly-devastating conditions that each group of slaves that she sees lives in, the editor does point out a few factual inaccuracies, even the dramatization of a killing of a neighbor that did not actually happen while she was on the island, according to newspaper accounts of the day (it happened months before she arrived). Unfortunately, she laments in the published journal how she went to church the following Sunday after the incident, where not a soul alluded to the tragedy, holding that up as proof of how calloused they all were to the brutalities of their feudal existences. I’m disappointed not to believe her entirely honest, because she writes forcefully with an oh-so-important message. However, it really is possible that with twenty years’ distance, she may have mistakenly recrafted some of those letters, remembering only the stark details of the incidents that she knew were discussed in the letters, according to her notes. After all, she didn’t witness the events for herself, even in the journal. She may vividly recall that no one mentioned the event at the church when she actually was there (so recently afterwards) and wondered why the minister wasn’t better admonishing his flock not to commit such acts of violence. I’m not convinced that her account is substantially different from the truth, after all—and I well know how mixed up I can get over the details of events that happened two whole decades ago!

Her candor is not my only point of hesitation in recommending this journal. The other issue is actually a form of brutal candor that she overuses—regarding her own prejudiced perceptions and opinions of the slaves themselves. Often incredibly insulting, she seems to feel superior in education, attractiveness, and morality even as she desires them to know and believe they are her equals. She sometimes shows a certain obtuseness when she claims that they believe they are inferior just because they say so, as if not realizing that they are saying what they imagine she wants to hear. She repeats her dismay at this often—though I wonder if she’s actually just trying to draw a picture of the abject wretchedness of slave existence.  She seems far too clever not to catch on… but then again, she seems to operate with a sort of forthright zeal and very well may take others too much at face value.

I don’t often sense that she has much real respect for the slaves, excepting a few of the more skilled and knowledgeable workers.  She’s overwhelmed with pity, however—especially for the new mothers who have to go back to work in the fields at just three weeks postpartum, the neglected elderly, etc. At least a couple of the women (maybe several) have mulatto children, having been raped by the overseer, as Fanny tells it—and even under the best-possible case scenarios, power differentials make this deplorably problematic.

Fanny makes a powerful, convincing argument in a letter included in the appendix that the brutal isolation of these plantations negates the argument that practical reasons will preserve the slaves: “it is sometimes clearly not [in] the interest of the owner to prolong the life of his slaves; as in the case of inferior or superannuated laborers… Who, on such estates as these, shall witness to any act of tyranny or barbarity, however atrocious?... the estate and its cultivators remaining… under the absolute control of the overseer, who, provided he contrives to get a good crop of rice or cotton into the market for his employers, is left to the arbitrary exercise of a will seldom uninfluenced for evil by the combined effects of the grossest ignorance and habitual intemperance… among a parcel of human beings as like brutes as they can be made.”

I did find this journal fascinating. The gorgeous, familiar landscape descriptions help to balance out the degrading conditions of the slaves, keeping us from falling into absolute depression. There are numerous anecdotes and observations, tales of visits to neighbors, and accounts of the wilderness. The lines that amused me most, as I rather identified with them, were these: “I sometimes despise myself for what seems to me an inconceivable rapidity of emotion, that almost makes me doubt whether anyone who feels so many things can really be said to feel anything… it is, upon the whole, a merciful system of compensation by which my whole nature, tortured as it was last night [her husband had forbidden her to bring him any more complaints from the slaves], can be absorbed this morning in a perfectly pleasurable contemplation of the capers of crabs and the color of mosses as if nothing else existed in creation… I have no doubt that to follow me through half a day with any species of lively participation in my feelings would be a severe breathless moral calisthenic to most of my friends—what Shakespeare calls ‘sweating labor.’ As far as I have hitherto had opportunities of observing, children and maniacs are the only creatures who would be capable of sufficiently rapid transitions of thought and feeling to keep pace with me.”

I’m inclined to believe that Fanny adhered to the essential truths in writing this journal, and where she stretched the truth, if on purpose, it was for a greater cause. Apparently some have even credited its publication in 1863 with dissuading the British from supporting the Confederacy in the American Civil War, so it very well may be one of the most significant pieces of political propaganda that most of us have never heard of!

Word of Warning: I enjoyed Fanny’s voice overall, but I am certain I would have had much more trouble with much of it if I were black. As it was, I was still sometimes ashamed of how overtly racist she sounded when she expressed her aesthetic tastes, not entirely attributable to the situation she found the slaves in. The slaves are described in the most degrading terms, quite often.  For that matter, the Irish are, too, if not quite as often.

I also took issue with her brief condemnation of the local white plantation women breastfeeding their own babies in a prolonged fashion, the local standard being to nurse them past their second summer. It was nice to learn that it was the norm, however, at the time.

