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I'm not going to lie--I'm going to spend the entire day being jittery about the election. On the one hand, in my core, I'm confident that Clinton will not only win but win decisively. On the other hand, I'm horrified and terrified that the political climate of my country has made it possible for someone like Trump to get this far. Not that I have any illusions that our political past was any less horrifying and terrifying for marginalized people, but I hold onto the belief that year by year we are coming to a better, deeper, more inclusive understanding of the ideals our nation was founded on. There are so many political parallels around the world where a nation or a society that seemed to be raising itself up to embrace greater openness, greater equality, greater opportunity for all, unexpectedly loses its grasp on that dream and turns to squabbling, back-biting, me-firstism. And beyond my own vote and some substantial campaign donations, I've been left feeling useless to address that possibility.

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Useless: that was what Serafina's husband Paolo had called her when she was unable to turn her mystic visions into the practical help he'd married her for. Useless: the echo of it had followed her in her thaumaturgical studies with Margerit Sovitre. She could see the forces at work, but invoking them to do her will had so far eluded her. But that was all that the Austrian spy Kreiser had asked her to do: to see, and tell him what she saw. In their first sessions, she thought she would fail even at that small task. But as the summer wore one, Kreiser summoned her--no, summoned was not the right word. He simply indicated that he expected her to come and scry for him once more. They were to meet in the public gardens in Urmai, just outside the city of Rotenek. But many people visited the gardens there in summer, including one that Serafina was not yet ready to meet again.

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Chapter Nineteen - Serafina

She knew the monument Kreiser had specified. The gardens were not as full as the time she visited with Luzie and the boys. The children that played along the hedge-bordered paths today lived here, as did the shop girls out on a midday break. The visitors were a different mix as well: courting couples of respectable families, attended at a safe distance by maids or governesses, clumps of students from the university who hadn’t escaped the city for their more abbreviated summer season, walking with heads together in argument.

Serafina settled herself on a bench and looked around to see if Kreiser were in view. Her heart skipped. An achingly familiar figure was winding through the paths with an awkward case in hand.

Olimpia Hankez noticed her, hesitated, then shifted her path. “It’s a lovely day,” she offered.

It was what one said in Urmai. One praised the cool breezes that had first made the spot popular so many years ago. One admired the gardens and made note of whether the crowds were thick or thin. One didn’t exclaim in surprise at the sight of a former lover.

“You’ve come for work?” Serafina asked, nodding at the art case under her arm.

“I thought I’d set myself up and sketch. I need new faces,” Olimpia said, with a rueful twist of her mouth. “And you?”

“I’m meeting someone,” Serafina returned, trying to keep the answer as uninviting as possible. She could still be moved by Olimpia’s energetic grace. The betrayal hadn’t changed that. Luzie hadn’t changed that. Luzie filled a different place in her life, in her heart. A quieter place. Other spaces were still empty. Olimpia had filled one of them for a time. There had never been any word of forever between them. How could there have been? Olimpia dealt in bodies—explored them, appreciated them, immortalized them and then moved on. And for her? She barely knew what she was searching for.

From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Kreiser’s ruddy face. Olimpia saw the movement and followed it. Her eyes widened slightly. Had she recognized the Austrian? Or did she think it an assignation? Or both perhaps?

She said only, “It was good to see you again,” and moved on.

If Kreiser had noticed Olimpia he said nothing when he settled himself on the bench and placed a well-worn atlas in her lap. Even before she opened the covers she could feel the tingle of some mystic residue within the pages. There were no preliminaries this time.

“I thought this might help. Open to the marked page,” he instructed.

She found the ribbon and spread the book across her lap. It was only a section of land, taken out of context, with little markings for roads and rivers, tiny buildings indicating towns, and a faint glow perceptible only to the sensitive where Kreiser had marked a pattern of symbols across one part.

Next he opened a small case that shone brightly with fluctus and unwrapped layers of cloth to lay a frozen lump in her outstretched hand. It became slick with melt and made her fingers ache with the cold.

“Don’t worry about where the ice itself came from,” he said. “Follow the cold. Trace it back to its origin. Use the map.”

Serafina clenched her fingers around the ice, holding it away from the atlas and hoping that she could find the thread before it had melted away.

* * *

Only another week until Mother of Souls is released! (The original date I was given was the 14th, but the publisher's website is now saying the 17th.) Pre-order from Bella Books. Or ask your local bookstore to carry it. Or put a request in at your library. Or show up at the release party at Chessiecon and get your copy signed, along with other cool swag! And I've pledged that if (when) Clinton wins the election, I'll give away five e-books of Mother of Souls on Twitter, so if you're active there, keep your eyes peeled on Wednesday. (For non-Twitter folk, I periodically do platform-specific giveaways. Don't worry.)

