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Teaser Tuesday: A Shopping Trip to the Stranger's Market

Tuesday, January 31, 2017 - 08:08

One of my worldbuilding "things" is to toss in very specific, concrete details that have to immediate relevance to the overall story in the moment, but will then be available as settings or resources in the future.

In Daughter of Mystery, when Margerit's relatives come to visit her in Rotenek at the Advent season, I had a passing mention of her taking her cousins to the "Strangers' Market" as a sort o tourist attraction. With a couple other passing references, I began to establish that this was a not-entirely-authorized institution on the edges of the wharf district (later established that it's in the vicinity of the Nikuleplaiz) where men who work on ships make a little on the side selling "exotic" trinkets that they've picked up in their travels, or perhaps handcrafts they make in idle hours on shipboard. (When I say "ships", we're talking about river barges and the like by the time they get to Rotenek, but I envision the workforce to have a lot of carryover from wider travel.)

So when Aukustin wants a taste of the wider world in The Mystic Marriage, he gets Tio to take him on an excursion to the Strangers' Market, with entirely too adventurous results. When Serafina wants to replace the broken bottle of hair oil that came originally from Alexandria, Luzie suggests the Strangers' Market as a good place to look. And that is where Serafina spots a very special little icon to give as a present.

The following scene wasn't in the original draft of Mother of Souls; I added it in revisions. The delivery of the gift had already been there, but I wanted to set it up a bit more. To give Serafina a chance to think about gifts both received and given. (And given that I needed her to be functionally destitute shortly afterward, there was a certain pearl necklace that I needed to dispose of.)

* * *

Chapter 30 - Serafina

Summer shifted the wares in the Strangers’ Market from the bright luxuries meant to tempt shoppers from the upper town to still rare but more practical goods offered to those unmoved by the seasons. One last errand brought Serafina’s steps to a booth presided over by a white-haired and wizened man. He sat behind the counter clutching one of the strings of beads that made the bulk of his wares, slipping the counters through his fingers and muttering over them one by one. She hadn’t come to view the rosaries, but she examined several of the more precious ones to distract from the object of her true interest. Coral and crystal, lapis and silver gilt. She hesitated, and reached for a more humble string of enameled beads whose pendant cross was made from a piece of rolled tin.

The man paused in his counting. “Not the one for a fine lady like you.”

Serafina ignored the empty flattery. She was returning to Rome in the same worn blue pelisse she had arrived in. No one would mistake her for a fine lady. She had one thing of value remaining and it sat hidden in the reticule dangling from her wrist.

“No,” she echoed. “That one’s not for a fine lady. The cross holds a relic, save it for someone who needs help.” It was a guess, but a faint glow of power leaked from the seams of the metal.

Now she turned her attention to her goal: a collection of small figures standing at one end of the counter. There was no time for long bargaining. She slid her choice to the center of the space.

“An excellent choice. Very fine workmanship. Said to be—”

“Do you take trade?” she interrupted.

His eyes narrowed.

Serafina loosened the strings on her reticule and pulled out the pearl necklace. She hadn’t worn it since the Royal Guild dinner…it seemed so long ago. She thought of Marianniz. If it had been a gift of the heart, she wouldn’t think of parting with it, but…

“An even trade. I think you will have the bargain of it.”

The man fingered the pearls and peered closely at the clasp, then tapped one of the beads against his teeth and nodded. “Would you like it delivered?”

She shook her head and he swathed the statuette carefully in a clean rag. It was small enough to slip into her reticule in place of the pearls.

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Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast Episode 6 - Transcript

Saturday, January 28, 2017 - 18:00

Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 6 - The True History of Catharina Vizzani

(Originally aired 2017/01/28 - listen here)

When you think about lesbians in 18th century Rome, probably the last thing you expect is parental acceptance. And yet that’s one of the many interesting aspects of the life of Catharine Vizzani. Another interesting aspect is that we have a detailed record of her adventures, her loves, and her death at a tragically young age. Unlike many such stories, the tragedy wasn’t a direct consequence of her sexuality, but rather of her disregard for convention in pursuing it.

For the details of Catharine’s life, I’m going to be reading extensively from an English translation of her biography, complete with the translator’s editorial commentary. In fact, let’s introduce you to the overview of her life in his words.

[Note: All quotations from the original text are presented verbatim, with the original spelling and capitalization preserved.]

“ALL our Passions are known to break out into very extravagant Sallies, but Love seems of all to be the most exorbitant; so that no one read in the History of human Nature will wonder, that a bare Report should ever have kindled such an ardent Affection in some, as to send the Persons thus infatuated a wandering, from one Country to another, in Quest of the desired Object; or that others have preferred the Gratification of their Love to Duty and Decency, to Tranquillity and Reputation.”

(Just so you know, this is the usual literary style of the time, so settle back and enjoy the polysyllabic loquacity. We continue.)

“The Subject before me is an Instance, that the Wantonness of Fancy, and the Depravity of Nature, are at as great a Height as ever; and that our Times afford a Girl, who, so far from being inferior to Sappho, or any of the Lesbian Nymphs, in an Attachment for those of her own Sex, has greatly surpassed them in Fatigues, Dangers, and Distress, which terminated in a violent Death. This the following Narrative will manifest, which is a pregnant Example of the shocking Ebulition of human Passions, yet, at the same Time, of a most firm Constancy and Daringness in a young Creature, tho’ with a sad Alloy of Guilt and Precipitancy.

“Our unfortunate Adventurer’s Name was Catherine Vizzani. She was born at Rome, and of ordinary Parentage, her Father being a Carpenter. When she came to her fourteenth Year, the Age of Love in our forward Climate, she was reserved and shy towards young Men, but would be continually romping with her own Sex, and some she caressed with all the Eagerness and Transport of a Male Lover. But, above all, she was passionately enamoured with one Margaret, whose Company she used to court, under Pretence of learning Embroidery. And, not satisfied with these Interviews by Day, scarce a Night passed, but she appeared in Man’s Clothes, under her Charmer’s Window; though, in all Appearance, her Pleasure must be limited to viewing Margaret’s captivating Charms, and saying soft Things to her.