Note: Their plantation home still stands on Butler Island near Darien. After I began reading Fanny’s journal last year, my husband and I ventured out to see the property, which we believed to belong to the Nature Conservancy (according to signs on the house and the land). I contacted this organization upon seeing the rapidly dilapitating condition of the house, but it turns out they no longer own it. I’m glad we got there while we still could. We saw so much majestic wildlife there, as she describes in her journal as well. Fanny talked about taking daily walks on the dikes through the rice patties, and so I was delighted with walking the overgrown dikes myself, following in her footsteps that way.

Additional Note: I purchased this book at a Georgia State Park gift shop, but it seems that Fanny Kemble published many more memoirs in her lifetime, this one simply being the most famous. I’m curious to read more. Perhaps I’ll start with the one about her girlhood.

I’m also mildly curious to read her daughter’s rebuttal to this journal—she spent far more time on the slave plantation and married an English minister—though I’m not so keen to read a vindication of slavery (if that’s what it is). Still, it would be interesting to see where their accounts agree.

Extra-Special Additional Note: I’m publishing this blog on Fanny’s 213th birthday, a sort of ‘Happy Birthday!’ to the dynamic Ms. Kemble (born on the 27th of November in 1809).

 

Friday, October 21, 2022

‘Lady Susan’ by Jane Austen Is a Spiteful Piece of Work

 

Lady Susan Jane Austen Sophia Alexander
Author Sophia Alexander with 'Lady Susan' by Jane Austen

Mrs. Vernon waited on Lady Susan, shortly after her arrival in town; and she was met with such an easy and cheerful affection as made her almost turn from her with horror.  No remembrance of Reginald, no consciousness of guilt, gave one look of embarrassment. She was in excellent spirits, and seemed eager to show at once, by every possible attention to her brother and sister, her sense of their kindness, and her pleasure in their society.  a quote from Lady Susan summing up Jane’s attitude

Oh, the amazing Jane Austen has shown her petty side again!  Or rather, Lady Susan was her first book, actually (written perhaps 228 years ago in 1794)—but it remained unpublished until 1871, 'just' 151 years ago.  It’s more a… novella, I suppose.  An epistolary novella. But gosh, I do love Jane Austen’s incisive writing, and I also adore novels in the form of letters. So I still can’t help but recommend it as an interesting read.

But what sort of spite caused her to create the character of Lady Susan?  I have the notion that Jane Austen knew someone just like her—nearly perfect in her bearing and looks so far as Jane could see, but who did, perhaps, have rumors following her about numerous men falling in love with her.  She was a beautiful, charming woman!  But Jane conjures her a deceitful, underhanded character, and you only really know that it’s so from Lady Susan’s own private letters to an equally lecherous female friend (according to Jane’s imaginings). Otherwise, Lady Susan really is fairly lovely.

I envision Jane sitting there, hating on this beloved woman who is so ‘old’—in her 30s, I do believe—with men continuing to fall in love with her while Jane remains unattached. Jane is furiously imagining how Lady Susan is managing it all, how wicked she is really being. 

(Spoiler Alert.) What a shame! Jane is again (as in other books) so full of righteous, judgmental, moral superiority—and yet, and YET, the morally superior sister-in-law contrives to steal Lady Susan’s beau for Lady Susan’s daughter! It’s implied that she later succeeds (with some difficulty, as Reginald was truly in love with the mother), after manipulating the daughter into her own custody, also against Lady Susan’s wishes. The daughter actually had fallen in love with Reginald, and so Mrs. Vernon had concluded that naturally her brother should belong to the daughter instead of her widowed mother!  Not one single syllable of reproach about the daughter falling in love with her mother’s beau. Not one misgiving about trying to steal Lady Susan’s fellow.

Lady Susan’s sole obvious fault (aside from those handful of letters to her friend that did admit to all sorts of bad behaviors) was that she was trying to push her daughter into a comfortable situation with a man the daughter did not love.  She was clearly trying to do it for her daughter’s own good. That was a common practice of the time, and she did not end up forcing her daughter to marry him, after all.  She actually does it herself—which proves she truly deemed it a good situation if she’d take it on herself (and it was readily admitted by all that she had more charm and beauty than her daughter, so it wasn’t out of desperation). And while she may not have been absolutely in love with him, she was clearly doing the best she could for her circumstances.

I can only conclude that Jane was inspired from jealousy, or perhaps sympathy with a girl in Lady Susan’s daughter’s position, as she did write it while near the girl’s age. Yes, if Lady Susan really was as awful as it was revealed in those letters to her equally lascivious friend, then she was a bad character indeed. However, I suspect Jane did know an admirable woman of Lady Susan’s description, and those damning letters were the most fictional part of the entire novella—a product of Jane’s imagination and likely a few malicious rumors.