Since I covered a review topic yesterday (and don't have any new reviews to post), how about I swap days and do my not-at-all-random-Thursday promo for Mother of Souls today? Just as a reminder, you can pre-order the paperback or e-book from Bella Books, or order the paperback through Amazon. (E-books are released to the other outlets on a delay, so Kindle will be available in time.) Release date is...um...either November 14 or November 17 depending on which version of the story you're going by.

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Any time I fear I’m losing the thread of a writing project, or need to go to the heart of what one of my books is “about”, I come back to the question: What does this character want? What motivates her at some deep level in everything she does? What measure will she use to determine which choice to make. What desires will turn out to be her weakness, that will tempt her beyond what is sensible? Thinking about those questions has never yet led me wrong. So what do some of these women want?

Luzie Valorin wants to keep her promise to her late husband and see their sons well launched into the world. To give them their best chance of a good place in society…even if that means their place is often far away from her side. Luzie wants to make her parents proud—not simply to assure them that she has made a comfortable life on her own, but to send what she can, now and then, to make their lives more comfortable. Beyond that, Luzie longs for something of her own, something beyond simply fulfilling her duties, something to warm her heart and fill an empty place in her life.

Margerit Sovitre wants to change the world. Oh, nothing earth-shattering; she isn’t interested in politics or the affairs of court. She remembers how sharply and desperately she wanted a chance to study and learn, back when she was a poor relation. Back before her surprise inheritance opened doors she hadn’t imagined. Now she wants to open those doors to others, and if she needs to, she’ll build the doorways and even the whole building around them to do so. Thaumaturgy has given her a taste of a different sort of power, and Margerit is certain that it could move mountains…if only the entrenched forces of Alpennian society were willing to listen to a young woman. And Margerit wants to know everything there is about the mystical powers she can invoke—ones that she is just beginning to learn aren’t the only sort that the world holds.

Serafina Talarico is quite blunt about what she wants: “I want to belong! I want to be comfortable.” But the comforts she remembers from her childhood have been stripped away, layer by layer as she grows up and confronts the reality that she will be a stranger everywhere she goes, even in the city of her birth. Now she would be content to master her own mystical talents—to feel something more than useless and dull-witted. And if she dared to admit it, Serafina wants to be cherished—to find someone who will look into her eyes and truly see her, and want what they see.

Above anything else in the world, Jeanne de Cherdillac wants Antuniet Chazillen, and now that she has achieved that desire, she wants to sort out what is left of her place in society in the aftermath. Jeanne always had a talent for organizing other people’s lives. Now she want to turn that talent from organizing balls and parties to helping others achieve their place in life, whether that place is on stage in the Grande Salle or at the center of a salon among a crowd of witty and talented intellectuals. In her youth, Jeanne learned a hard lesson about not wanting the impossible. But the possible includes many things. Sometimes they only need someone like Jeanne to give them a push.

Barbara Lumbeirt wants to protect and support all the people whose lives are bound to hers. Some might have thought it was a reflex left over from her years serving as Baron Saveze’s armin and duelist. Saveze was part of the cause, but as an old-fashioned model of what a lord owed to the land and people. But these are new times and the people Barbara wants to protect may have other ideas. Barbara wants an outlet for her restless energy and few things offer the challenge she needs like the rumors of international conflict that are reaching across Alpennia’s borders to strike at those she loves.

Antuniet Chazillen wants to restore the lost honor of her family and leave a legacy that will reach across the ages. The first step of that quest was achieved when she was named Royal Alchemist to the court of Alpennia. But her single-minded focus on legacy may risk everything she has already gained.

Iulien Fulpi wants what every provincial upper middle class girl wants: a glittering coming-out ball surrounded by those she loves, and the heady whirl of a dancing season before the need to make decisions that will fix the direction of the rest of her life. But she wanted her cousin Margerit to be there—her beloved and idolized cousin who sometimes seemed to be the only person who understood there might be more to want in addition to those things.

Anna Monterrez wants to repay the trust everyone has rested on her: her father’s trust that her alchemical studies will provide her with a respected trade, in case her scarred face fails to secure her a husband; the trust of her teacher, Antuniet Chazillen, who is granting her ever more responsibility in the alchemical laboratory; the trust of the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac who has promised to turn her from a shy schoolgirl into a sophisticated salonnière. But will Anna’s most secret, most hidden desire betray all those trusts?

We finally come to a close in this re-read. The final chapter provides a perfect conclusion to the overall plot shape. After the very intense conflicts and resolutions in the previous chapter, we have a chance to breathe and relax and enjoy the continuing “magical” delights of Sara’s return to “princess” status. But the structure of the moral accounts includes one more balance item.

