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.

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 213^th birthday, a sort of ‘Happy Birthday!’ to the dynamic Ms. Kemble (born on the 27th of November in 1809).

 

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

 

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!

 

 

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

 

 

'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

'Mansfield Park' by Jane Austen a Disappointment in Ideals

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!

‘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 19^th 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?

 

 

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!