The Guineveres by Sarah Domet

The Guineveres is a brilliant piece of writing.  Engaging emotionally, drawing us into a reclusive convent school, the novel is one of the first examples I’ve seen of proliferative story-writing in the first person plural—though the novel was technically set as first person singular from Vere’s perspective.  I was so impressed with this little group of girls, so interlinked that they were often a ‘we’ in their experiences.  Conversations were relayed, so often not seeming to find it important to differentiate who said what.  “Someone said.”  “One of us said.”  In most books, that would have been annoying and disconcerting, but in The Guineveres, it emphasized the unity of the bond these girls had.

I was momentarily confused by the insertion of each of the girls’ pre-convent histories, again told from the first person POV—the only time it veered away from Vere.  Once I realized what these jumps were about, though, I appreciated them even more—they were artfully interspersed throughout the novel, making us long to hear Vere’s history, which she saved for last.

The other deviation from the story were the tales of women saints—several of them, masterfully and dramatically told, also interspersed through the book.  After the first of these, however, I found them rather in the way of the story about the girls, which I was anxious to get back to.  Overall, though, they leave me feeling that the story is epic, grander than I would have remembered it being.  And they emphasize an aspect of Catholicism I have never given much thought to—not in any sort of appreciative way.  I’d previously read some short descriptions of the terrible fates of several saints, quickly realizing it wasn’t something I wanted to think about, but Domet makes them come alive for us in a poignant, beautiful way that my summaries did not. 

The Guineveres is overall a poignant, beautiful story, too.  Domet doesn’t coddle us with fairytale happy endings, but neither does she devastate us completely.  She somehow has us desperate to run away from the convent and yet duly impressed with it at the same time—all the while not romanticizing the religious workers—except that I adore the overly-strict Sister Fran, for some reason. But that’s me. I read pensively, afraid of the possibilities, but Domet kept me sympathetic to nearly everyone in the book.  I highly recommend this read!         

Guides to the Victorian Life

Here are two wonderful books that have influenced my editing of Silk: Caroline's Story. While I am charmed by Sarah Chrisman's love for all things Victorian and appreciate her delightful explanations about aspects of Victorian living, I cannot recommend Ruth Goodman's How To Be a Victorian highly enough for those who really just want the nitty-gritty. Ruth Goodman has a rather more objective, encompassing outlook, while Sarah is inspiring, sharing her joys in discovering the Victorian world.

Ruth is so, so practical. She's been experimenting with much of what she researches her whole life, shying away from almost nothing - neither the clothes, the cleaning implements, nor the tools. She tries out everything so that we can be informed - not intending to adopt her experiments as habits or a permanent way of life as Sarah Chrisman does. Ruth has wonderful attention to important details - keeping in mind the needs of filmmakers and authors. 

Ruth is British, whereas Sarah is American, so Sarah's perspective helps to round out Ruth's very British focus a bit. Sarah provides an intimate perspective on the hows and whys Victorian living - one that only a modern person would know how to explain to us. I am charmed by the way she relates her discoveries - the joy is palpable. Her staunch defense of Victorian ideals and morals leave me inspired, and I find myself agreeing with the overwhelming majority of her views, although apparently they have created a backlash among certain segments of fearful, intolerant people.  Sarah Chrisman keeps up a fascinating blog at www.thisvictorianlife.com.

I look forward to future books by by both of these amazing women.

Medicis Daughter by Sophie Perinot

I enjoyed getting to know Marguerite and the Valois court in Sophie Perinot's new book, Medicis Daughter. Not only is this 16th-century princess brought to life for us, but Perinot depicts the tragedy of the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre and provides a compelling story of how it came to pass. I was brought to tears at one point by the poignancy of Margot's romantic dreams being sacrificed for state reasons. Her subsequent pragmatic behavior was understandable, if less than inspiring--and yet Perinot is showing how Margot can remain true to her heart despite the realities of her surroundings, which is inspiring in its own right. I did find myself wondering at times about how much of the story had been edited out--there seemed to be some rather abrupt shifts in perspective and attitude which I felt certain were not the author's oversight, as she is a meticulous writer. At the same time, however, I was able to follow along just fine and felt like the story went at a good pace in those sections. Perhaps the edited-out sections would have bogged down even as they made the transition more seamless, but I would have liked to have more explanation for Margot's shifts included. The ending was unexpected for me, but it made sense and and I appreciated not being fully placated at the end. History is complex and these stories are far from being fairy tales. I saw a review which suggested there was too much morality in the story, but I found almost the opposite--Margot was very, very practical, and as an idealist, I had difficulty understanding how she could not dwell on disturbing events more than she did--aside from her primary love interest, whom she dwelt on plenty! A good read, especially for those who are interested in the intrigues of 16th-century court life, and I'll look forward to Sophie Perinot's future novels.