The return of Sara’s fortune, her return to a luxurious lifestyle, and the restoration of a benevolent father-figure can be seen as zeroing out all the trials and traumas she’s been through. But for her to continue to “deserve” her good fortune, under this model, she should continue to put good deeds out into the world (alternately: she should continue to have misfortunes, but that would be a different story). And Sara is no longer simply being an inherently kind and thoughtful person. She’s had experience of how sharply an undeserved misfortune can affect someone’s life, and how much it can mean to reach out and actively help people, even at a cost to one’s self. That cost no longer need be personal hardship. But Sara thinks back to the “dreadful day” and how much it meant to the beggar girl to have a sack full of hot buns literally dropped in her lap.

So Sara conceives of an ongoing charitable endeavor to help hungry children in a very direct way—a way that would have meant a great deal to her at the time (though it’s an open question whether she would have felt comfortable accepting it). She wants to arrange for the bakery owner to feed any hungry children that hang around her shop at Sara’s expense.

I confess that one of my first thoughts is for unintended consequences. Occasionally handing out bread to hungry children is an admirable thing, but what happens when word gets out that if you’re hungry you should go to this specific bakery for free bread? How will the regular customers (who may have rather unenlightened views on ragged children) react to the new clientele? Would the arrangement eventually result in the bakery shifting from being an independent self-supporting business to being a fully-subsidized bread line? How would its proprietor feel about that? Would she find the same satisfaction if she moved from independent businesswoman to being Sara's de facto employee? (I'm a writer. I can't help spinning off possible plot-threads and consequences.) But these questions are in that awkwardly practical realm that the story side-steps, as well as lying in a hypothetical future that it doesn't cover.

Sara—escorted by Mr. Carrisford—presents her proposed arrangement to the bakery owner, who recognizes her from their last encounter and rejoices in Sara’s good fortune. She mentions that she was aware of Sara giving away her buns to the beggar and how it inspired her to do her own bit of charity as she was able since then. But the frosting on the cake is the proof of how good deeds inspire continued good deeds and personal transformations. The bakery owner reveals that her conversation with the beggar girl led to sporadic exchanges of chores for food and eventually to regular employment. The girl, now christened Anne, has become a productive, upstanding member of the workforce thanks to the hand up. (As there has been no mention of the bakery owner having immediate family involved in the business, I’m free to visualize Anne eventually becoming almost an adopted daughter and taking over the business. Once more my writer-brain is spinning future scenarios out of control.)

* * *

In conclusion, what is my overall take on the book? Have I achieved my purpose in this re-read? My goal, as I attempted to describe it from the beginning, was to explain why I find this story a soothing comfort-read, despite the rather dated moral lessons, the regular cringe-inducing stereotyping along a wide variety of axes, and occasional gaping plot holes. It isn’t that I actually believe in the truth of “moral accounting”. Worthy people living virtuous lives get shat on by fate all the time and arrant villains achieve fame and fortune. (*cough* Trump *cough*) The value I see in such old-fashioned (to use one of Burnett’s favorite descriptors) moral structures is not in a belief that they reflect reality, but in the recognition that—like Sara’s example to those around her—they can inspire us to be our better selves. Just as Sara never really believes she is a princess, and just as her image of what it means to be a princess is a collection of unrealistic ideals that have little to do with the historic individuals she spins tales about, Sara's fictional example is a model--an unworldly idea--whose purpose is not to reflect reality but to create it. She inspires us to act as if our virtuous actions will be rewarded by fate, even when we know there’s no cause and effect.

Because the one part of Sara’s moral arc that is true, is that one person’s example can inspire (or shame) others to behave similarly. And seeing Sara as a flawed, struggling, three-dimensional human being (which isn’t necessarily typical for moralistic literature) who still holds to kind, virtuous, generous action, even when she has no expectation of it bringing her a return, is a timeless inspiration to my mind. One that overcomes the limitations of her creator’s vision and understanding.

Do you have a book that stuck with you over long years because it hit a similar chord with you? One that speaks to some essential inner truth that transcends simple entertainment?

This concludes my month-long trek through Faderman's Surpassing the Love of Men. Given the density of the information and the intersection of its importance (at the time of publication) and its now curiously dated feel, I don't begrudge the time spent. But I confess I'm looking forward to getting back to a once-a-week schedule for the LHMP posts! For the next publications, I've lined up a few books that I picked up at the Kalamazoo Medieval Congress this year, including one that studies medieval artistic depictions of variant sexuality, such as the image I use as the icon for the Lesbian Historic Motif Project.