The Queen's Fool

I have been reading a few books at once, as I mentioned in my last post. This weekend, I knuckled down to finish one. Philippa Gregory's books are always so easy to read. She gives historical females modern feelings and views, and makes them very memorable.

   The start of the novel sets up Elizabeth’s character as somewhat different from what she has been portrayed as in other modern accounts, particularly the movies directed by Shekhar Kapur. In those movies, she is not portrayed as calculating, or particularly interested in the politics or court life of England. In those movies, she seems like she is thrown in the deep end by her supporters, when in fact, as the third heir of Henry VIII, she never expected to take the thrown. In this novel, she is set up as a manipulator from the start. She is portrayed as a girl and woman who knows how to use her beauty and sex to manipulate men and have people love her, whilst she does the most despicable things. It will be interesting to see whether Philippa Gregory maintains this interpretation of Elizabeth in her next Tudor novel, where Elizabeth is queen.

   Hannah is the fool that is begged to the dying King Edward, and later passed over to Queen Mary. For Mary, she has found someone innocent, devote, and honest. Hannah also had the advantage of being employed to say exactly what was on her mind, rather than behave as a normal courtier and watch everything she says. In Mary, Hannah has found a mother figure, and a woman she admires for her courage and capacity for love and forgiveness. Early on, Hannah aspires to be like Mary, because she does not know how to be a woman - she has been hiding as a boy for so long. Later, however, Hannah realises that she pities Mary and wants to ensure that she doesn’t have the same fate in love that Mary had.

   Haunted by the burning of her mother by the Spanish Inquisition, Hannah describes her Judaism as “some sickness that we pass on”, claiming that Jews are condemned to “a lifetime of fear, not Chosen so much as cursed”. Her view of her religion changes depending on the political and religious view in England. When Mary is fairly tolerant and forgiving, Hannah hides her Judaism in her heart, but doesn’t condemn her faith. As Mary becomes more extreme, and Hannah is arrested her heresy (though she is released), she comes to fear her religion more and more. She is born into a religion that she didn’t choose, that she is not proud of, and that puts her in mortal danger. However, as she grows to adulthood, and princess Elizabeth is only months away from the thrown, Hannah again embraces her religion and realises that tradition is important and she will be proudly Jewish, in her heart, knowing that she will be safe from a heresy charge. I think her view of her religion depended very much on the danger she perceived herself to be in.

   Hannah idolised Lord Dudley, and lusted after him. She realised her feelings for what they were once she finally fell in love with Daniel, her betrothed. Lord Dudley was not a true friend to Hannah. He used her. He put her in danger and took advantage of her loyalty. He did save her in Calais, but that was out of his sense of duty, as he would save his soldiers. He did not care for Hannah, but he also lusted after her once she was grown into a woman. I’m surprised that he didn’t rape her when she refused him, because he would have thought she was his property and he had a right to take what he wanted.

   Daniel and Hannah’s romance followed a lovely little Mills and Boon plot - they initially butted heads but were forced into a relationship, they came to desire each other after writing to each other, then Hannah left him once they were married because he had slept with another woman some months ago and had an illegitimate child. I was frustrated that she left Daniel, but there were more factors at play than just deceit. Ultimately, however, they both grew up and learned more over their years apart and ended up loving each other still and resuming their marriage. As I often wonder with ‘happily ever after’ endings, I’d like to know how their relationship was travelling even a month later.

Book Blogger Hop!

This is a special entry, so that I can get linked in with other book bloggers. The whole concept has been set up by Crazy For Books, another book-blogger blog! Find it here: http://crazy-for-books.com/2011/08/book-blogger-hop-819-822.html



The question that I need to answer is: what is the longest book I've ever read?

It's a hard question, because I've read many books over 1000 pages long. I'm currently reading Les Miserables, which is about 1000 pages. I've obviously read Lord of the Rings, which is over three volumes but well over 1000 pages. I've read Gone with the Wind. I've read Shogun by James Clavell, which is over 1100 pages. I've read most of Wilbur Smith's sagas. I've read a few of Stephan King's long novels in my teens.

I've recently slipped back into an old habit of reading numerous things at once, and not finishing anything! I will post another book review soon ...

I'm also writing pretty solidly, so I should write a writing exercise post soon as well ...

The Roving Party

It hasn't taken me this long since reading Catch-22 to read my next novel ... I've been really busy studying and working, and taking a quick trip to Brisbane, and then another quick trip to Wangaratta. So, please forgive me for not absorbing books at my usual rate.
   This year's winner of the Vogel Literary Award was 'The Roving Party' by Rohan Wilson. It was a worthy recipient.
   The language is quite simple, the dialogue is limited, and so is the character development. The punctuation is also not what I usually like - I like to know when someone is talking, not have to reread a sentence half-way through when I realise that what I'm reading is someone's voice. The description is not what most modern novels use, yet the images were vivid in my mind.