An Unconventional Victorian Lady: Victorian Secrets by Sarah Chrisman

There’s a Victorian couple living in Washington state.  Yes, they wear clothes that bring to mind reenactors, but no, they’re not part of some religious group or strange community.  They simply like that turn-of-the-century era and find a lot of good sense and aesthetic appeal in that period’s practices.

After reading an article by Sarah Chrisman and learning that she wears a corset daily, uses an icebox, and enjoys the way her long skirts function like ‘cat’s whiskers’ in keeping her aware of her surroundings, I downloaded her first book to listen to, Victorian Secrets, which focuses on her early experience with wearing a corset.  She has another, more comprehensive book about Victorian living that I am even more excited about, but that one isn’t slated to be released until December.

Mind you, I am a person who prioritizes comfort above most things, but as my historical novel protagonists are often bedecked in corsets, I was extremely curious to hear from someone who appreciates the experience.  Like Sarah, I have always heard the corset upheld as one of the horrors of the age, an an oppression of women that we are well rid of.  Yet Sarah points out the the great feminists of the age argued against the men who wanted to rid them of corsets.  Sarah herself tried out her corset only begrudgingly (it had been a birthday present), but she found value in it very quickly.

I was amazed to hear that within months, Sarah’s waist shrank from 32 inches to 22 inches (and even smaller).  The corset helps her posture and supports her while restricting portion sizes.  She has an elegant hourglass figure that she never had before, and she appreciates it tremendously. 

I have to admit, I’m tempted to order a corset just to try it out, but I can’t quite imagine myself wearing one for more than a couple of hours.  I can’t even stand an underwire bra, for goodness sakes, and I question a few of her assumptions.  For one, she asserts that corsets did not break bones, but given that even coughing fits will occasionally break ribs in the frail, I have my doubts; osteoporosis undoubtedly occurred then as it does now, and old women do not lose all vanity as they age—besides, their clothing was designed for wear with a corset.  For another, she scoffs at the notion that restrictive pressures could lead to cancers—as with underwire bras, for instance.  Given that lymph flow is critical for maintaining health and that Sarah is trained as a massage therapist, I’m disappointed that she would so off-handedly dismiss such concerns.

Nevertheless, I am intrigued by her story and am not arguing against the corset.  Sarah is undoubtedly at a healthier weight now, and she has a posture that will reduce spinal degeneration.  She is protecting her skin from toxic chemicals with her Victorian clothing, which protects all of her from the sun.  She even wears thin gloves and bought sheer silk veil material for her hats in the summertime, and I am impressed that this fair blonde can go outside in the midday sun without any need to slather herself with toxic sunscreens.  There’s something to be said for common sense, isn’t there?  Except…many people don’t see it that way.  Poor Sarah has had to deal with a venomous backlash that leaves one stunned.  I can’t quite fathom what is so threatening to others about someone who is unique in a way not protected by ‘PC’ concerns.  How is being old-fashioned in a classy way antagonizing?  How is appreciating the values and common sense of our forbears such fodder for attack? 

I applaud Sarah for doing what inspires her.  She has become living history, a treasure to be valued.  She provides consultation for others on the Victorian era—on both the nitty-gritty and the ideals of the period.  What an intellect, and what an example for others.  Not necessarily to wear a corset—although I won’t rule that out—but to draw on the past. 

Complex, sophisticated civilizations have existed for thousands of years, but we are inundated with propaganda condemning them as backwards and superstitious.  We swallow ridiculous tales about them as fact, and the myths about the oppression of the corset are only one example.  Who hasn’t heard the very strange assertion that by the age of 35 one was considered old in Medieval times?  That is sheer nonsense—many thrived into their 80’s, as I’ve found out only with research.  Why are we so very willing to believe that our culture and our time must be the most correct, the most ‘advanced’?  We lose our discretion because of pride and blind faith in the propaganda that we are fed—and then so eagerly, so unwittingly pass it on ourselves. 