            Fascinating language sidenotes: When Lady Susan’s daughter runs away from her boarding school, it’s repeatedly referred to as an ‘elopement’; perhaps I knew it could be used that way, but it was a bit jarring! Far more fun was her modern usage of the word ‘lame’: ‘Certainly,’ I replied, deeply sighing at the recital of so lame a story.

And on that note, I will end this review!

 

 

Monday, October 10, 2022

Edwin Green's 'The Indians of South Carolina' is a Quick, Cheerful Read

Author Sophia Alexander
holding her comb-bound PDF copy
of Edwin Green's charming volume
about the natives of SC.

In honor of Indigenous People's Day, I thought I would share one of my favorite Native American resources. Being from South Carolina and seeing this as a description of some of my ancestors probably biases my opinion in favor of it just a little bit.

The Indians of South Carolina (1904) by Edwin L. Green is a quick, informative, cheery read. I’ve actually been through it at least three times since discovering it just a few years ago; I’m a slow reader, but it just takes a couple of hours to get through. Some of the bias of the time is present, but Green’s goodwill shines through nevertheless. He presents fascinating, perhaps idealized information about native lifestyles and some local Native American history. I don’t mind its simplicity a whit, but if you’re one of those who prefers scholarly, detailed, accurate textbooks, this might seem a bit childish for you. Sometimes simplified presentations actually help me to grasp whole concepts, and Green offers that here in a book that he wrote for ‘the boys of South Carolina’. I presume he wouldn’t be averse to you and I appreciating this slim volume, however!

Check it out if you’re interested in Native Americans of South Carolina, especially the Catawba. You’ll hear him mention that the boys were taught to swim before they could walk, that the women once wore dresses made of Spanish moss, that the babies were strapped to flat boards.  I happened to be wearing a large, silver crescent moon necklace when I was reading it this last time, so I was tickled when I came across a section saying that the young men would wear large, silver crescent moons hanging around their necks, too.

I originally checked Green’s 81-page book out from a library, but since then I’ve printed off a PDF (available online)—less than 25 sheets total, if you print out four of the book’s small pages to each single sheet. Practically a handout if you double-side it. I put mine in a comb binder. My printed copy is now full of highlights and the occasional comment, a favorite reference that I’ll continue returning to.

Here's a link to download it: 

https://archive.org/details/indianssouthcar00greegoog/page/n10/mode/2up

 

 

Wednesday, October 5, 2022

'Tapestry' Long-Listed for the Laramie Book Awards by Chanticleer International

I've just found out that both Susan Higginbotham's latest novel and my own were long-listed for the Laramie Book Awards 2022 by Chanticleer International! Susan (as an accomplished historical novelist) actually blurbed 'Tapestry' for me, saying, "Alexander's deft characterizations and fast-paced plot... left me eager for more." Wonderful to be in such good company!

Here's the link for a full list: https://www.chantireviews.com/2022/10/05/the-2022-laramie-book-awards-long-list-for-americana-fiction-a-division-of-the-2022-cibas/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-2022-laramie-book-awards-long-list-for-americana-fiction-a-division-of-the-2022-cibas&mc_cid=e3d2865011&mc_eid=59ee6074f9


Friday, September 30, 2022

'Mansfield Park' by Jane Austen a Disappointment in Ideals

Mansfield Park Sophia Alexander Jane Austen
Sophia Alexander with her omnibus
of Jane Austen works,
read in full over a quarter-century ago!

I am continuing my trek back through Jane Austen's novels—and have to confess my disappointment with Mansfield Park. No doubt it's because my expectations of Jane Austen are so determinedly high. She is, of course, an amazing writer (Note the ‘is’ as she is fairly immortalized at this point!), and aside from her infinitely intelligent writing, I did find some merit in Mansfield Park as a study of the values and conduct of the times—but even here, Jane does not commend herself to me.  In her portrayal of Miss Crawford, she proves that in spite of her own favorite characters, that even 208 years ago some individuals were kind, delightful, joyful, and open-minded—despite Miss Crawford not being eager for Edmund to go into the ministry (even insulting it a bit, which was her worst fault).

(Spoiler Alert.) When Miss Crawford contrives to save a difficult situation involving both their families, Fanny and her dear Edmund are at last blissfully united forever in their ubiquitous condemnation of both her and the lovers in question—Miss Crawford being rejected and lumped in merely for showing tolerance for such iniquity. But please note that Fanny herself has ample tolerance when she asks her uncle about his slave plantations in the West Indies, her curiosity merely a sign of better breeding and greater intelligence than her disinterested female cousins!  I could almost buy that as a sign of an open mind reserving judgment, but not a peep was ever made with the first concern about slavery—and then to be so harsh against mere lovers!  Meanwhile, her uncle is consistently presented as a paragon of virtue and good judgment throughout the book, even though he goes off to the West Indies without his wife for years, it might have been, doing God knows what. And while not once does Fanny question the ethics of the slave plantations, we know Jane Austen would certainly have heard such abolitionist debate in her time. Poorly done, Jane!