   The story itself is quite a gruesome theme, though the roving party didn't kill as many aboriginals as I anticipated. The attitude of that error is also quite starkly portrayed on a number of occasions, as it should be to make it shockingly realistic, with statements such as 'you can't murder a black any more than you can murder a cat'.
   I began by wondering why Black Bill was hunting his own kind. There were mentions of justice, but it's not clear what the aboriginal witch/headman did to Bill. Towards the end of the novel, Bill clearly blames his newborn son's malformation and death on a curse of the headman. Although it's not apparent what started Bill's hatred for his kinsman.
   Bill was brought up in a white household, with white ways, but was never fully accepted as a whiteman because of his colour. He seems to have had to work that much harder, and be that much more tough and ruthless to prove himself. By the time we come across him, as a member of the roving party, he has formed himself a formidable reputation. But he is an outcast of both races.
   When I gave up trying to figure Bill out, I took a step back and realised that the story is more about what lengths men will go to. It's about the good and bad in men, and how ugly men can be to each other. Ultimately, Bill and the headman respected each other and understood each. They could have killed each other, but they didn't. Bill could have shot the headman, but he fought him. The headman could have killed Bill, but he saw Bill for the grieving father that he was.
   The end of the novel moved away from the roving party, and Bill took up his own vendetta. We never return to the roving party, and Bill seems to have isolated himself even more from both races by the end of the story. He is further away from the white man, yet he has killed so many aboriginals that they won't accept him.
   He can hopefully find some kind of peace.

Catch-22

I have just finished reading Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. I didn't read it in school - my school made us read 'modern literacy'. I wish we had read more true classics. This piece of writing really is brilliant. It's incredibly unique.
   I think the TV show MASH! is based on this book, although based on the wrong war. It has the same warped sense of humour. It's the ironic and bitter kind of of a man that has served in an ineffectual army with superiors that should never have been promoted.
   The bitter humour does very well to alleviate some of the horror depicted throughout the story. A young boy getting cut in half by a show-off pilot, then that pilot killing himself by flying the plane into a hill; a man mistakenly thought dead, who couldn't stop the paperwork and then his family believing he was really dead; and the police brutality and senseless killing. The stupidity of the superior officers, the games they play, and the mindless decisions they make that result in many deaths. Sometimes humour is 

the only way that we can face the ugly truth. Maybe it's how Joseph Heller could cope with it without going crazy like his characters.
   Yossarian is the main character. He's an anti-hero. He's unlikeable, difficult, crazy, and you never get a really good sense of who he is. One moment he's moral, the next moment he's an anarchist. One moment he's a breaking up fights, the next moment he's causing them. One moment he's falling in love, the next moment he's hurting people and planning to kill them. Despite all this, he still attracts a small loyal group of other officers, and you do start to find yourself empathising with him.
   The few female characters in the book are either used for sex by the officers, or they are whores seeking officers out. They are trying to survive in the ways they know how, in a country that has been under a dictatorship for years and who have just been liberated. Other than the American army men, there are no healthy young men left, and there seem to be few jobs and lots of orphans. The Italy portrayed by Joseph Heller was not healthy at the end of WWII.
   It's a difficult book to read. The first half of the novel doesn't move forward in time - it keeps circling back on itself and twisting story lines, linking various characters. There are lots of character, but each are so unique that it's not hard to keep track of who's who. Joseph Heller does not portray his characters nicely, nor are they handsome or particularly talented. They all have a lot of issues, increased by the war,  but most were already neurotic and selfish.
   Catch-22 is some made up policy that the officials use to justify their decisions. 'They have the right to do anything that we can't stop them from doing', and you can't get out of the army for being crazy because by wanting to get out the the army you prove that you're sane.
   Everyone should read this.

The Five Second Shortcut to Writing in the Lyric Register

The writing exercise that I took on this week was one suggested by Steve Almond. He suggests that many young writers believe that if they throw enough beauty at the page, the results will be truth. In fact, he says, just the opposite is true. The effort to express complex emotional truths with precision is what leads language to rise into beauty. Steve goes on to say that writers need to slow down when their emotions are running their highest.
   The exercise is to write a scene that captures an intense moment in your life. The bulk of the scene must be no longer than 5 seconds in real time. Rather than moving the action forward, the aim is to concentrate on slowing down and moving inward.
   I chose to write about my first kiss. This is not really the most emotional piece ... almost comical. Here it goes:

His thigh was pressed against mine. He was so close. I hoped he wouldn't feel me shaking. I was shaking all over - involuntary muscle spasms, like I was shivering. But the air was so hot that my skin was covered in a fine film of sweat - or was that from nerves as well? I placed my sweaty palm flat on the concrete floor, trying to cool my body down through my hand. In doing so, I also lean closer to him, seemingly casually.
   We were supposed to be a couple. Thirteen years old, and not having spoken much to each other before, our friends all decided that we were supposed to be an item. He was shorter than me, slightly fat around the waist, albino looking, and for some reason, quite popular.
   Maybe he thought that I was quivering with desire, and that I was panting with lust. But it was the complete opposite. My breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, none of which brought the air to my lungs. I was gulping air, and in my mind I was puffing up like a balloon: ready to burst.
   It came so suddenly. I wasn't even looking at him - I was fixated on my best friend engaged in a passionate kiss across the room with another boy. Somehow his face is suddenly on mine: his lips are suddenly all over my mouth. My eyes stay open and I see his ice-blue irises looking straight back at me. This embarrasses me, that I'm caught with my eyes open (aren't you supposed to kiss with your eyes closed, like in the movies?), but I'm too shocked to close my eyes.
   There is a fat tongue in my mouth, and so much saliva. It is forcing itself in and out through my lips, filling my mouth with fluid. It tastes like vegemite toast. His cheeks seem to puff in and out, like a fish.
   This must be the worst kiss in the world, I thought at the time. I don't think I helped make it any better. I was so shocked, I'm not sure I did anything in response to the sucking fish on my face. I probably just hung my mouth open, and stiffened my tongue, trying to force his out.
   I was instantly disgusted. There was no rising desire, which I have felt with many subsequent kisses with other people. There was no touching, other than than the sucker fish on my lips. There was nothing but vegemite saliva.
   I kept my eyes open the whole time, not engaging in the kiss, just a passive receiver. All I could see was the ice-blue eyes staring straight at me, which I started to feel was a very aggressive stare. The false confidence of a boy who had been told in the past that he was a good kisser.
   I'm not sure if it was as bad for him as it was for me, because he broke away and gave me a dopey smile. I don't know what my face showed in response to that dopey smile (shock, disgust, amusement?), but he must have got the hint that I never wanted that kiss repeated. Because after I struggled up from the concrete floor, trying to keep my mini skirt as far down my legs as possible, he never tried to speak to me again!

The White Queen

I really like Philippa Gregory's style. She makes these historical women in to powerful, present and unforgettable characters.
   I recently finished reading 'The White Queen', which is the first in the series that Philippa is currently writing on the Plantagenant line of the English royal family. The next book is 'The Red Queen', which I have bought and the book is sitting in my shelf to read soon.
   Since I didn't learn much history in school (history is virtually non-existent in Australian schools these days), I absorb as many historical novels as I can. Even if they are just broadly based around an historical theme, I feel like I'm learning something, and I'm gradually piecing history together through the various novels that I have read based on various times and countries.

   This was a true love story. Elizabeth Woodville was an older widow with no fortune or connections to benefit the new, young king Edward. The marriage must have been for love: what else? Edward defied his advisors, and ultimately plunged the country into years of war, because he wanted to marry Elizabeth. Edward didn't have to honour their secret marriage, because there were no proper witnesses for a royal wedding. But he did. In this story, Edward is portrayed as a very honourable man (except for the fact that he had high sexual needs and slept with lots of other women).
   I don't think Elizabeth was very adept at the political game. She was a generous women to those she liked. She didn't try to foster relationships and alliances that may have assisted her. She didn't seem to do anything for the people of England, except parade around and show off their wealth. The political game seemed to drive her crazy. She wasn't making logical decisions, and she was paranoid. She is obsessed with controlling as far into the future, and as far down his line of heirs, as possible. Too bad if the plans she has for her children now, is not what they want for themselves when they are old enough to choose.
   Some of her decisions, while they may not be considered moral today, were probably moral in her time and in her position (like sending an innocent page boy to his death in the position of her youngest son - the life of that page boy would have been worth nothing compared with a potential heir to the thrown).
   Elizabeth also believed strongly in her ancestor being a water goddess, and that she had magical powers by calling on her ancestor. She was playing with fire, and somehow avoided not being openly accused as a witch. Her mother was killed as a witch, though.
   The book ends with somewhat of a cliffhanger. The missing heir returns. Elizabeth's oldest daughter is about to be the new queen - to either the current king (or hedging their bets) even to the potential new king, Henry Tudor. War is coming: I know enough history to know that Henry Tudor does come and win ... but when?
   I can't wait to read and review The Red Queen.