“This whimsical Amour went on very quietly for above two Years, but at last Catherine being surprized by Margaret’s Father, just when her Heart was overflowing with fervid Expressions of Love to his Daughter, he rattled her severely, and threatened that the Governor of the City should hear of her Pranks. Catherine was so frightened with Menaces of such a Nature, that she absconded, and went to Viterbo, in a Man’s Disguise, where she took upon herself the Name of Giovanni Bordoni.”

Let’s leave off our author’s long-winded explanations. Catharine, in the guise of Giovanni, finding herself at the end of her finances, took shelter in a church and gained the assistance of one of the church canons in finding employment as a manservant. Having become dissatisfied with her first position, wanted a letter of recommendation from her original benefactor. So she wrote to her mother back in Rome and asked to beg for the letter in the name of Giovanni. Which her mother did, without saying anything about the gender disguise.

This recommendation eventually bore fruit, gaining her a position as footman with the Vicar of Angiari. We’ll return to our 18th century author to tell something of her experiences in that position.

“Never was Gentleman better fitted with a Servant than the Vicar with Giovanni; for, besides Reading, making of Chocolate, and Cookery, she was very dextrous at Pen, Comb, and Razor; in a Word, she was a thorough Proficient in all the Branches of her Employment. The Governor, however, being an austere Man, who made no Allowance for the Impulses of Nature, or the Fervor of Youth, was used not to spare her for incessantly following the Wenches, and being so barefaced and insatiable in her Amours. She had Recourse to several delusive Impudicities, not only to establish the Certainty, but raise the Reputation of her Manhood.”

Now at this point we find a difference of approach between the original Italian author of the biography and the English translator, who is somewhat more prudish. because the translator notes that the original text, “enters into a nauseous Detail of her Impostures, which is the more inexcusable, they not being essential to the main Scope of the Narrative. These, if agreeable to the Italian Taste, would shock the Delicacy of our Nation.”

We can guess at what those “nauseous details” might cover in the later discussion of the instrument by which Catharine gave pleasure to her girlfriends. Let us merely say that Catharine gained quite a reputation with the ladies and provoked the jealousy of a rival who attacked her and wounded her in the neck. The Vicar, her employer, was not very happy with his employee’s behavior but, seeing that the wound was serious, sent off to fetch Giovanni’s (that is, Catharine’s) father. And here’s one place where the story gets even more fascinating. When Signor Vizzani arrived, the Vicar began:

“with the most serious Concern, to lay open to him the Particulars of his Son’s scandalous Dissoluteness, charging it upon the Want of timely Instruction and Chastisement, if not the Influence of a vicious Example. The Carpenter, who could hardly keep his Countenance during a Remonstrance delivered with a dictatorial Solemnity, calmly answered, that, to his and his dear Wife’s inexpressible Grief, their Son was a Prodigy of Nature, and that, in his very Childhood, they had observed some astonishing Motions of Lust, which had unhappily gathered Vehemence with the Growth of his Body; that, however, since such was the Case, and the Vigour of his Constitution was not to be repressed by Words or Blows, Nature must even take its Course; and, as for the vicious Example you are pleased to insinuate, I hope I am no worse than my Neighbours.”

The vicar felt this response showed a want of proper concern and began scolding the carpenter even more vigorously. And you have to think that Signor Vizzani is just about the explode with laughter at the Vicar’s mistake, because the story continues thus:

“The Father, perceiving the Canon to grow warm upon the Matter, put a Stop to his Expostulation, saying, with a Smile, “Reverence Sir, certainly you have few Equals in Christian Zeal, but I must undeceive you, and ask Pardon for not doing it before: This same Child of mine, whose Irregularities have made such a Noise, is no Male, but as truly, in all Respects, a Female, as the Woman who bore her.” He then proceeded to relate the Occasion of her leaving her Home, and rambling in a Man’s Habit. The good Canon was amazed at such frantic Doings, and courteously dismissed the Carpenter.”

One might think that this would be the end of Catharine’s employment with the Vicar, but once her wound was healed he found that rather than lose such a useful servant, he was willing to put up with her continuing lascivious behavior (and continued disguise) and kept her on for another three or four years.

I’ll skip over several other adventures and move on to when Catharine (still as Giovanni) took on a new position and was given responsibility for her employer’s house in a town called Librafratta. It was in that place that she went just a little too far. I’ll let our 18th century translator take up the tale again.

“Among other Charmers, he [that is, Catharine] had the Presumption to offer his Addresses to a very lovely young Gentlewoman, Niece to the Minister of the Village; and prosecuted them with such Ardour and Success, that they both grew passionately in Love with each other.

“The Uncle, knowing the Temptation of Beauty, and the Lubricity of Youth, kept a strict Guard over his Niece, till an advantageous Match, which was in Agitation, should be concluded; but Giovanni’s Person and Blandishments preponderated against all other Consideration; and, after eluding the Uncle’s Attention, in several Midnight Interviews, Giovanni, proposed to the young Lady to carry her off at an appointed Time, and that afterwards they should make for Rome; where, by Means of an honest Priest of his Acquaintance, their Passion should be confirmed and sanctified by the Offices of the Church:

“This Overture was not only agreed to, but applauded as the greatest Mark both of his Love and Virtue. To carry this Scheme into Execution, Giovanni had provided two Horses, on which they were to set out very early one Morning about the Middle of June, in the Year One Thousand, Seven Hundred, and Forty Three. The Evening before this important Expedition, Giovanni’s Mistress, her Discretion not being equal to her Beauty, took her younger Sister apart, and told her, that her Uncle’s rigid Humours had now worn out her Patience; that she had determined not to be mewed up at that Rate any longer; and that Giovanni, who would do any Thing for her, was to be her Deliverer, having provided two Horses against the Day of Day, on which they were to post away to Lucca, and from thence to Rome, where they were to be married.”

Letting the secret out to her sister was a big mistake, because the sister blackmailed the eloping couple into taking her along. Catharine agreed to go along with the scheme, but the problem was that they only had two horses, so the sisters rode while Catharine walked which slowed them down a bit. Still, they made it to Lucca and hired a carriage, but were further delayed by a minor carriage breakdown. Well, in the mean time the girls’ uncle had discovered their absence, figured out what had happened, and dispatched his chaplain and a couple of servants to chase after them with a promise of significant reward for bringing Giovanni (that is, Catharine) back for punishment.