We’ve been flippantly tossing out deeply-rooted beliefs and traditions while embracing an increasingly consumeristic, polluting, throw-away society that jeopardizes our very futures.  Not only our distant futures, but our current health and even our IQs (reported to be much lower on average than in Victorian times).  Given that we’ve become a little slower than the Victorians were, isn’t it a little presumptuous to assume that they didn’t know what they were doing when they clothed themselves?  I’m not arguing in favor of the corset, in particular—I’m still a little hesitant about that—but I have tremendous interest and respect for the values, cultures, and traditions of the past, and I would love to present Sarah Chrisman with a medal for her contribution to this understanding.  

        

King George I's Birthday Today

King George I was born on this day in 1660.  As the Protestant great-grandson of King James, George Louis was the first of the Hanoverians  to inherit the British crown.  Unfortunately, despite his mother’s efforts, his nature was more dour and militaristic than scholastic; he never learned to speak English fluently and was therefore quite unpopular in Britain, though his Hanoverian subjects were far more devoted to him.  He left his ex-wife, Sophia Dorothea, under castle arrest in Germany, so she was never queen.  Their daughter, also Sophia Dorothea, became queen of Prussia, and their son, King George II, ruled Britain for 33 years (as opposed to a mere 12 years for George I).

Old and Stuffy--and Fascinating: Regarding the name of Welf

Today, I read a bit of a fable about the origins of the Welf family name.  King George I and his wife Sophia Dorothea both were descended from this line, and I’m focused for now on this Sophie, the protagonist of my current historical novel.  My understanding of the fable is that,
Once Upon a Time, a young woman married a powerful German duke.  Within a year of their marriage, she gave birth, but she was horrified to find that she’d been carrying twelve sons, all at once.  Well, she was certainly frightened at the strangeness of this—and of how she’d be perceived, so she told her nursemaid to drown the boys in the river.  When the nursemaid approached the river, she was stopped, and an officer asked, “What are you carrying there?”  He could see the squirming bundle in her skirt and hear the plaintive cries.  The nursemaid tried to play it off by saying, “Oh, they’re only whelps (welfs),” pretending that she was just drowning puppies.  Of course, however, the boys were saved.  When the boys were older, they liked the story so much that they adopted the name ‘Welf’.
While I often think that there is a kernel of truth in some old stories, I have an inkling that this one is entirely a fabrication—a fun story brought on simply by the interesting and powerful name of ‘Welf’.  There were other explanations for the name that made more sense—such as that it may have been the device on their shields in battle (wolves, perhaps?).
I should say that the fable only goes something like that.  Interestingly, the author of the old book in which I found this tale decides to relate much of it in the Latin from whence he found it.  (Yes, I just said ‘from whence’—you’ll have to forgive me, as I do get absorbed in my readings and can sound a bit like a dusty ole tome at these times.)  I was quite surprised at the Latin, and I’m intrigued.  English books of a century later will often incorporate vast stretches of French and even German, but Latin?  Well, I just take this all as a beautiful illustration of the expectations of education that were held by these different generations.  I doubt many modern day authors would deign to just switch back and forth between languages the way that these authors do, continually, without really explaining what was missed! 
This makes me recall an autobiographical account, Reminiscences of Williamsburg County, by Samuel McGill Davis.  Sam likewise became an M.D. and lived in the early 19th century, but in my family’s region of South Carolina.  He describes his education, which emphasizes the classics and classical tongues heavily.  I suspect he’d have read that Latin with no problem whatsoever.  Just an interesting correlation to make...
And, as to why the Latin to begin with?  I’ve only just begun to understand this, actually, so I’m happy to explain what I’ve gathered—which is that many European peoples were not in the habit of recording stories and events (the Picts of Scotland are one regrettable example).  The Germans had some runes, but we don’t have books of them (to my understanding).  I think they were used more as devices of power—magical symbols, important names (yes, thinking of the engravings on the Ring of Power in Tolkien’s books!).  Not until the Romans invaded was history actually regularly recorded in books all over Europe.  So, these earliest books were written in Latin, making Latin essential to study if you wished to read at all.  Also, the Catholic church exclusively used Latin until recently, and before the 1500’s, the Catholic church was ‘the church’.     
I have a passion for things of antiquity.  I am, actually,  in a particularly good mood today because I’ve gotten completely sidelined from my novel writing with this old book from 1821.  That’s nearly 200 years old!  It’s called, of all things, A General History of the House of Guelph, or Royal Family of Great Britain from the Earliest Period in which the Name Appears Upon Record, to the Accession of His Majesty King George the First to the Throne, by Andrew Halliday, M.D.  Just wanted to share that, in case you were curious about it and wanted to follow up, though I suspect most people would find it really dry reading.
 