Writer's Block

How slack am I? I haven't done a writing task for a few weeks. I could use the common excuse: I'm busy. But, I know that when it comes down to writing, the Nike slogan says it all: just do it.

Back to the excuse: I am busy. And I really am. I'm out of the house for more than twelves hours each weekday, working and commuting. Work is really busy. I'm also finished a degree - I'm doing one subject at the moment, by correspondence. I also have to nurture my relationship with my husband, and give him the attention that he needs. Aren't all these proper excuses for not writing?

It's not like I haven't been writing - just not for pleasure. I've written a chapter in a legal handbook for young property lawyers. I've written affidavits, reports, audits, management strategies, and tonnes of emails! But none of this writing is for myself - it's all for someone else.

I know that if I make time, I can sit down and write. The words will flow. So 'writer's block' isn't an accurate description of my problem.

My mine problem: procrastination.

Why am I always reluctant to further my writing career? Why can't I do something that will benefit me? Why can't I achieve my ultimate goal? What am I scared of? Am I scared that I will succeed? Isn't success the point? So, what's holding me back?

If anyone can answer any of these questions, I'd love to know.

Bright and Distant Shores

Over the last two weeks, I have been reading 'Bright and Distant Shores' by Dominic Smith. It is a new novel by an Australian author, though he now lives in the USA, I understand. I won the book in a competition, from the publisher Allen and Unwin. With all the rain we have had in Sydney this long weekend, it was a perfect opportunity to sit and read, and do nothing else - so I finally finished this book.
   About a young man who gets commissioned to take a ship through the pacific islands to acquire weaponry and artefacts for a rich insurance magnate who wanted to add something special to the new building that he had built (briefly the world's tallest building).

   It is very well researched, and the writing flows very well. However, I'm left feeling unsatisfied. What was the plot? There wasn't really one - there were no peaks of the classic three-act structure. There was no building to a climax, and there was no resolution. Or if there were plot points, they were too subtle. Maybe Dominic Smith was aiming for a picaresque structure, since the novel mainly followed Owen Graves through his trip on the Lady Cullion. There were some episodes, though none of them really peaked. Owen's position moved from poor to rich, and from having itchy feet to happily settling into family life. I'm just not sure that I understand the point of the story, other than learning some historical information.
   Although the reader follows Own Graves through 500 pages of novel, his character still isn't clear. He's a rather flat character, and I'm not sure that his personality is strong enough that the reader would know what he would do in any particular situation. He's portrayed as a loner, but then he has some kind of natural authority amoung the sailors and other working-class men. He is a fairly poor negotiator, and yet the captain of the ship is convinced by his arguments on a number of occasions. He doesn't seem to fit in with anyone, and he also has some sense of protecting those weaker than him (although I consider him to be relatively weak himself). The reader doesn't get much insight through his thoughts, except about his fiancee, Adelaide.
   The redeeming character in this story is the native islander, Argus. Although there were some discrepancies in his character as well (he was very effeminate, though could lead a group of native warriors to kill the English pirates terrorising their island), he was far more substantial. I felt that Argus should have had a good ending, whilst I didn't care so much about the other characters who did get the good ending.
   Jethro, the 'foppish' son of the magnate who comes on the expedition, was unconvincing. He was always erratic, and I couldn't see his behaviour getting worse throughout the novel, except that the other characters seemed to be noticing that he was going crazy.
   Otherwise, the pace was good, the writing was very smooth and easy to read. There wasn't too much jumping around between character view points - whole chapters tended to be from a particular point of view. The historical information was also great - I enjoy learning something when I read, and I certainly did learn about Chicago in the 1890s, about seafaring in the same period, and also a fair bit information about how science was approached at the time.
   Should I start rating what I read? In this case, I would give this book three our of five stars.

You-Me-I-You in the Cafeteria

I did another writing exercise this week, to get the creative juices following. This exercise was suggested by Clyde Edgerton, in my 'Now Write!' book. The exercise is designed to get me thinking from a point of view that is not as easy for me. It's very easy to write from a point of view that is similar to your own - or is your own. In this exercise, Clyde suggests to think of someone you dislike, then imagine that you walk into a cafeteria for lunch and that persons is there. After writing from your own point of view, then turn it around and write from the other person's point of view - get into their head. Here's what I came up with:

My point of view:
   I stretched out my stride as I made my way up the hill. My heels clicked on the concrete footpath and my skirt swished around my knees. It was lunch time, and I was looking forward to a large plate of pesto fettucini at Bella's cafe.
   Reaching the antique green door, I pressed my shoulder against the wood to open the heavy weight. As usual, Bella's was toasty warm, with a wood fire blazing in the heater.
   As I uncoiled my scarf from my neck, I glanced around at the other customers. A couple of middle-aged women sat to the left of the doorway, their elbows on the table as they leaned towards each other. An older man sat at the bench set in the front window, a magazine spread out beside his bowl of soup. A young couple sat far down the back of the dining area. They were quietly smiling at each other, holding hands on the table as they waited for their meals. The final person sat his his back against the double brick wall, nestled behind a small table beside the heater. He had a newspaper spread out in front of him, and his toasted sandwich on a chair beside him, to make space for the broadsheet. It was Simon Wagstaff. 
   My breath caught in my chest, and I nearly groaned and rolled my eyes. Now I wouldn't be able to just relax and enjoy my lunch. I was already tense, just from seeing him, and I practically tiptoed to the counter to order my pesto fettucini, in the hope that Simon wouldn't notice me.
   He was the most arrogant, misogynistic, asshole that I had ever met.
   After I ordered, I chose a table near the young couple, so the direct line of sight to Simon was partially obstructed by the barista's coffee machine.
   When my meal came, I forgot for a while that Simon was in the room, I was enjoying the pasta that much. Then Simon approached the register to pay, just as I was slowing down from shovelling the food into my mouth to savouring each mouthful. He briefly smiled and nodded in my direction, acknowledging me.
   Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over, I prayed as he received his change from the waitress. He turned and walked out of the cafe, the bell jingling happily behind him.

Simon's point of view:
   I really didn't want to go back to work, so I was taking a long lunch break at Bella's, reading The Age and eating my toastie slowly. The place was practically empty, and so warm that I was soon drowsy. 
   The bell on the door jingled, and I briefly glanced up to see Jacqui standing in the doorway, unwinding her scarf. The wife of one of my colleagues, I had come across this confident professional young woman a few times before. She was younger than me, but she made me feel like a child. She was unlike most of the women that I usually dealt with, and she didn't react to my charm like other woman did. In fact, I thought she was attracted to me, and hated it.
   I pretended to keep reading my paper, ignoring her. I sensed her go rigid when she noticed me, and then listened to her clipped walk across the tiles to the counter.
   I almost grinned to myself at her discomfort. I knew she wasn't up-herself, because I had seen her interact with all sorts of people. She fascinated me, and I watched her surreptitiously whenever I had the chance.
   She chose a table where she wouldn't have to look at me, and I was extremely conscious that she hadn't at least said 'hello'. If she had said 'hello', I might have decided immediately to leave her alone. But as it was, for the rest of my lunch I thought about going over and sitting with her, just to annoy her. I knew she would already be sitting and hoping that I wouldn't say or do anything.
   In the end, I decided to leave her in peace. I paid and left with barely a nod in her direction. She gave me a faint smile, and I couldn't wait to see and torment her again.

Eucalyptus

Continuing my aim to read widely, and try authors and genres that I wouldn't normally read, I read Eucalyptus by Murray Bail.
   Rarely is that a novel that is truly unique. So often writers mimic each other, whether or not it is unconscious, but they still stick to a writing style. Eucalyptus is so unique that it is a masterpiece standing on its own. Nothing comes near it.
   My expectation from the title was that the story was based in country Australia, and my expectation from the thickness of the novel that there would be a lot to the story. I was right on the first, and wrong on the second. Murray Bail seems like the kind of slowly moving man that watches everything. I picture him as an observer, taking everything in around him.

   The main character, the father, has been described as gruff and a captor. I don't see him that way. He is a typical Aussie bloke from that era - no expression, little communication, and clueless about women. He thought he was protecting his daughter, and he thought what worked for him would work for her.
   The daughter's fate is likened to a princess in a fairytale, but there is no evil in this novel. There is just realism, life and death.
   One of my expectations was that the story would be substantial, but it turned out that Murray Bail used the main story to weave in lots of little stories and anecdotes. There was also slabs of information about eucalypts, which got a bit boring, but also made me ashamed that I don't know more about our native trees. I skipped through a lot of the information, and the short stories, urgently seeking the next tail of the story line. I get like that - impatient - when I enjoy a story and the characters, and I just want the pace to move a bit faster. If the novel doesn't accommodate the pace, which this one didn't, then I make the pace up myself ... by skipping over whole sections.
   I need to read this novel again, more slowly, and savour it. It is a literary work, not popular fiction, and should be read accordingly.
   Be careful with your expectations when you read this one, and enjoy the beautiful imagery that Murray Bail creates.