The beginning of this Austen novel is unusually slow, and the narrator seems to disdain Fanny as much as I ended up disdaining her, for she reads Fanny’s voice as high-pitched, breathy, and ridiculous.  I fortified myself against it (and aside from that, I enjoyed the audiobook), but Jane Austen once again brought me low with her harsh judgment and false friendship.  As in Northanger Abbey, the heroine develops a close ‘friendship’ with a lovely, vibrant woman but proves herself to be a false friend, over and again—whereas in this case (as opposed to in Northanger Abbey) Miss Crawford continues to shine. It does not reflect well on Austen, either, that she seemed to enjoy writing the dark fate of Fanny’s cousin—who is not saved by Miss Crawford’s machinations, no doubt thanks in part to the heartlessness of Fanny and Edmund.  I am glad that Miss Crawford doesn’t end up with Edmund, as he does not deserve her.

I suppose the value of this book to young readers would be to depict the social realism of the world—how their misconduct will be harshly condemned, at least by some, including close friends. And thus such social warnings are perhaps of a certain value I now underestimate, even if Austen fails to prioritize tolerance and kindness as much as I would like.

P. S.  Amusing language sidenote:  Jane repeatedly uses the phrase ‘knocked up’ to mean tired. I suppose at some point it became a euphemism for pregnancy, but there seems no trace of that meaning here!

Saturday, September 17, 2022

‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brontë Is Intense, Intelligent, and Far From Ideal

"No sight so sad as that of a naughty child... What must you do to avoid [burning in hell forever]?"...

"I must keep in good health and not die."

-from Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre

Upon re-reading the classic novel Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Brontë, published 175 years ago, I was delighted by the thoughtful, intelligent intensity of the story—yet I was dismayed, too, in particular by the harsh character of Mr. Rochester. I suppose it’s as they so often say—the writing counts more than the story—because I still adore this superbly-written novel. So keep that in mind as I critique its premise here (warning: contains spoilers!).

Author Sophia Alexander
with her girlhood copy of Jane Eyre

As the mother of a college-age daughter, the idea of this nineteen-year-old governess being isolated at this middle-aged man’s estate and at his beck and call seemed not romantic at all this go-round!  His vitriol towards his former lovers does not bode well for Jane, either.  Not only that, but he shows a lack of regard for his Jane’s (and his household’s) safety in leaving the day after someone sets fire to his bedcurtains—even insisting that the incident be kept quiet. He soon returns with a host of people, not warning any of them of the danger, either.  He shows himself to be dishonest, not just tricking Jane over the critical matter that comes between them, but finding it amusing to toy with her feelings and to trick her at other times as well. His condescension is a bit insufferable.

That said, I adore the character of Jane Eyre herself. Her sincerity and morality are inspiring—even though she shows a certain naïvete with regard to taking Mr. Rochester at face value. I’m not sure that fault isn’t all too common, however, even among intelligent women.

I first read the novel as a girl, perhaps ten years old. At the time I hoped Jane would marry the honest, almost saintly Mr. Rivers. I was dismayed at her attraction to Mr. Rochester then, too, as no doubt I found him mean. Despite all my criticisms of Rochester thus far, though, I can now better appreciate that Jane was obviously in love with him and not with cold, scrupulous Mr. Rivers, whose life goals seem more questionable now than they did at my last reading, misguided on many fronts. So there was actually a certain sweetness for me at the end of the novel this time round that I simply could not appreciate as a girl.

Curiosities within the novel include the sanded floors and the coal and peat used in the fireplaces. I’d heard of peat being burnt in Ireland for fuel, but I wasn’t aware that this was common in Yorkshire. Are the floors really covered with sand? At one point, Mr. Rivers is dripping onto the floor after a rainshower, and then Jane has to contend with the resultant mud.

I was charmed by some of the antiquated language used by Charlotte Brontë, though she sounds surprisingly modern when Mr. Rochester says to Jane, “You look depressed.” Not melancholic, not phlegmatic, but depressed!

The author is more old-fashioned, I presume, in saying ‘unclosed’ instead of ‘opened’, so often.  How curious!  I’ll have to pay attention to see if Jane Austen does that as well. Like that very famous author, Charlotte also uses the phrase ‘does not signify’ to mean ‘doesn’t matter’. 

