Pam Rosenthal: The Edge of Impropriety (February Book Club)

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• Author's website

Pam Rosenthal's The Slightest Provocation made me an instant fan. I love both literary fiction and genre romance, and Rosenthal's special blend is intelligent romance with a literary technique and a dense style of storytelling that make for an absorbing read.

The Edge of Impropriety, however, is mixed for me. It's smart and provocative, and Rosenthal's writing style is always a delight, but the romance engaged me more cerebrally than emotionally.

The Edge of Impropriety details an affair between Marina Wyatt, widowed countess, trashy novelist and sexually liberated woman, and Jasper Hedges, fuddy-duddy antiquarian and guardian of a niece and "nephew" (Jasper’s unacknowledged son and close friend to Marina). Marina and Jasper plan a purely physical affair, but that compartmentalization founders as secrets about their pasts are gradually revealed.

Lovely moments

Marina is secretive from the start. Even before she's identified as a leading part in the romance, we hear third-hand, muted speculation on some of her secrets--a third party in her marriage and possible Irish origins. But she can be forthright in her inner monologue, and it’s there that we get some of those lovely Rosenthal moments that breathe life into the characters.

Rosenthal doesn't waste words but drops the reader directly into the characters' heads. I love the way that her dense writing slows me down and focuses my full attention on the page. For example, a very few words lay out Marina’s marriage and emotional landscape, both her and Jasper's households, and the story's slant on genre conventions (relegating a dashing young potential hero to the role of sidekick, and highlighting the heroine's lack of youthful ardor or innocence).

... despite his perfect manners, splendid waistcoats, and sunny good nature, Sir Anthony Hedges had turned out to want love--the passionate, heartfelt stuff--in a way that touched and rather baffled her.

Nor would it hurt, she expected, if he had someone to help pay for the waistcoats.

But as Marina couldn't give him either thing--and as she'd surprised herself by discovering that she liked him--she'd offered her friendship and advised him to make the best use of the Season by achieving a good marriage.

Rejecting his advances had been surprisingly exhilarating. Making her own choices was still a new thing for her, after all her years on the receiving end of other people's--of men's--choices.

Glancing up at the bright green ivy twining ’round the windows, she preened in the sunlight filtering through the tiers of Belgian lace. Still in her loose chintz morning gown, she allowed a deep, uncorseted breath to sweep through her waist and belly until it made shuddery little aches in her thighs. Souvenir of last night’s encounter. Reminder of the pleasures and independence she’d achieved. Good to keep it that way.

Time & distance

Another Rosenthal signature is that history is part of the present—not simply through flashbacks but in the characters’ streams of consciousness. In The Slightest Provocation these time slips explicate the central couple’s history together, and demonstrate both the intimacy and the conflict between them. In Impropriety, though, I find the effect more distancing; Marina soliloquizes so much during sex that I half-suspect she’s bored.

To be sure, it’s a tricky plot to pull off. The relationship conflict involves keeping secrets and withholding emotional intimacy despite physical intimacy—a style that also kept much of the emotional development under the surface, perhaps buried in Marina's welter of words. After all, the central characters are a born lecturer and a writer who never turns off her inner editor until in the last few pages she finally

thought that she’d thought enough for one day.

Edge of impatience

The Edge of Impropriety’s themes are interesting as always, and I enjoy the way Rosenthal straddles the line between conventional genre romance forms and more experimental literary structures. I’m a staunch fan of Rosenthal's writing, and Marina and Jasper are wonderfully individualistic--no cardboard cutouts here--but it took me most of the book to get invested in the central problems of the relationship. So:

A for intelligence, A-/B+ for a distinctive writing style that didn't quite carry the book for me, and C for compellingness. Which yields that safest of grades, the overall B+.

Read instead

If I've convinced you not to read this book, I sort of wish I hadn't. But what could be better than a Rosenthal... but another Rosenthal? I’ve already professed my love for The Slightest Provocation. Read it!

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This review is part of the February Book Club’s debut. From most to least enthusiastic, the four participants' reviews are:

• Tumperkin’s rave review
  
• Meriam’s rave with reservations review
  
• RfP’s reservations but still a fan review
  
• Jessica’s not too thrilled review

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June Jordan: We are the ones we have been waiting for

Passion: New Poems, 1977-1980

• On Amazon
• On IndieBound

• Author's website
• Audio

I don't think many people realize that a poem by Jamaican-American activist June Jordan shaped the rhetoric of the US presidential election. Specifically, the last line of her "Poem for South African Women":

we are the ones we have been waiting for.

Sound familiar? It's been a rallying cry for a number of groups, including a Hopi prayer for the new millenium. Alice Walker took the line as the title of her 2006 collection of essays on activism, We Are the Ones We Have Been Waiting For: Inner Light in a Time of Darkness. And all last year, it was in Senator Obama's campaign speeches.