The pursuers caught up with them a little ways past Lucca. And now we’ll return to our original text:

“The Chaplain, to make short Work of it, called out to the Servants to fire upon Giovanni, who, having perceived them at some Distance, had leaped down from behind the carriage. The Servants, pursuant to their Leader’s Command, presented their Pieces at Giovanni, who having a masculine Spirit, as well as masculine Desires, not at all daunted at such a threatening Sight, drew a Pistol which hung at her Belt, and presented it towards the Chaplain. This unexpected Resolution put them to a Stand, and both Sides continued watching each other’s Motions, whilst the poor Girls were shrieking, and wringing their Hands; ’till Giovanni, considering that her Sex would secure her from any very bad Consequence of this Affair, and that one Girl’s running away with two others might, in a Court of Justice, if it should go that Length, be slightly passed over as a Frolick, rather than severely animadverted upon as a Crime, thought it adviseable to surrender; and, turning contemptuously from the commanding Officer to the Servants, who were known to her, she delivered up her Pistol, telling them they were welcome to do their Office.

“The Chaplain, however, irritated at her Petulance, if Jealousy or Avarice were not rather the Motives to such an Inhumanity, after her Submission, stormed at one of the Servants, whose Name was Miniato, for not firing, and threatened him with an Oar in the Galleys, if he delayed a Moment; whereupon he let fly, aiming at Giovanni’s Thighs, upon a Supposition that a Wound in those Parts would be the least hurtful, and hit the poor Creature in the left Thigh, four Inches above the Knee; the same Shot killing a fine hound, and fracturing a Leg of a Boy of about twelve Years of Age, who happening to come by, had stopt, as it was very natural, to see what was the Matter.”

The two shooting victims were taken off to a nearby hospital. Catharine, fearing for her life, confessed her true identity to one of the nuns who attended her and requested that the matter be kept secret unless she died of the wound, in which case she wanted to be buried in women’s clothes. This request, alas, needed to be carried out a short time later. After her death, they found hidden under the pillow of her hospital bed a stuffed leather device that she had worn as part of her imposture and that had contributed to some degree to her success with the ladies.

The rest of the biography is not particularly edifying. On discovering her true sex, a post-mortem examination was made to determine whether any physiological abnormality had caused her desire for women. The author seems rather shocked and startled to find her body to be ordinarily and unremarkably female. During this era it was fairly common to blame lesbian desires on certain anatomical abnormalities. The observation of counter-examples such as Catharine Vizzani failed to undermine this theory.

So what are we to make of Catharine’s life? In the mid-18th century in Rome, a carpenter and his wife recognized that their daughter’s sexual orientation was toward women and they not only shrugged and accepted it, but continued to support her when she was in need. And though Catharine had most of her romantic adventures while posing as a man, at the very least her first girlfriend--and possibly others--knew that she was a woman and enjoyed the courtship. And the sex. It’s quite clear from the observations of others that Catharine was rather good in bed. And if she’d only had a bit more caution about eloping with the nieces of important people, who knows what sort of happily ever after she might have achieved?

Show Notes

This is the exciting and somewhat surprising story of an 18th century Italian woman who received a surprising level of acceptance for her sexual orientation, both from her parents and from an employer.

In this episode we talk about:

This topic is discussed in one or more entries of the Lesbian Historic Motif Project here:

Links to the Lesbian Historic Motif Project Online

Links to Heather Online

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Lesbian Historic Motif Podcast - Episode 6: Catherine Vizzani

Friday, January 27, 2017 - 16:18

I confess I'm a sucker for telling the stories of lesbians in history that would be implausible as fiction. This month's episode tells the story of Catherine Vizzani, an 18th century Italian woman whose parents were surprisingly accepting of her sexual orientation (and proclivity for dressing as a man). I've included extensive readings from the English translation of her biography, published in 1755.

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Review: Tremontaine (Season 2)

Friday, January 27, 2017 - 13:01

Yesterday I thought I didn't have a review to post this week. But then, yesterday I didn't have one--not until I finished listening to the final episode of Serial Box's Season 2 of Tremontaine, based on Ellen Kushner's Riverside setting. The serial is released weekly in 13 episodes, both in print and semi-dramatized audio format. I consume it via the latter because that fits into my schedule better. As I noted in my review of season 1, this may have unknowable consequences for how I receive it. In particular, I find some of the character dramatization to be unnecessarily grating, in particular that of Duchess Tremontaine.

There really isn't an overall plot summary to give as background. An assortment of vastly diverse characters navigate a braided tangle of stories revolving around their various personal, political, and economic goals. As a prequel of sorts to Swordspoint, it is probably best enjoyed without too detailed a knowledge or memory of that story, so you aren't constantly trying to calculate how the end of Tremontaine will manage to match up with the start of Swordspoint. The Riverside of the serial is, in many ways, completely re-envisioned.

My overall opinion on this second season is much the same as for the first: I enjoy it, but I don't love it. There are specific characters I'm quite fond of (hi, Micah!), others...not so much (Rafe, get over yourself), and some I really would have liked to know more about (*waves shyly at Esha*). It's the nature of a serial of this type that there are only a few complete plot arcs. And I'm left uncertain whether the incomplete ones will be pursued later or simply dropped by the wayside. At this point, my largest beef is the rather clumsy way in which several of the threads were yanked in unexpected directions in the concluding episode. One particular last-minute development (no spoilers!) was both so unexpected and so casually brutal that I'm still dealing with the narrative whiplash.

Bits and pieces of the series are quite entertaining, and the world is richly envisioned. I'm impressed by the way all the various contributing authors have managed to give consistent voice to such an array of characters. But it hasn't really given me that "what happens next?" feeling.

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LaForge Civil War Diaries and Correspondence: September 1864 - Part 2

Wednesday, January 25, 2017 - 07:00

"The glittering hosts bestrew the Plain." This week's entries continue in the aftermath of the major battle recorded in last week's session. There is a deadly episode of friendly fire, details of the taking of prisoners, and a certain enjoyment of something better than army rations. But mostly there's constant movement, though without the same uncertainty as before. The Union forces are feeling confident and victorious at the moment. At a meeting with a former acquaintance, Abiel notes, "Strange things happen in war--strange enough for the most fastidious novelist. None need wrack their brains for subjects of fiction who have been in this war for they will find truth quite strange enough."