Animating the Inanimate

I have started writing the first chapter of my novel this weekend. As a warm up, to get me motivated to write, I decided to do an exercise to get myself motivated. From the book Now Write, I decided to do an exercise by Joan Leegant called Animating the Inanimate.
   Joan suggests that ascribing feelings and behaviours to inanimate objects can add surprising elements to fiction. As well as illuminating a character, it can also add depth and texture to the world of the story by suggesting that all things - living and otherwise - play a role in our lives, even if we are not aware of it.
   The exercise is to try to give a physical object some emotions or behaviours of its own, and see what it does for your character and story. The writer can be as tentative or as full-throtle about the object's feelings and behaviours as they want, and be open to what it can show about the world of the story.
   Because I wasn't writing as part of my story, but using it as a warm up, I decided to write a quick piece from the point of view of the first physical object I saw. Here it is:

Unlike some of the others, who are brought out when they're needed and promptly put away, I have pride of place in the kitchen. I never get put away, because I am needed many times each day.
   Therefore, I am well positioned to know what is going on in my house. It is around me that the morning routine rotates. I am there when the happenings of the day are discussed as the sun goes down and the white florescent light shines on. I am privy to the financial discussions, the arguments, and the expressions of love. I witness many embraces, many tears, and many celebrations. I know all the family secrets before anyone else, because I alone am listening when no one else is around.
   They place a lot of trust in me, and they love me for it. It is me that they listen for as the dawn light filters in. It is my side that they cup tenderly, sometimes pulling their hands away with a shock, feeling my warmth. It is I that gets lifted gently, and then replaced in my cradle when they are done. I am indispensable ... I am a kettle.


It feels very childish - like something I would have written in primary school. But it did the trick, and got me motivated to right. I have completed the first draft of my first chapter.

The Boy In the Striped Pyjamas

Having just finished Wolf Hall, I thought I would read something quick and light. I chose The Boy In the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne. I hadn't heard anything about this story, and thought it would be easy. It is written from the point of view of a 9 year old, and very refreshing. However, this story is the most shocking and saddening story that I have read in a long time. It was so touching, and I think was enhanced because of the point of view that it was written from.
   The main character, Bruno, who is 9 years old, does seem to be a lot younger in many of his thought processes. He may be a little simple, or the writer may have had difficulty remembering how a 9 year old really thinks ... or he was so protected from the real world by his mother that he was extremely naive. He lived in his own world, and he was the centre of his universe. It is touching how he pronounces things wrong: he calls the Fuhrer the "Fury", and he calls Auschwitz "Out-With".

   Bruno's father is a Commandant in the Nazi party. He tells Bruno that the people in Auschwitz are "not people at all". Bruno is too young to understand racism. But his mother is depressed and (although she seems to like her husband's status) she doesn't agree with what he's doing. Bruno's grandmother is the only person that Bruno has seen stand up to his father, and openly oppose the views of the Nazi party. Bruno, though, doesn't understand what the argument is over. Through the dialogue that Bruno hears, the reader draws this conclusion. Bruno's mother says "we don't have the luxury of thinking", and she means that if they think any differently from the Nazi party that their lives are in danger.
   At the end, Bruno's father seems to realise the horror of what he has done, even if only to his own son. He seems to realise the suffering that he subjected people too, even if he thought of the Jews as less than human. There is a reference at the very end of the book to Bruno's father being taken away submissively by other soldiers. I think this is the allies coming to free to Jews from Auschwitz and taking Bruno's father prisoner. He goes willingly because he thinks he deserves to be punished.
   Such a simple, touching story. Everyone should read this.