The poem

The poem isn't about party politics, but it's well suited to a political message about emotion, inspiration, and transformation. Here's the full text, from the June Jordan website. Take a read; it's not long. (And then, to segue from sublime to ridiculous, watch the crazy political ad after it :)

Poem for South African Women
June Jordan, 1980

Our own shadows disappear as the feet of thousands
by the tens of thousands pound the fallow land
into new dust that
rising like a marvelous pollen will be
fertile
even as the first woman whispering
imagination to the trees around her made
for righteous fruit
from such deliberate defense of life
as no other still
will claim inferior to any other safety
in the world

The whispers too they
intimate to the inmost ear of every spirit
now aroused they
carousing in ferocious affirmation
of all peaceable and loving amplitude
sound a certainly unbounded heat
from a baptismal smoke where yes
there will be fire

And the babies cease alarm as mothers
raising arms
and heart high as the stars so far unseen
nevertheless hurl into the universe
a moving force
irreversible as light years
traveling to the open eye

And who will join this standing up
and the ones who stood without sweet company
will sing and sing
back into the mountains and
if necessary
even under the sea:

we are the ones we have been waiting for.

I find it very evocative, and it's quite brilliant as an activist poem. It opens with multitudes transforming their land, and closes with still more choosing to join in; and so much of the imagery is about kindling life through imagination or action. The final "We are the ones we have been waiting for" reinforces the sense of a massive community and of a long-developing historic moment. And though it's an activist piece, there's no cynical political commentary; it's heart-on-the-sleeve stuff, inspiring rather than accusing.

(The Poetry Foundation has audio. I don't read the cadence at all as Jordan does, so it's interesting to hear her dramatic reading, and the MP3 includes the Sweet Honey in the Rock a capella song based on the last line.)

The soundbites

So, did June Jordan's poem really shape the rhetoric of the election? I think so.

Consider the response as soon as Obama's speeches started getting serious attention. That closing "We are the ones we’re waiting for" carried an obvious charge, but no one seemed to agree on its meaning. The "we" language, and the blatant call to arms, were so perfectly suited to campaign speech that they could be co-opted for any purpose.

That is, until Oprah dropped the "We" and proclaimed Obama "The One". Overnight, the phrase came to represent hubris and celebrity mania. "The One" and "We are the ones" even became a wacky ad that apparently depicted Obama as the anti-Christ. I'm not up on Armageddonology, so judge for yourself:



(Yes, that's Charlton Heston as Moses!)

Elections being more given to soundbites than poetry, I thought "The One" would alter the meaning of "We are the ones" forever. But in their final election night speeches, both Senator Obama and Senator McCain deliberately moved the rhetoric back from "I" to "we":

Obama: This is your victory. And I know you didn't do this just to win an election. And I know you didn't do it for me.

McCain: I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together....

No one on either campaign ever mentioned June Jordan, and there would have been plenty of reconciliatory language even without her poem, but she certainly shaped a major plank for both campaigns. And Jordan herself may be gone, but Alice Walker's still wielding her words. The day after the election, Walker published An Open Letter to Barack Obama. She ended with:

We are the ones we have been waiting for.

In Peace and Joy,
Alice Walker

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Two poems, for a change of pace

Q. What's shorter¹ than a short story²? And more elliptical³, layered with symbolism⁴, and interesting to read aloud⁵?

A. Why, a poem⁶.

¹In some instances.
²See ¹. This obviously excludes epic poems and short-short stories.
³That's an exaggeration, of course; my next post provides an example, and the post after that a counter-example.
⁴Which isn't strictly necessary to the form, but it's fun when it is.
⁵To tell the truth, some short stories are much more fun to read aloud than some poems.
⁶Or not. See ¹ through ⁵.

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Anyway, I've been rediscovering poetry in a minor way. My poetry books have been in storage for yonks, and until a few months ago I'd have said I didn't really miss them--but no, I do want that box back after all.

Believe it or not, the US presidential election reminded me of one poet I hadn't read since university. And another came up in an article about strange book titles like The Billionaire's Seductive Party Planner's Gigantic Secret. I won't turn this into a poetry blog (though stranger topics have been known to surface here), but I have two poems to get out of my system before returning to my regularly unscheduled programming.

Stay tuned, true believers.

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What is a bodice ripper?

Earlier this year, archaeologist Martin Rundkvist announced the discovery of a bona fide bodice ripper. (See silver thing at left. Surprisingly tame, isn't it?)

I should qualify that it was probably intended as a bodice lacer

that women used to lace a string or a ribbon through the lace holes of their bodices. They're usually about 7 cm long, often made out of silver with various kinds of decoration or spiral-twisted. They could be dull-pointed as they weren't intended to pierce fabric.

But surely many a lacing pin's been used for ripping bodices asunder, releasing buoyant bounties... in short, for unbosoming.

The grave's a fine and private place

Even the pin's location suggests illicit bodice-opening shenanigans. The pin probably dates to the 18th Century, but it was discovered at a Viking boat grave dating to 800-1000 AD. A little archaeological imagination makes the connection: Rundkvist surmises that three hundred years ago a Swedish lass lingered at the grave site with her bodice gaping. Apparently lovers have frequented graves for a long, long time.