The Diary and Letters of Abiel Teple LaForge 1842-1878

Transcribed, edited, and annotated by Phyllis G. Jones (his great-granddaughter)

Copyright © 1993, Phyllis G. Jones, All rights reserved

September 20-30, 1864

[PUNCTUATION AND SPELLING ARE COPIED FROM THE ORIGINALS. EDITORIAL COMMENTS ARE IN BOLD TYPE.]

Tuesday 20th September 1864

The army started in pursuit as soon as it was light this morning,  moving in five columns: two of infantry on each side of the road, and one of Cavalry and Artillery in the road. The Rebs had taken the Strausburg Pike in their retreat and we did the same, picking up many of their stragglers on the road. As we went by the Cav[alry] Camp, four of the captured battle flags were brought out for us to see.

We moved by the way of Kernstown, Newtown, and Middletown, reaching Strausburg before sundown. It was a weary march, although but 20 miles, for we were sore and tired from yesterday's charge. The Rebs army is posted in their strong position beyond the [missing word?] on Fishers Hill, which is strongly fortified. Many of our men and officers think we cannot take it. I think we can, for their army is a defeated one, while ours is victorious.

We camped for the night 3/4 of a mile from the town.

Wednesday 21st

We lay quietly until past noon, then broke camp and moved behind the woods to the right. Our second brigade drove their picket line from a hill they occupied, and which our General desired to possess. The loss was quite severe, considering the number engaged. After the hill was ours (which was not until dark) we moved upon it and, after considerable maneuvering, established a line in the dark, threw out pickets, and got rails to lay behind in case of a night attack, then rolled up in our blankets for the night.

Thursday 22nd

Under arms before daylight for 1/2 an hour. After breakfast, entrenching tools came around and we built a line of works, lay behind them until noon, then were moved out to the right towards the Alleghenies, and drove back the Rebel Picket line, and opened communication with the 8th Corps, which were just at the foot of the mountains.

We must wait until their line should be up with ours, then they were to charge, endeavoring to turn the enemies left. As soon as they advanced, we were to do the same.

While we were waiting, our Division Batteries of eight guns commenced firing over us at the Rebel lines. Some of the Cartridges were bad and the shells fell short, bursting over and even behind us. One of our shells burst and a piece of it struck our commanding officer (Captain Parker) in the side, inflicting a probably fatal wound. He was carried from the field. General Rickets sent back word to have the battery stopped two or three times, but it was not. Finally he sent one of his aides to say if it was not stopped he would withdraw his Division and resign. This had the desired effect.

About four O.C. P.M. the 8th corps charged. Shortly after, our order came and away we went with a shout. The Rebs had a very strong breastwork with guns all along it, but we were not to be checked and so stormed them at once, capturing their guns. I was struck on the arm, but not much just. The Johnnies did not fight very well but run splendidly. We swept from the left to the right of their strong works, driving them as we went. Fishers Hill was ours and "fairly won."

In their retreat, the disorganized mass had to cross an open field, from the borders of which our men poured volley after volley into them. I wanted them to stop firing and charge for prisoners but they would not. I jumped over the fence and started on the rear of the Reb. Some of the men came after me, but the rest still fired. I must confess that the only fear I had felt during the charge was then, lest our men should hit us from behind. I and the squad with me soon secured 28 prisoners. After I got them, I was somthing like the man with the elephant: I did not know what to do with them. Finally I saw General Rickets and staff. I asked him what I should do with them. "Thats right my fine fellow, thats right," said he. "You just take them to Captain Lenard and have them ceredited to the Third Division". I hated to leave the field, but started. I soon came across one of the Sergeants of the 106th and gave them into his charge and started back for the front.

It was now dark and our regiments were getting together. I took command of what I could find of our Regiment and, after considerable marching around, found the rest of the Regiment and with them stacked arms and got supper. Our Division, of the 6th Corps and the 8th Corps did all the fighting today and have won the glory. I have not yet learned what our gains were in this fight: it ranges from 15 to 20 guns and several Battle Flags. Also a large number of prisoners. Never since the war began have the rebs received two such blows so close together.

Friday Sept 23rd 1864

We did not stop--only to get supper last night--but pressed on after the retreating enemy, resting two hours during the night. Morning found us near Woodstock and we stopped there and got breakfast. Quite a lot of rebs were captured during the march.

It rained some this A.M. We drew rations. Three of the guns captured yesterday are up here now. Started again about noon. Just as we started, the 87th P[ennsylvania?] V[olunteers?], whose time is up the 24th, filed off to return to Harpers Ferry. Poor fellows! Many of them were killed just as their time was up.

Came up the Valley as far as Edenburg and camped for the night. We are very sore and lame with our four days' hard work.

Saturday 24th

Started early this morning on our journey up the Valley. Found the Rebs rear guard at Mt. Jackson. Our Regiment was leading the army and was deployed as skirmishers to drive in their advance. We did so, and the army was formed on the ground which we had gained. We were relieved at M. [noon] and marched back to the Brigade. My servant came up with my dinner while we were waiting for some demonstration of the enemy. It was the first I had eaten today for, by a mistake, our Brigade had to start without breakfast.

Finally we crossed the plain beyond the town, driving them before us. They retreated and took up a new position on the next hill, from which we drove them from there also. They again retreated as before, and so kept fighting all this P.M. We drove them thus step by step as far as Newmarket, when as it was night so we camped. I think by the stubbornness displayed by them we must be pressing their wagon train.

Our advance battery was well worked today: one section followed the range of hills, the other the pike. While one was firing, the other advanced and took position, commencing to fire at once. Then the other would advance the same way.