There is just something completely magical to me, though, about reading the very words written down by someone almost 200 years ago.  That I can enter their thoughts, even though they are no longer alive, simply thrills me.  They sort of ‘come to life’ via their words.  Have you ever felt that way—as if you know an author personally?  
The past decade or so has made these rare, historical texts immediately accessible—along with countless classic novels—for free download via the Internet Archives project.  I use my Nook thru the Barnes & Noble website, though I’m sure there are other venues.  Now, a word of caution…I don’t know how many people would find certain of these old texts as delightful as I do.  This particular volume would not have interested me many months ago, as I only recently have gotten enough hooks into history to actually find that it speaks to me.  I’d probably like it even more if I spoke Latin, even. 
So, I’m not particularly recommending this book, though you might find it intriguing—especially if you’re a history buff.  I just wanted to mention that sometimes our modern technology does get it right in making such rare and valuable manuscripts available.  Much of the information is truly nearly ‘lost’, as books such as this probably never held wide circulation.
Isn’t there a sort of strange irony that I primarily use my new-age Nook to read extremely old texts?  It’s a treasure that way!

Magical Leek Soup Fast: from French Women Don't Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano

I have just completed a two-day Magical Leek Soup adventure with my mother.  I learned about it and was inspired by Mireille Guiliano in her bestselling book from several years ago, French Women Don’t Get Fat.  Since then, she has put out several other books in that vein, and I’ve pre-ordered the next one, French Women Don’t Get Facelifts.  I will say that I found her first book by far the most charming and useful, but she has made herself dear to my heart and I will likely continue to purchase her books as long as she writes them!  (Mireille’s pronounced Meer-ay, by the way; think opposite vowel order of ‘Mary’.)

The experience of the weekend has inspired me to rename her first book, in the spirit of her latest publication, ‘French Women Don’t Get Their Stomachs Stapled!”  Though she doesn’t really explain it this way, I believe the point of the ‘leek soup fast’ is to shrink your stomach naturally, so that you can moderate your food intake more easily afterwards.  The fast itself is not meant to cause much weight loss via calorie reduction, though it doesn’t hurt anything.  Much like getting your tummy stapled, but you can repeat it without hurting yourself, as needed.  And, by the way, the stapled tummies also often do stretch out over time, as folks gradually increase food consumption.   

So, I went into the ‘fast’ with much trepidation.  I had the whim, planned it with my mother, then made secondary and tertiary plans in case of failure!  My thought was something like, “Neither of us has any tolerance of discomfort, and I can’t go for more than a few hours without food.”  For example, the night before we began our ‘fast’, my sister called to let me know that dinner was going to be delayed by at least an hour.  So, instead of waiting to eat dinner with her, as we’d planned, I am starving and go ahead and eat something at my house, only an hour before dinner!  And this is the night before I think I’m going to start ‘fasting’! 

My mother is at least as impulsive as me about food.  And we both eat in quantity.  I’ve been concerned about her health as much as mine, and I know that checking our weight is pivotal in improving our health.  I’ve always assumed that my mother would live to be as old as her mother, but, in lieu of certain problems she’s begun to have, I have come to realize that she does not have the same lifestyle as my grandmother, who actively gardened into her 80’s and ate fresh, local, organic food most of her life.  My mother is from the ‘instant’ foods generation.

As much as we needed to get a grip on our diets, however, I simply didn’t know if we could follow through on Mireille’s rather strict plan (as I saw it then).  I had back-up ideas, so we wouldn’t just give up completely.  They involved consuming a variety of fresh, nonstarchy veggies, perhaps some dressing, and, if really pressed, an egg.  I wasn’t even sure we could manage that, to be honest—and I suspect that the raw veggies may have upset our stomachs.  But I figured we’d start with Mireille’s ‘Magical Leek Soup’ and go from there. 