Reinterpreting romance novel cover art

So what does this mean for the literary bodice ripper? Romance novels have a long tradition of lurid covers; the older novels in the genre often featured a bare-chested man ripping open the bodice of a stunned-looking woman. Or should I say, apparently ripping open. If the bodice ripper is really a bodice lacer, that puts a new complexion on the matter.

Consider the Valerie Sherwood cover below (left). In light of this new information, the man is not ripping off the woman’s gown but holding it on--for lack of a lacing pin. The Penelope Neri cover similarly shows a gentleman attempting to rectify a wardrobe malfunction. And Sandra Hill's Viking's prodigious digit? Likely the universal sign for "your pin's coming loose", much like the modern "XYZ" or "examine your zipper".


(Thanks to the Smart Bitches for their trove of covers.)
By these lights, these books have been done a, ahem, grave injustice. Bodice rippers? More like bodice savers!

More bodice ripper archaeology

See the full-size image and explanation at the excellent Aardvarchaeology blog. Rundkvist also gave a warm welcome to several "bodice ripper authors", and later had a career crisis and was advised to go into the bear-pelt ripper business.

More details on the excavation are in Antiquity v. 79 no. 303 (March 2005).

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Joanne Harris: Jigs & Reels: Stories

• On Amazon
• Author's website

I'd previously read Joanne Harris’ Chocolat and Gentlemen & Players: both intelligent novels and meticulously crafted, but I find her voice drones a bit at that length. However, I'm delighted to report that the stories in Jigs & Reels are tightly-written and varied. Harris' style remains quiet (with a few exceptions), but her interesting ideas take center stage in the shorter format, and I enjoy her light use of fantasy and horror as commentary.

A few of the stories retell fairytales or cynically predict the future; most have a creepy touch of the paranormal. They’re all direct in style, focusing on curious observations and unusual characters. ("Suburban witches, defiant old ladies, ageing monsters, suicidal Lottery winners, wolf men, dolphin women and middle-aged manufacturers of erotic leatherwear", says the cover).

A variety of central ideas

Most of Harris’ stories develop a central idea or character; few seem moody or experimental. The Little Mermaid and The Ugly Sister both rework fairytales into stories in which a woman lives according to the way others see her:

For a moment I tried to conceive of not being an Ugly Sister. Ugly is a word I've dragged behind me all my life; it defines who I am. Without it, what am I? The thought made me shiver.

The stranger saw my expression. "These things are just part of the roles we play," he said.

I particularly like the way Harris examines the Cinderella fairytale’s caricatures. Did the step-sisters need to be ugly, unkind, and undeserving? Or could all that drama be ordinary family friction, exaggerated to provide a more saintly, suffering Cinderella and a detestable pair of villains?

Also in a sentimental vein, Faith and Hope go Shopping is the tale of two elderlies on the lam--and the dreams they spin around a pair of red shoes and a copy of Lolita. In contrast, Eau de Toilette gives a stomach-turning olfactory tour of 18th-century court dress, while Waiting for Gandalf is a sting-in-the-tail story about middle-aged role-playing gamers.

Not a showy stylist

Harris' matter-of-fact tone works surprisingly well for such strange subject matter. Her even delivery helps persuade me of a perfectly ordinary reality populated by idiosyncratic characters. As Harris puts it:

they all think of themselves as perfectly normal, however unconventional their lifestyle. My suburban witches choose Bella Pasta for their high-school reunion and agonize about their weight; my dolphin woman falls in love with a man who is bad for her, just like any other woman, and my Ugly Sister, after three hundred years of being the villain of the piece, still only wants her prince….

This juxtaposition of the stodgy and the fantastical took me by surprise in several stories set in a conservative, old-fashioned England. For example, Gastronomicon (a Lovecraftian pastiche) introduces an ancient, exotic netherworld into an unadventurous domestic life. A seemingly dull housewife takes a few risks to spice up the dinner table, and the setting turns from humdrum to hair-raising. (Jasminembla has an excerpt.)

Several of these stories share similar timing; perhaps Harris overuses that moment when the worm turns. But the twist works more often than not. Sometimes I'm disappointed that the obvious solution is the answer, but often I feel the surprise, or I enjoy the shift in the story's atmosphere.

Overall, the collection has some great ideas, though a few stories seem underdeveloped or flat. I particularly appreciate the unusual combination of weird and accessible that distinguishes the best of the stories.

Grade: B+

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More by Harris

I haven’t fallen head-over-heels for any of Harris’ books, but they’re smart and they engage my curiosity. I have one more on my list: the Victorian-set Sleep, Pale Sister, whose blurb claims "a powerful, atmospheric and blackly gothic evocation of Victorian artistic life." See the description on Harris’ website.

Some of the Jigs & Reels stories revisit St Oswald’s Grammar School for Boys--the setting for Harris’ murder-and-identity mystery Gentlemen & Players. G&P is a good, if rather cold, read. The relationships of the faculty and students are sketched precisely, and the villain’s point of view interrupts strategically whenever the book verges on becoming cozy. I actually prefer G&P to the far better-known Chocolat.

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