Sunday 25th

No rest, if it is Sabbath. Still forward is the word. Started at sunrise, marched through Mintville and stopped on the hills above Harrisonsburg about four o'clock P.M. This corps took up a posish [i.e., position] on the hills south of the town, the 19th Corps West, and the 8th North of it. I had a good illustration of "The glittering hosts bestrew the Plain" this afternoon. [See note below.] I hapened to be in a position where I could see the whole army crossing the large flats below the town. The Western sun shone full on their bright arms and accoutrements, sending back its rays from ten thousand points. It was a grand sight.

We found in H[arrisonsburg?] a large number of wounded Rebs. I forgot to state that the hospitals of Mt. Jackson fell into our hands. In them were many Rebs and some Union Soldiers. How glad the latter were to see us! Some had been there over a year. One of them had lost his left leg and arm. We are living on the people of the Valley now and do prety well. Our bill of fare today was bread, butter, honey, cheese, peach preserves, fresh mutton fried and boiled, peach pie, potatoes, mustard, coffee, sugar, pepper, salt, and milk. Not bad for soldiers.

Last night was pretty cold. A wind from the West caused it. Our woolen blankets we found very comfortable.

[Note: Abiel seems to be either accidentally or deliberately paraphrasing lyrics from a hymn The Star of Bethlehem by Henry Kirk White. The original definitive text appears to run, "When, marshalled on the nightly plain, the glittering hosts bestud the sky...," but online searching can find variants with "bestrewed the sky" instead. A footnote in Preacher's Tale: Civil War Journal of Rev. Francis Springs, Chaplain, Us Army, notes that he referenced the hymn, which is included in the collection Hymns and Tunes of the Army and Navy which was printed in the Civil War era. I should search to see if Abiel mentions listening to Rev. Springs preaching.]

Monday 26th

The army is resting today, enjoying the mountain air with much satisfaction. I suspect our rest is owing to the fact that our rations are out and we must wait for the Supply Train, which is following us from the Ferry.

Deserters are coming in all the time. They say the mountains are full of stragglers from the Rebel army, many of which would be glad to come in, but that they have been told that they will be badly used by us. Their officers strive to make them believe this as much as possible.

I forgot to mention that, during the lull in the fight at Winchester, I met one of the officers with whom I formed a pleasant acquaintance while on the boat going to the front last June. I was walking along the prostrate line, looking for our commanding officer, when he jumped off the stone on which he was sitting and shook hands heartily. When we parted, we were wondering under what circumstances we should meet, if ever. It turned out to be on that bloodiest field of the war. A few moments pleasant conversation and we parted again, when to meet we could not tell. Perhaps in some other bloody fight. Strange things happen in war--strange enough for the most fastidious novelist. None need wrack their brains for subjects of fiction who have been in this war for they will find truth quite strange enough.

Tuesday 27th

Still on the Harrisonburg heights. Our rations came up today from the Ferry and have been issued. I would not wonder if we resumed the march tomorrow. Many men who had been absent in hospital and some recruits came to the army today. More than enough to make up for our losses at Strausburg. Those who came say there are large reinforcements on the road to join us. If such is the case, I am looking for another attempt on Lynchburg, I think we shall have better success than General Hunter did, for things open more brightly to begin with. We drew three days rations; they are to last four days. There will be no difficulty in making them hold out, for the men will forage in spite of General Sheridan's orders against it.

Wednesday 28th

Last night we got orders to be ready to move at daylight. We were accordingly up and had breakfast and everything ready and so remained until 8 O.C. when the order was countermanded. Our tents were again put up and we proceeded to make ourselves comfortable for the day.

We have apple dumplings, apple-butter, syrup, butter, and cheese--all indigenous productions. We do not pay for these things. Of course if we did it would take a fortune. Flour is $200 per barrel, bacon $5.00 per lb., candles $10 per lb., boots $150 per pair, sugar $3 a pound, eggs $1 a piece (confederate scrip). We would find it somewhat dear in our money. The army are setting the mills (flour) going, grinding for us. The wheat is being collected from the farms arround and when it is ground I understand it is to be issued to the soldiers for rations.

Thursday 29th

Last night we were ordered to be ready to move at 5 A.M. We had the same order yesterday morning, so we got breakfast but did not have our tent taken down. So as to disappoint us, I suppose, the order came to march, instead of being countermanded as before. We moved towards Stanton some five miles, then stopped for dinner, after which we moved 1/4 of a mile farther into a grove near Mt. Crawford and camped again for the night, making a very easy days march.

It rained a little yesterday, also today. We do not look for stable weather now, however it is warmer than it was when we were at Clifton, for we need no fires, and marching makes us perspire pretty freely. I and my Company were detailed as Provost guard today. I was Provost Martial. I went down to the creek and had a bath--pretty cold. When I came up to camp, it was dark. The lurid glare of some conflagration lighted up the heavens. It made me feel bad. I understand our cavalry have orders to burn the barns, mills, and shops and grain of the people--in fact everything which would benefit our foe. This is a hard order, but given in strict justice, for retaliation.

Friday 30th

Policed our camp this A.M. The streets run through trees, making fine shade for our camp. We are very comfortable, considering we are a hundred miles and more away from our base. Just as we were eating dinner (apple dumplings), the "strike tents" was sounded, which rather hastened the proceedings. I thought we were going on toward Stanton, but when the long column began to stretch out, it was towards the rear and not the front. The first two hours were very hot. A storm was brewing which finally burst upon us. The rain poured down in torrents for a short time, then an East wind set in and old weatherwise said "look out for a cold snap." We moved to--and camped on--nearly the same ground about Harrisonburg that we occupied before. The men were not long in putting up their tents, for the wind had changed from warm to cold, and everything indicates a long cold storm. My messmate Lieutenant Cox has just been detailed for picket, so I shall have our little tent alone tonight. The new troops spoken of the 27th have not arrived.

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LaForge Civil War Diaries
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LaForge

Teaser Tuesday: Revealing and Concealing

Tuesday, January 24, 2017 - 08:08

Storytelling is an art of concealing as well as revealing. One of the reasons I enjoy using a very tight point of view is how it enables me to control what I show to the reader by means of what my viewpoint character does and doesn't know. Bits of reader feedback have suggested that some people disagree with my choice to conceal the events that immediately preceded the scene below, revealing them only by means of Barbara's fever-muddled memories. I can understand where they're coming from; we've been trained up to expect a very visual, active mode of storytelling and if there are exciting deeds, we want to see them vividly in front of us.