My murderer

In Stage 2: Module 1 of the Creative Writing Course, I developed the character that is going to be murdered in my novel. The Creative Writing Course is now finished, and I am working hard on my novel.
   This week, I worked on developing my characters. I developed my main character and his love interest, his parents and his siblings. I also developed my murderers.
   The novel I am writing is based on a historical murder: an unsolved murder. So, after doing some research on the many theories about who murdered Jim Barclay, I have decided to go with the most popular theory: he was murdered by cattle thieves.
   My cattle thieves are John "Jack" Beveridge and James Sidney "Sid" Beveridge. These brothers were the third and fifth children on five, born in Harrietville. They grew up with parents that were too busy for them, running a farm and a guesthouse at the gateway to the snow fields in Victoria. By the time Sid was born, his parents had absolutely no time for him. Jack became Sid's mentor. He idolised Jack, and tailed him everywhere. Jack was a cruel man. Harsh, unsympathetic and ruthless. He was strict on Sid and uncompromising. He beat Sid, called him names, put him down, and broke him. However, he would not let anyone else talk down to Sid, and would not let Sid put up with anyone talking down to him. He would set Sid on people, like a fighting dog. Jack dominated Sid completely.
   Jack worked in a gold mine, saving money to buy a farm. In the early 1900s, he bought a farm at the top of the Buckland valley, with cattle lease rights including the Barry Mountains and Tea Tree Range. Sid and Ada went to live with him, and work for him. Jack would buy cheap cattle all over Victoria, and he would send Sid to collect. Sid became an excellent cattleman, and would steal extra cattle when he was driving Jack's cattle home.
   Sid had no idea of what was right or wrong. He took what he wanted, and wasn't pulled up by anyone because they were scared of him. Sid was scared of no one except for Jack. He was a fighter. Jack wouldn't berate Sid for stealing, because to contributed to his own wealth. Sid often stole to give a gift to Jack.
   Sid was simple. He wasn't interested in anything but making Jack happy, and cattle. He loved cattle. He dreamt about cattle. He loved the calves, how they played, and how they wagged their tails when they drank from their mother. He hated weaning the calves, which he always thought was done too early. He hated selling them, but Jack would hit him over the back of the head and sell them anyway.
   They drank a lot. They never married. They kept their sister like a maid.
   They wanted Jim Barclay's cattle, which were fine cattle and worth a lot. Jack set Sid to kill Jim, and they stole all the cattle. Conveniently, Jim Barclay and Jack Beveridge shared the same initials, so Jack sold the cattle as if they were his own. He got very rich and bought up land all over north-east Victoria.
   Sid was never concerned about being caught. It never crossed his mind that what he had done was wrong. If the police had ever suspected, and come asking questions, Jack would have dobbed Sid straight in and turned his back on his brother. But it never came to this.

Wolf Hall

I haven't done a book review for a while, because I have been reading the epic novel by Hilary Mantel: Wolf Hall. It won the Man Booker prize in 2009. It took me about three weeks, when I am used to reading a book in a week. At a few points, I was ready to give up. The pace was slow, some of the paragraphs were nearly a page long.  It was also confusing, because the writer kept referring to Thomas Cromwell (the main character) as 'he', even when there were other male characters in the scene. So, I was always having to reread sections to work out you said what, and what Cromwell actually did and didn't do.

   After taking about 300 pages to build up, I did actually like Cromwell a lot. He was a great character. I think I like him because he was modern for his time, and a realist. He was also highly intelligent, and a hard worker. He was fair, and compassionate.  He's also never completely loyal to anyone but himself, and he's not afraid to lie and cheat to get what he wants.
   The other reason I kept reading was that I know and love the story of King Henry VIII. This is the fourth novel about Henry that I have read. I have also watched the TV series: the Tudors. The story of Henry has never been told from a secondary perspective around Cromwell. It portrayed Henry in a different light, too, because of the experiences Cromwell had lived and where he was coming from.
   I think the next novel I should read about Henry will be A Man for All Seasons. Apparently there are some stark contrasts between how the characters are portrayed in each of these books. Sir Thomas More irritated me in this novel. But that is hardly surprising, since I have very little time for extremists. And that's what I consider More to be.
   Another interesting thing about this novel was that it was written in the present tense. It is unique to find  novel that is written this way, especially one that flows well, because I had to have it pointed out to me before I even noticed.
   Readers who are not familiar with King Henry's story, and the people in his court, may find it difficult to keep track of the characters. Other interesting peripheral characters are also introduced, which breathed fresh life into the story.
   The most disappointing thing for me was that I felt the book finished in the wrong place. I thought it was called Wolf Hall because it would continue through until Jane Seymour became queen. The may that Mantel has portrayed Jane Seymour makes me wonder how she ever got noticed by Henry. Answering that question was one of the reasons I kept reading, but not to have that question answered has left me feeling unsatisfied.
   Obviously, if we don't even get to the point when Jane Seymour is queen, then we don't get to Cromwell's lutheran queen, and the beginning of his end. Does that mean that there is room for a sequel to Mantel's epic? I hope not: I can't cope with putting this much effort into reading.

Creative Writing Course - Stage 2 - Module 5

This was the last week of my Creative Writing Course Stage 2, with the Sydney Writers' Centre. We focused on redrafting, redrafting, redrafting, editing, and finding an agent.

The best thing about this course was that it made us focus on the book we want to write, and helped us make substantial progress towards getting started. Some significant scenes were written, characters developed, and plots constructed.

Our assignment focused on the climax of our story. Here's my submission:

This is a very difficult task. Although I have a broad outline of the story in my head, I like it to unfold while I write. Having to write the climax when I haven't fully developed my characters and setting is difficult. I know that I want Harry to find Jim's killers and subtly confront them. But I don't know where or how that's going to happen yet. I don't think I'll end up using this scene, and I've rushed it because I know I won't use it. But the exercise was great, because it's made me think that far ahead.