In her book, Mireille talks about eating ‘in balance’, disparaging fad diets and all sorts of extremism.  I laughed at her, because, in my view, eating nothing but leek soup for a weekend seemed rather extreme.  Okay, not quite the whole weekend—you do get a real dinner the second day.

However, I have to take it back.  Mireille is my hero right now.  I had no real intention of following through on the leek soup weekend, as I knew that the first real hunger pangs would be answered.  I thought of her concept as sort of a jumping-off point, and my own additions were just a matter of time, to coincide with the hunger pangs. 

They never did set in.  For either of us.  It really is a magical, miracle plan.  Leeks are amazing!  Yes, I became tired and spacey, but I didn’t suffer at all and there was no digestive upset.  We just sorta took it easy; we took a couple of easy walks, played Scrabble, and I wrote and read a little bit.  My mother had more energy than me, actually. 

Now, what exactly did we eat?  The leek soup is simply chopped leeks (rinsed clean) that are boiled in water.  At mealtimes, we ate about a ½ cup of the boiled leeks topped with parsley, and several times during the day we drank a cup of the broth.  We added fresh lemon juice, Himalayan sea salt, and cracked pepper to both.  We also allowed ourselves to have unsweetened black tea throughout the day, and we drank a cinnamon and black hot tea several times (cinnamon is thought to help blood sugar balance).  I also drank chamomile tea and mint tea, just once each.  I figured calorie-free natural teas were alright, but that was my addition.  We never did drizzle the leeks with olive oil, though Mireille says that’s fine.  I also took my regular supplements (pills/tablets), and my mother took her medicines.

When dinner time arrives on the second day, Mireille recommends a small portion of fish and two veggies.  Being vegetarian, I altered it to two eggs and a salad, and I was surprised that my stomach ached after eating all of it!  I truly had too much, and the salad wasn’t even all that large.  It’s noon the next day, and I’ve had a few nuts and some coffee with honey and soymilk (oh, how I missed my coffee!).  A lentil soup is on the stove, but I’m feeling a bit concerned about feeling uncomfortable with eating ‘too much’ again.  Will have to go slowly!  The point is, though—this is GOOD.  This is why people pay to have their stomachs stapled!  But instead of recuperating from surgery, I feel refreshed, detoxed, cleansed, and bonded with my mother! 

Oh, I do have two recommendations.  Unless you have an iron will, I'd suggest that you go somewhere away from other food preparation/consumption.  There is some food in the pantry here at my grandparents’ old home, but no one else was with us the entire time, so it was never in our faces.  Also, try to invite someone to participate (if you think he/she’s a follow-through kind of person, generally).  It’s a great bonding experience; the support of the other person, plus your desire not to undo their efforts, makes it much easier to stick with the plan.  I think these two reasons are why those ‘fat camps’ and ‘weight-loss spas’ tend to be so effective.  The temptation is absent, and the support system is there.

Now, I imagine that it will be easier for my stomach to re-stretch than those who have had surgery, but I can repeat my leek soup weekend at will.  I believe that it has additional detox benefits, too.  My mother felt much better on day 2—her eyes sparkling, her pain less.  We plan to do this again, perhaps even seasonally—but the springtime seems especially appropriate.

Mireille, who is my mother’s age, shares that she was prescribed the ‘Magical Leek Soup Weekend’ by her aged family doctor to jump start the weight control process.  I suspect he may have known about the detox benefits, as well.  Just wanted to mention that, because I feel rather thrilled that she's passed on some 'lost' natural medicine, here.  Maybe not so lost, now, thanks to her book. 

Virtual fasting without discomfort?  Amazing for those of us who don’t have fabulous blood sugar control and experience with that sort of thing.

Why don’t our doctors tell us about this?  Honestly, they don’t know.  They don’t learn about food at all, really.  They’re simply trained to use pharmaceuticals.  And as for this ‘trick’, I never heard of it in naturopathic medical school.  We talked about fasting, a little, but I wish I had known about this ages ago…

A word of caution about fasting, though.  Fasting can reduce your metabolism a bit.  The best method of weight loss is simple portion control and exercise, generally (so long as your thyroid is working).  But less than two days of fasting, for a detox and tummy shrinkage?  I feel refreshed and now have a greatly reduced appetite.  I will report if I change my mind about it later, but Mireille claims that she still does this leek soup weekend to ‘reset’ herself every once in a while, and I have every intention of following suit.