I was tickled when Mr. Rochester annoyingly calls Jane a ‘thing’, as my mother used to do that when she was irritated with us. “You’re a thing!” she’d say. I’d never heard that before (not that I recall), outside her family, but apparently it’s an honest-to-goodness old-time insult.  Even worse, my mother would call us, “you little nothings,” with utmost contempt when she was truly angry—and I suppose it could have been that way in Charlotte’s day, too. I wonder!

Speaking of my mother, she bears a similarity to Mr. Rivers’ sister in that she once took it upon herself to read through an entire set of encyclopedias (it was of note to me that lexicons and encyclopedias were commonplace in the early 19th century). Otherwise, my mother never considered herself a bookworm at all, preferring crosswords and logic games. I don’t know if the encyclopedia in Jane Eyre is a multi-volume set or not, but Jane is impressed by Miss Rivers’ feat, too, even deeming her own intellect inferior to Miss Rivers’—as indeed, I felt mine was next to my wise and forward-thinking mother.

While Jane Eyre could hardly be described as a humorous novel, Charlotte certainly has her moments. For instance, when young Jane is asked what she should do to keep out of the flames of hell, she replies, “I must keep in good health, and not die.” Charlotte’s wry humor shows up only sporadically, but I found her references to fairies and elves, gipsies and magic to have an amusing, whimsical quality.

Perhaps Charlotte Brontë’s magical references were in part influenced by the publication of Hans Christian Anderson’s fairytales a decade before. She even refers to Ariel in passing, something about the wind carrying her voice, certainly a ‘Little Mermaid’ reference.

Another minor intrigue for me is that Jane admires the sunlight, calling it ‘his light’. Given her occasional pagan references, I was reminded of Amun-Ra of Egyptian mythology or perhaps the Greek god Apollo.

Now for the ‘coincidence’ that struck me most:  The beginning of Jane Eyre is very much like Harry Potter. Note that the Brits sometimes even pronounce Harry as “’arry”, which isn’t so far from the pronunciation of ‘Eyre’ (like ‘air’), just adding a -y. So Miss Eyre (our little Eyre-y) is orphaned and brought up in her aunt’s house, where Dudley—I mean her cousin John Reed—beats her up cruelly and regularly. The aunt has no sympathy for her, and at one point Jane is to be found in a closet (think ‘cupboard under the stairs’). She is isolated in an upstairs room when company is present (as Harry is later, when he has a room). When Jane insists that she wants to go off to school, the aunt asks that Jane be kept there for holidays as well (as the Dursleys did).  When Jane does go off to school, the entire cast and scene change in a rather jarring way, as they did in Harry Potter. School does become a sanctuary for Jane, but once she leaves the Reeds’, the stories become less similar—though I will point out that Mr. Rochester repeatedly accuses Miss Eyre, perhaps teasingly, of being magical (an elf, a fairy, a changeling, on and on), which seems almost out of place in this story… but mayhap it forged a jumping-off point for JK Rowling’s subconscious? Miss Eyre repeatedly denies being a magical entity, and Harry is doubtful of it himself at first.

I had actually already gone on about these similarities last week while reading the book, but last night I was reminded of it when I decided to watch (for the first time) the 1996 film version of Jane Eyre, which casts Fiona Shaw (Harry’s aunt in the movies) as Jane’s Aunt Reed!  What validation!  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was published in 1997, but JK Rowling had written her story and Mrs. Dursley’s character well before that, though no doubt Fiona Shaw’s apt portrayal of Aunt Reed helped her to be cast as Aunt Petunia Dursley a few years later.

So interesting to consider the influences great authors have had, and I like to think that Charlotte and Emily Brontë have influenced my own writing as well.  Honestly, I believe they influenced Anne, their youngest sister, too. I’ve just begun reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and am charmed thus far. The male neighbor’s point-of-view and the landscape remind me a bit of Wuthering Heights, while Anne’s already spouted the saying about bringing ‘the mountain to Mahomet’ that Mr. Rochester quotes when he meets Jane Eyre, also having to do with an animal that won’t budge.

Anne Brontë has one other novel and Emily none, but Charlotte did write a few other novels, treasures I’ve yet to enjoy. I hope to one day soon, but from sheer nostalgia’s sake, I doubt any of them can ever rival Jane Eyre for me.

P.S.  I wonder if the saying ‘Plain Jane’ refers back to Jane Eyre?

 

 

Thursday, September 15, 2022

Sophia Dorothea of Celle's birthday

 
Happy 356th birthday to Sophia Dorothea of Celle, wife of Prince George Louis of Hanover, who later became King George I of Great Britain. She's the protagonist of some of my distantly forthcoming books, but it'll be a while until then.

I never saw this image of her until it was up on Wiki this week. Sometimes the internet is a fine thing!