And for those who had that reaction: it's perfectly valid and I can only hope I'll give you scenes of more satisfying action in the future. (See last week's discussion on that point!) But I did have a specific reason for presenting the events as I did. Trauma often isn't experienced in real time. And major trauma often erases the real-time memory of the events and leaves us desperately trying to reconstruct them. All of my continuing characters either have been or will be completely knocked off their metaphorical feet at some point. The events of this chapter are the start of a major change in how Barbara understands her life, her purpose, and her sense of self. One of the biggest things she will experience is a feeling a complete loss of competency and (eventually) a greater acceptance of not being able to control her surroundings. Have you noticed that  Barbara has MAJOR control issues?

Having her reconstruct the "missing scene" from a place of confusion, (temporary) amnesia, and physical helplessness is a key symbol of the challenges she's about to tackle in books to come.

Chapter 29: Barbara

It was a dream—that much Barbara knew. Images came in snatches, one after another without connection. Bright sun and a spirited horse between her legs. Voices, talking somewhere out of sight.

“Have you sent word to Rotenek?”

She heard Tavit answering and her mind drifted off. If Tavit were there, he would manage things. There was something she’d meant to tell him. Something he needn’t worry about. They were both riding out in front of the coach and she called to him but he didn’t turn. They’d passed the bend where the road overlooked Mazuk’s canal. Mazuk? Was that what she’d meant to tell him? He needn’t worry about Baron Mazuk.

“What did she say?”

“Something about Baron Mazuk. She must have guessed somehow.”

If she were riding with Tavit, where was Brandel? Now she remembered. He was riding up with the coachman. She’d borrowed his horse, for her own had gone lame. She tried to turn back to look at him but the sun was in her eyes and she closed them against the light.

They’d been riding such a long time, surely they’d come to the inn soon. She was tired and thirsty. They’d be there soon. She’d toss the reins to a stable boy and call out, “Ho, innkeeper, a drink!”

“What’s that?”

“I think she asked for a drink.”

The river water was cold and clear. She didn’t remember dismounting but she dipped cupped hands in the current and raised them to her lips. The water slipped through her fingers, running red back down the bank.

“We have to go.”

Tavit was urging her on. They were on the horses again, racing down the road with the coach on their heels, and beside her Tavit’s voice shouting, “Go! Go!”

There was a sharp crack…the axle of the coach? She tried to turn her horse but Tavit was at her side, grabbing her arm and screaming, “Go! Go!” And she would have obeyed, but he had her arm in a grip of iron, his fingers digging through to the bone. She cried out.

“More laudanum?”

“Not yet.”

They’d been riding through the woods, but the woods were on fire. Where was Brandel? Had he been on the coach? Aunt Heniriz would never forgive her. Was Brandel caught in the fire? There was no fire, it was a dream. She knew it was a dream.

“Brandel.”

“Shh, he’s gone to Rotenek to fetch Maisetra Sovitre.”

Margerit? But why would Margerit be coming here? She had her own duties…the college.

“No. Tell Margerit…don’t come.”

“Mesnera, it’s worth more than my life not to send for her.”

That was Tavit’s voice. But why was Tavit still grabbing her arm? She tried to shake him loose but she couldn’t move. It was a dream. These things happened in dreams.

“Arm…”

“The surgeon says you won’t lose it.”

That wasn’t in her dream. She struggled to rise. “Tavit!”

“More laudanum now I think.”

 

She must be in the coach now. The slow rocking lulled her to sleep. They must have fixed the axle. But where was Brandel? Brandel was in Rotenek, fetching Margerit. When Margerit came, everything would make sense.

Major category: 
Teasers
Publications: 
Mother of Souls
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Teaser Tuesday: Revealing and Concealing

Tuesday, January 24, 2017 - 08:08

Storytelling is an art of concealing as well as revealing. One of the reasons I enjoy using a very tight point of view is how it enables me to control what I show to the reader by means of what my viewpoint character does and doesn't know. Bits of reader feedback have suggested that some people disagree with my choice to conceal the events that immediately preceded the scene below, revealing them only by means of Barbara's fever-muddled memories. I can understand where they're coming from; we've been trained up to expect a very visual, active mode of storytelling and if there are exciting deeds, we want to see them vividly in front of us.

And for those who had that reaction: it's perfectly valid and I can only hope I'll give you scenes of more satisfying action in the future. (See last week's discussion on that point!) But I did have a specific reason for presenting the events as I did. Trauma often isn't experienced in real time. And major trauma often erases the real-time memory of the events and leaves us desperately trying to reconstruct them. All of my continuing characters either have been or will be completely knocked off their metaphorical feet at some point. The events of this chapter are the start of a major change in how Barbara understands her life, her purpose, and her sense of self. One of the biggest things she will experience is a feeling a complete loss of competency and (eventually) a greater acceptance of not being able to control her surroundings. Have you noticed that  Barbara has MAJOR control issues?

Having her reconstruct the "missing scene" from a place of confusion, (temporary) amnesia, and physical helplessness is a key symbol of the challenges she's about to tackle in books to come.

Chapter 29: Barbara

It was a dream—that much Barbara knew. Images came in snatches, one after another without connection. Bright sun and a spirited horse between her legs. Voices, talking somewhere out of sight.

“Have you sent word to Rotenek?”

She heard Tavit answering and her mind drifted off. If Tavit were there, he would manage things. There was something she’d meant to tell him. Something he needn’t worry about. They were both riding out in front of the coach and she called to him but he didn’t turn. They’d passed the bend where the road overlooked Mazuk’s canal. Mazuk? Was that what she’d meant to tell him? He needn’t worry about Baron Mazuk.

“What did she say?”

“Something about Baron Mazuk. She must have guessed somehow.”

If she were riding with Tavit, where was Brandel? Now she remembered. He was riding up with the coachman. She’d borrowed his horse, for her own had gone lame. She tried to turn back to look at him but the sun was in her eyes and she closed them against the light.

They’d been riding such a long time, surely they’d come to the inn soon. She was tired and thirsty. They’d be there soon. She’d toss the reins to a stable boy and call out, “Ho, innkeeper, a drink!”