ASSIGNMENT
by Jacqui

He sat in the hard pew at the back of the church, back stiff, and hands folded unnaturally in his lap. Mark sat beside him, leaning towards Harry and whispering gossip about each of the locals as they filed past to the front of the church. Harry was not listening closely. He was watching each man pass, trying to recognise any of the figures that he had seen from a distance, sitting on top of the Buckland spur and watching the drovers. He began to think his intuition was off. He was kidding himself if he thought that Jim's murderer would walk through the arch and identify himself. It was a long shot that the murderer had been sitting comfortably here in Myrtleford, as the police scoured Mansfield, Dargo and Gippsland.

But when Harry saw him, he knew instantly. An average looking man, wearing a suit that was rolled up at the sleeves, and the legs tucked into his boots. The man had forgotten to remove his hat as he entered. It was pulled low over his eyes. As Harry watched, the man reached up and lifted the hat from his head, revealing deep-set eyes and greasy dark hair.

"Jack Beveridge," Mark whispered, continuing his commentary which Harry had not listened to until now. Harry took note to the initials - JB. Jim Barclay. "His family is from Harrietville. A whole heap of Beveridges all over there. He's come into some money recently, because he's been buying up farms and land all over Buckland and Abbeyard. Strange, though. His brother is always trailing close by." As if to prove his point, a taller man ducked into the interior of the church. "There he is. Sid."

The service passed without Harry hearing a word. He murmered "Amen" when the congregation did. He tried to concentrate, but his eyes kept slipping over to where Jack and Sid Beveridge sat. When the priest finally shut his book with a snap, Harry slid from his pew and ducked straight out the back of the church, into the sun. He was letting the warmth soak into his upturned face when Mark found him.

"We're not leaving yet. Let me introduce you around to some of the best cattle men you'll ever meet." Harry nodded.

He shook hands and chatted about weather and calf prices with various landowners and managers for the next half hour. Finally, Mark eased him towards where Jack stood with his brother and a short woman who was cackling away to them.

"Jack," Mark got his attention. "This is my cousin, Harry Smith, from down Eaglevale way." Jack turned slowly towards Harry, his deep eyes slipping across Harry's face and taking in his extended hand. Sid shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Harry noticed recognition flash across his face. He wondered if this man had sat upon a horse on a ridge and watched him, as Harry himself had done. These were definitely the men droving up the Buckland.

Jack extended his hand and grasped Harry's, his rough palm rubbing on Harry's own, and his thumb calloused from holding a rein. Jack firmed his grip, and Harry also squeezed harder. "Nice suit." Surprise passed across Jack's eyes briefly. Harry recognised the suit as Jim's. It was dark expensive wool, and cut for a man far taller and broader than Jack.

The men continued to hold their hand shake, looking into each other's eyes, each now knowing that the other man knew that he knew. Harry recognised the importance of this moment, and would not drop his eyes first. He would be forever in danger if he did. This man would come and hunt him down. Or send his brother.

Sid shifted again and stepped forward, breaking Jack's gaze and drawing his eyes towards his brother. The moment passed, and Harry released Jack's hand as the other man stepped back. He watched Jack for a moment longer, before turning to grasp Sid's hand for two brief pumps. It was clear that Sid did not see what had passed, and though Harry felt sure that Sid knew who he was, Sid did not suspect that Harry knew who they were. Knew their darkest deeds, and where they had come upon their money. Selling cattle with the brand "JB".

After briefly discussing the lack of rainfall, Harry let Mark steer him away. He felt the deep set eyes burn a hollow into his back, which made him walker taller and stronger. He knew.

Here's my tutor's comments:

To Jacqui
Jacqui, I like the second half of this scene although, like you, I’m not sure it’s the proper climax.

The first half, though, could be significantly improved by giving us some of the gossip Mark is whispering to Harry.

This has a couple of functions: first, it fleshes out the sense of community and closeness you have established earlier (and it may also be very amusing!). Also, when Mark then introduces Jack, it will flow more naturally.

When you do get to write the climax, however, I hope that you will give us a little more than this.  ‘Subtle’ is all very well, but I feel you are being just a little too subtle here. 

For example, we don’t get Jack’s final reaction.  Yes, he knows Harry knows, but what then?  What expressions cross his face?  How does his body language change?  When Harry watches the man ‘for a moment longer’, what does he see?

This is the big pay-off for the reader – they have been wondering and wondering who the killer is, and now they want a good look at him.  A chance of understanding why all this has happened.

Don’t disappoint them.

I love Harry as a character and I love the details of interaction, like hand shakes and chats about prices.  But to give me a reason to have read the story in the first place, you need to show me the killer in psychological as well as physical detail.

Now that my course is over, I really need to knuckle down and write. Next weekend ...