Tuesday, September 13, 2022

'Tapestry' Honored with the IndieBRAG Medallion

Tapestry: A Lowcountry Rapunzel, the second book of The Silk Trilogy, is a recipient of the IndieBRAG medallion. Yay! For those of you who aren't yet familiar with my books, it's the sequel to Silk: Caroline's Story (also an IndieBRAG medallion honoree). In Tapestry, a pair of resilient Southern sisters face separation and trauma at the hands of their sociopathic stepmother, yet find their way, despite everything.





Friday, September 9, 2022

Farewell to a Classy Queen

 


A few years ago I found this plate commemorating the belated queen’s 1953 coronation in a pawn shop somewhere. Around her portrait are Latin words meaning ‘Queen Elizabeth II by the grace of God’. Though it was produced at Royal Staffordshire Ceramics in Berslum, England, shields with the flags of the provinces of Canada are depicted around it.  Canada is just one of 54 countries within the British Commonwealth, which enfolds over a quarter of the nations around the world and almost one-third of the world population. Elizabeth will be mourned the world over, if not by everyone.  I personally found it a comfort to listen to her Christmas addresses, as she seemed one of the few leaders to exhibit thoughtfulness, respectfulness, and diplomacy in an age predominated by brash, narcissistic politicians. We lost a dedicated, classy world leader yesterday. So grateful that she lived to the age of ninety-six, swearing in the UK’s new prime minister only days ago. May we all function so vitally until the ends of our lives.

Thursday, September 8, 2022

'Welcome to the Hamilton' by Tanya E. Williams

"Whatever the situation, the place where you find yourself is simply a new location from which to begin again." 
-advice from Tanya E. Williams' character Ruby/'Cookie', assistant to the pastry chef.

Welcome to the Hamilton is the most heartwarming novel by Tanya E. Williams to date. I especially appreciated the unusual perspective of a young woman aspiring to be a maid in a fine establishment.  It’s an idea I can hardly fathom, even still, but the endeavor was quite the calisthenic for my mind! Certainly a fresh outlook.  Yes, Clara was trying to get the job out of desperation, but Williams embraced the spirit of the 1920s era, the charm of ‘independence’ in earning her own money, of being part of the grandeur of such a magnificent establishment.  Hardworking Clara was quite flawed in how she condemned many of those around her (both judgmental and jealous), but she continually caught herself at it. By the end of the novel she was vastly improved—and even more tolerant than I would be (once some of her initial uncharitable assumptions had indeed proven to be true). Williams’ intrinsically kind nature shines through in this novel, an unexpected treasure.

Saturday, September 3, 2022

'Tapestry' Named a Southern Fiction Finalist

Hey y'all! 'Tapestry: A Lowcountry Rapunzel' was named as a finalist in the category of Southern Fiction for the Readers' Favorite Awards. Yippee!

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

Deb Stratas Interviews Sophia Alexander

Yours truly was interviewed by author Deb Stratas, who has written several novels about Princess Diana. We're talking about The Silk Trilogy here, though. Check out the interview: https://mailchi.mp/f74d4946922b/deb-stratas-royal-newsletter-june-20175273?fbclid=IwAR2nMmnne2iVRxUeaSn-d9gKzy0nzVY25IrSnfT1QArqgRUWpKuZqWulk6A



Monday, August 1, 2022

'The Moon in the Palace' by Weina Dai Randel: the Story of a Far-from-Clever Concubine

The Moon in the Palace by Weina Dai Randel is beautifully written, even poetic at times, but while seventh-century China and the first few pages of the novel intrigued me, they perhaps set my expectations too high: I ended up quite disappointed with the story and with Mei. 

Our protagonist is meant to rule China, we’re told by a wise astrologer. She conscientiously studies a revered text, The Art of War. She even writes a riddle that catches the attention of the emperor (never mind that the answer is a bit clichéd in literature at this point). Mei is not as obsessed with feminine trappings as the other beautiful, noble girls called to the palace. Of course not—she’s got more important things on her mind. The other girls are mean to her, though, and there Randel depicts the cattiness of the court, the competition there—but we soothe ourselves that she has at least made one friend. 

Up until this point, Randel still has me. I found it unwise, I suppose, that Mei didn’t try to learn from the other young women, that she didn’t try harder to fit in and ‘get picked’ by the emperor, since that was her objective. Randel seemed to want to show that Mei wasn’t as vain as the other girls. Since being beautiful was essentially her job, however, she shows a dereliction of duty—or at least an obtuseness I didn’t think the author meant to portray. Mei crosses the line, in my opinion, when the emperor sends her scents and such before she is supposed to come to meet with him, and she simply gives them away to her friends. The reader is perhaps supposed to think that Mei is being clever in trying to secure their favor, but it seemed an insult to the emperor, given the scenario. 