“What’s that?”

“I think she asked for a drink.”

The river water was cold and clear. She didn’t remember dismounting but she dipped cupped hands in the current and raised them to her lips. The water slipped through her fingers, running red back down the bank.

“We have to go.”

Tavit was urging her on. They were on the horses again, racing down the road with the coach on their heels, and beside her Tavit’s voice shouting, “Go! Go!”

There was a sharp crack…the axle of the coach? She tried to turn her horse but Tavit was at her side, grabbing her arm and screaming, “Go! Go!” And she would have obeyed, but he had her arm in a grip of iron, his fingers digging through to the bone. She cried out.

“More laudanum?”

“Not yet.”

They’d been riding through the woods, but the woods were on fire. Where was Brandel? Had he been on the coach? Aunt Heniriz would never forgive her. Was Brandel caught in the fire? There was no fire, it was a dream. She knew it was a dream.

“Brandel.”

“Shh, he’s gone to Rotenek to fetch Maisetra Sovitre.”

Margerit? But why would Margerit be coming here? She had her own duties…the college.

“No. Tell Margerit…don’t come.”

“Mesnera, it’s worth more than my life not to send for her.”

That was Tavit’s voice. But why was Tavit still grabbing her arm? She tried to shake him loose but she couldn’t move. It was a dream. These things happened in dreams.

“Arm…”

“The surgeon says you won’t lose it.”

That wasn’t in her dream. She struggled to rise. “Tavit!”

“More laudanum now I think.”

 

She must be in the coach now. The slow rocking lulled her to sleep. They must have fixed the axle. But where was Brandel? Brandel was in Rotenek, fetching Margerit. When Margerit came, everything would make sense.

Major category: 
Teasers
Publications: 
Mother of Souls
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Lesbian Historic Motif Project: People/Event Tags - Literary Relationships (part 1)

Monday, January 23, 2017 - 07:45

Today's new tag essays cover two topics in what I've grouped together as "literary relationships". That is, works where a sexual or romantic relationship between two women is either present or implied. Here's a brief summary of what's covered. (See the full essay for the list of works and the associated tag-links.)

Literary Innuendo and Flirtation

The examples in this group focus less on genuine desire between women (even in cases where gender disguise is involved) but on those where the possibility of genuine desire is acknowledged by a pretense of it or sly references. These examples include scenarios where that possibility is recognized only by the audience of the work, not by the characters within it.

Sexual Education

This is a genre that allowed the author both to write explicitly (and often pornographically) about sexual encounters between women while still discounting the importance of the relationship. In these works, one woman sexually initiates another with the excuse that she is being prepared for sexual relations with men.

Major category: 
LHMP

Tags: People/Event Tags - Literary Relationships

The purpose of tags is to make information relatively easy to find. The topics covered under “people/event tags” are historical persons, authors, written works, and other specific events, organizations, or works that are the subject of the research and publications covered by the Project. This essay is intended to explain briefly how the “people/event” tags are being used.

The second purpose is to provide a tag list that the visitor can use to explore the site. The number of tags used in the project, and the organization into four different categories, doesn’t lend itself to a traditional tag-cloud. The Place and Time Period tags each have a single essay. The Event/Person and Misc. Tags will be covered in thematic groups in multiple essays due to the larger number. I’m planning six essays for the People/Event Tags, each covering a general category with several subcategories.

  • Non-Fiction Sources and General Authors
  • Historic Crossdressing and Passing/Transgender People
  • Historic People Relevant for Emotional, Affectionate, or Sexual Relationships
  • Literary Examples of Crossdressing or Gender Disguise
  • Literary Examples of Emotional, Affectionate, or Sexual Relationships
  • Poetry Expressing Romantic or Sexual Relationships

This present essay covers the fifth category and includes the following:

  • Literary Innuendo and Flirtation
  • Literary Sexual Education
  • Literary Predatory Erotics
  • Literary Passionate Friendship
  • Literary Same-Sex Love

Obviously these categories are quite fuzzy at the edges, and I've classified individual people according to what seems the most noteworthy aspect of their lives. Every story is far more complex than a single classification. These are only for the purposes of exploring general themes.

Literary Innuendo and Flirtation

The examples in this group focus less on genuine desire between women (even in cases where gender disguise is involved) but on those where the possibility of genuine desire is acknowledged by a pretense of it or sly references. These examples include scenarios where that possibility is recognized only by the audience of the work, not by the characters within it.

Literary Sexual Education

This is a genre that allowed the author both to write explicitly (and often pornographically) about sexual encounters between women while still discounting the importance of the relationship. In these works, one woman sexually initiates another with the excuse that she is being prepared for sexual relations with men.

  • Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (John Cleland) - 18th century English novel in which one woman sexually initiates another to prepare her for work as a (heterosexual) prostitute.
  • Ragionamenti (Pietro Aretino) - 16th century Italian sexual “dialogues” that include sexual activity between women.
  • Satyra Sotadica (Johannes Meursius) -  Fictitious original source for the French L’Academie des Dames (attr. Nicolas Chorier). The Satyra Sotadica was, in turn, alleged to be a translation of an original Spanish work by a woman (Luisa Sigea de Velasco). I’ve listed this title separately as some works cite it rather than Chorier’s work (q.v.).
  • The Academy of Women (L'Academie des dames) (Nicolas Chorier) -  17th century French pornographic novel presenting one woman’s sexual initiation by another and including sex between women as part of a wide variety of sexual encounters. Purported to be a translation of a Latin work Satyra Sotadica but this has been demonstrated to be fictitious. Chorier’s authorship is attributed but uncertain.
  • The Spanish Bawd (Celestina) (James Mabbe) - 17th century English play (based on a Spanish original) in which a woman recruits another for prostitution by flattery, flirtation, and sexual initiation.
  • Thérèse the Philosophe (Jean-Baptiste de Boyer) - 18th century French novel involving the seduction of one woman by another to recruit her for prostitution.
  • Women Beware Women (Thomas Middleton) - 17th century English play involving the motif of a woman seducing another woman into prostitution.