Her relative friendlessness could endear her to us, but Mei doesn’t seem to feel it much—and doesn’t seem to try very hard to befriend the others. The most beautiful woman there, Jewel, is at least Mei’s friend, and we attach ourselves to that friendship, as nothing else is going very well for Mei. So when Jewel betrays Mei shockingly, the reader resents that the author didn’t lay out more obvious hints. Not only that, but Mei then has no friends at all in a court full of girls, which makes Mei seem frankly unlikable—especially as Mei doesn’t seem to care for them, either. When Mei later makes friends with two young women at the inner court, they seem more ‘useful’ than friends of the heart. 

So… if Mei were brilliant and honed in on her objective with a laser focus, we could still read with awe, admiring her. But no, we’re disappointed again and again. She doesn’t repeat the hackneyed riddle scene ever, except for instantaneously coming up with a lovely poem once—but it was on the heels of another woman expressing her anguish, which didn’t sit so well. She steals a fellow she barely knows from yet another woman—though granted, the ratio of women to men is highy skewed, so the reader can shrug it off as perhaps inevitable. Then, however, the worst scene of the book unfolds: the late empress’s crowns and jewels are stolen from under Mei’s watch and she profoundly disappoints, seeming incredibly dim-witted compared with what we’d been built up to expect. 

I cannot fathom what Randel was thinking. First she sends Mei alone to confront Jewel, who has tricked Mei before, but Mei doesn’t let anyone else know what’s happened. She doesn’t call for guards to search Jewel’s quarters. Instead, she essentially lets Jewel know she’s on to her so that Jewel has ample time to securely stow the jewels away from her own quarters. While Mei is there, Jewel demands that Mei kill all the precious silkworms before she’ll give the jewels back. Stupidly, Mei goes to commit that treasonable offense. She’s seen by guards and the Noble Lady, barely convincing them to allow her into the highly protected space, so there could be no question who had committed this treason. Thus not only does Mei attempt to betray the Noble Lady AND the emperor (not to mention murdering countless silkworms), she never once even seems to consider that Jewel is simply setting her up for a downfall even worse than the one Mei worries will come to the Noble Lady. So here we realize—if the author does not—that Mei is not only a ready traitor but is far from clever. Would she have even realized Jewel was setting up the Noble Lady if Jewel hadn’t told her? 

Why keep reading? Well, the action does keep flowing along, and Randel does have lovely descriptions. We want to see what happens. 

Another point of frustration for the reader is that Mei continues to witness cruel acts and countless murders of innocents by the emperor’s direct orders, but she never once tries to help stop them or prevent future barbarisms. Perhaps Randel simply meant to depict how perilous court life was, that Mei shouldn’t dare step out of line. I’m not sure what Mei could have actually done for those victims, but I hoped that such a supposedly clever girl would figure out how to use her position to exert some positive influence—but she doesn’t, not through being an inspiring paragon of virtue nor through some brilliant trickery. Nothing. Compounding this is the fact that Mei actually does step out of line—continually—but for no sensible reason. It’s never to help anyone, at least not from a sensible person’s perspective. When the palace is attacked and her besotted fellow risks himself and his mission to take the time to inform her, to insist that she go hide at once, she puts herself in the midst of danger for no good reason, repeatedly. She eventually warns the emperor—only because she’s worried about her fellow—but the reader wonders why bother. The emperor is a ruthless, deranged man who came to power by murdering his own family, and perhaps she should support the overthrow instead. 

I haven’t even much mentioned the pivotal relationship between Mei and the old emperor. Randel sets us up fairly early in the novel to brace for a sex scene between them. The setups were surprising and recurred often, never the same. The writing was good, but I take issue with the fact that I was never clear whether they ever successfully had sex at all. When Mei does have sex with her fellow, I don’t even know if she’s a virgin or not. Since sexual relations with the emperor were key to Mei’s objective, it was remiss to leave out that information. 

Overall, I don’t recommend this novel. Mei is not kind nor really clever—she’s not inspirational in any way, nor particularly likable. She’s inconsistent, too: for instance, she’s bothered by cruelty to animals (doing nothing to stop it, of course) but has utter disdain for when she is served tofu instead of meat on her plate. Her goals end up seeming pointless. However, Randel’s writing itself is of fairly good quality, and the story and setting are interesting, action-packed. If I find myself without anything else to listen to, I may pass the time with the sequel just to see what happens next for Mei… but I doubt it.

Friday, July 29, 2022

'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Brontë is a Mad and Passionate Masterpiece

Sophia Alexander (me!)
with my old copy of
Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights was Emily Brontë’s only published novel, crammed with all of her intensity, passion, and verve, seemingly!  I’ve read it for my first time as a grownup, just before her 204th birthday on July 30th (she was born in 1818 in Yorkshire, England, almost exactly a year after Jane Austen's death. Hmm...). What a voice. I’m going to critique her, however, just as I critiqued Jane Austen (heresy!), but first let me say that this book is a masterpiece. 

I can honestly claim that I’ve never read a book with more caustic characters, as a whole. Fascinating, sometimes even with a biting sense of humor.

“Look here Joseph,” [Cathy] continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf. “I’ll show you how far I’ve progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!”

“Oh, wicked, wicked!” gasped the elder….

I thought her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun.

And so must Emily’s readers think! At least at times. Other times, it's a bit more brutal and heartrending. 

Perhaps my biggest critique of Emily’s actual writing is that her female characters keep developing nearly the same character eventually (excluding Nelly). For example, Isabella Linton is supposed to be far milder than Catherine, but she becomes just as impudent as Catherine after Catherine’s death.  Young Cathy (Catherine’s daughter) follows the same pattern.  Mind that I find their saucy tongues quite entertaining, and perhaps I should give Emily the benefit of the doubt: she may have meant to represent that under trying, abusive circumstances, sweet, cultivated women will all become a bit mad! 

I’m blown away far more this time than when I read it as a girl—both times the same copy, a now falling-apart Watermill Classic paperback edition, put out in 1983, that I received with my Troll book order at school. I still find it odd that books can be reprinted with no notation on the copyright page of the original publication date. At least this edition does mention in the About the Author section that Wuthering Heights was actually first published in 1847.  Emily would likely have produced many other great works if she hadn’t died the next year in 1848, age 30—her life snuffed out all too early, like so many of the novel’s characters. In fact, it almost seems that someone was truly making a ‘clear house of it’ for all the Brontë’s around this time.

Even though I think it a monumental work of art now, what I recall most about it from my girlhood is arguing that Jane Eyre, by Emily’s older sister, was a far better story (my own younger sister disagreed). I suppose I should probably reread Jane Eyre now, too, to see if I still feel the same way! At the time, I found it difficult to connect with the characters in Emily’s novel of eccentrics, whereas I completely identified with poor, relatable Jane Eyre. The only truly reasonable person in Wuthering Heights seems to be the motherly housekeeper Nelly Dean, who serves as the narrator of much of the story, and I certainly didn’t identify with her as a preteen. Perhaps not so much now, either, but more than before. I can also relate to the passions of the characters better, too, of course. Overall, though, I regard Wuthering Heights as gripping, highly dramatized entertainment in comparison with, say, the social realism of Jane Austen.

Emily Brontë
I very much appreciate novels written in their author’s own historical era to give us a realistic depiction of their time, such as Jane Austen’s novels. This one was actually written as a historical novel, however; it was set mostly in the late 1700s until 1802.  Given how repressive we ourselves judge the era a half-century before our own births, I assume Emily was attempting to depict a much more repressive time for women than that of her own day. Even so, knowing that she was writing this before 1847, you can still glean far more about the era than from an author writing centuries later in our own time. The setting is stark, though, and those poor young people were so isolated in the stories (especially the women) that I felt quite horrified for them. What abuse they had to endure. Young Cathy’s relatively happy situation at the end is entirely due to her adaptable nature and is still far from ideal.

Now, as I so like to do, let's shift gears a bit to chat about possible inspirations: 

First, there is the fairly shocking incident of Catherine’s coffin side being removed so that their bodies could lie together in the grave. This is perhaps inspired by a true story: King George II commanded similarly for his wife Caroline’s coffin--for the side of it to be removable so that his coffin to adjoin hers. She predeceased him, and he wanted to eventually lie with her in their resting place, undivided for the rest of eternity (he died in 1760). So perhaps that true story inspired Emily!

I mentioned before in my blog about Northanger Abbey how Wuthering Heights seemed to have been inspired at least in part by the protagonist Catherine’s character, especially, even having the same name—only, ironically, it’s set a little before Northanger Abbey, as if it could be Northanger Abbey’s inspiration!

The relatively happy situation at the end of Wuthering Heights for Cathy reminded me of a similar romantic scenario in one of my favorite novels (at least it’s a favorite book beginning), I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, in which a young, scorned farmhand turns out to be far more intelligent than he seems at first.  Hmm, that also makes one think of the film The Princess Bride, which takes it to an entirely different level!

Finally, consider Linton Heathcliff, Cathy’s whiny, spindly cousin, as the inspiration for the young, crippled master of the manor, Colin Craven (Mary’s cousin), in The Secret Garden (1911) by Frances Hodgson Burnett.

I truly enjoyed Wuthering Heights—Emily Brontë’s singular lifetime achievement. She accomplished in her twenties what most writers can never achieve. What a stunning cast of characters. What an impossibly passionate tale.