Literary Predatory Erotics

I've taken this label from Denise Walen's discussions. It includes non-consensual relationships, cases where a woman initiates erotic contact (or pretends to) in order to further the interests of a male character, and cases where the lesbian character is portrayed as literally monstrous.

Literary Passionate Friendship

This category covers literary characters who are portrayed as being in intense romantic friendships with other women where there is no overt erotic component and typically where they are not living as a committed couple.

Literary Same-Sex Love

The stories in this group involve love between women along a broad range of natures and intensities, from the platonic to the overtly sexual. The distinction between this grouping and the Passionate Friendship grouping is an understanding by the characters that their love is equivalent to heterosexual love, both in nature and importance.

Book Review: Congress of Secrets by Stephanie Burgis

Friday, January 20, 2017 - 07:00

It might be easy to understand why I enjoy reading Stephanie Burgis's combination of real 18-19th century history, romantic adventure, and touches of magic. She has an impressively solid familiarity with the history and manners of the era she draws from (which, if you check out the topics of her graduate education, is no surprise). The Congress of Vienna, sorting out the political consequences of Napoleon's defeat, is a natural setting for intrigues of all sorts.

Two people, neither of whom is the person they current portray, encounter each other in the build-up to the Congress for the first time since a violent separation when they were children. Michael, once apprenticed to a political pamphlet printer, has survived by learning the arts of the con man and has arrived as the disenfranchised Prince Kalishnikov, hoping to restore control of the realm Napoleon stole from him--or at least to convince someone to pay him off to go away. Karolina, the daughter of that printer, fell into the hands of the head of the Austrian secret police, who maintains his power by alchemical rituals that drain energy from his victims. Handed off to be the plaything of an English aristocrat, she turned her situation around and became the (now widowed) Countess of Wyndham. Her goal at the Congress is to free her father from the secret prison where he's been held for decades and, if possible, to avenge herself on those who held him there. Their accidental reunion in Vienna could spell disaster for both their plans--or each just might have found the only ally that could ensure success.

I enjoyed the casual details of the setting and historic personalities, as well as the solid back-story for the central political tensions. The rich diversity of early 19th century Vienna came alive on the page. And if I occasionally felt that certain bits of the historic background were being repeated more often than I needed, keep in mind that I'm on the far end of the scale of "just give me a hint and I'll be fine," as well as being a bit more grounded in the historic outlines than the typical reader.

The interpersonal interactions driving the plot worked very well for me for the first three-quarters of the book, including the completely expected growing romantic tension between the two protagonists. Very much in the genre of "I'm totally attracted to you but I can't trust anyone--and especially not you--so giving in to it would be a fatal mistake." The romantic tension was only slightly spoiled by a few too many (in my opinion, unnecessary) incidents of "I saw you smiling at so-and-so, which means you're actually going to bed with them, so my heart is broken, not that I'll admit that I cared."

But in the climax of the book, my suspension of disbelief slipped a little. Too many key players were too easily convinced, too quickly, to believe the protagonists' stories in the nick of time, and to pitch in at the risk of their own lives and careers, or to back down from opposing them far too readily. I had anticipated the fate of one key character from the very beginning--a fate that it was essential for the protagonists never to consider seriously. The strongest point in the climax was our heroine contributing actively and believably to her own rescue, rather than becoming a damsel.

Congress of Secrets is a fun romantic adventure, with a solid grounding in history and a reasonably satisfying conclusion. It is very loosely connected to Masks and Shadows, set in the previous generation, and there are a couple of Easter Egg references to characters from that book, but the two can be read entirely independently.

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Reviews
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Reviews: Books

Random Thursday: Writing a Long Game

Thursday, January 19, 2017 - 07:00

There are few things more annoying to me as a reader than noting some sort of problematic aspect of a book or show and being told, "Oh, just hang on until the third book / the next season / whatever, and all that is addressed." I mean, why should I have to slog my way through a whole bunch of stuff that erases me or pisses me off just on the hope of a promise that maybe--just maybe--Things Get Better at some unspecified later date? Especially when there are so many other things I could be consuming?

There are few things more frustrating to me as an author than knowing readers are upset, impatient, or feeling erased by some aspect of my published work while knowing that I'm doing something later that stands a good chance of not simply addressing their concerns, but making it worth the wait. I can hint, I can promise--if people really want me to, I can offer private spoilers. But that doesn't change the fact that in the glimpse of my world available to them at the moment, there are things that might make them not willing to wait for it.

One answer to this contradiction is that one can never write the book that all of your readers want. Certainly not all at the same time. A book can only have so many characters and so many themes. Not everyone will be willing to stick with you for the whole journey. Not all of them will be happy with where that journey would take them. And those are the breaks. You can know--absolutely know with the divine power that is authorship--that an issue will be addressed later. But nobody reads in the later, they read in the now.

Writing a series is a long game. From the point when I knew that Alpennia was a series, and not just a stand-alone novel, I've been setting up characters, conflicts, situations, foreshadowings that won't come to fruition for books yet to come. And because Alpennia is such a character-focused series, readers latch on to specific characters and spin out hopes and dreams for them based, not only on the information in the text, but on the ways in which they identify with those characters. Will Anna's heart be broken? Is Iuli going to fall in love with the entirely-too-obvious candidate? Is Iohanna Chazillen going to have a miserable life due to the circumstances of her birth? Will Serafina get to have a happily-ever-after just like the white protagonists do? Who will be the next Prince of Alpennia, and what will that mean for everyone else? Where will the fault lines open between all my central characters come the revolution? When will I seriously address class issues and the knee-jerk valorization of the monarchy?

When the series is complete, I can hope that readers will look at the whole and be able to see, "Yes, this character, this event, that bit of dialogue, that description, the chain of events over there--taken in isolation, I can see how that would look. But those things are in conversation with these characters and those events. This plot thread challenges and comments on that one. This interaction is set up to contrast with that one. These characters shed light on how we're meant to undersatnd those ones." I can hope, but I can't rely on it. I can't even say, "For the answers to these and other exciting questions, stay tuned!" because I have no right to demand that anyone "stay tuned" if they aren't tuned in to what's already on the page. But if you do stay tuned, I can guarantee that a lot of the answers will be unexpected--perhaps even delightfully so.

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writing

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