The Romantic Armchair Traveller

Germany: On The Night Of The Seventh Moon by Victoria Holt

Toward the end of last year I acquired additional bookcases and therefore had the shelf space to unbox some older favourites. It was fun and eye-opening to sort through hoards of books I had devoured in younger years. Tucked among them were some more recent, unread finds: gothics collected for no other reason than my having enjoyed this genre as a teenager. Smiling at the signature cover art (night, young woman in forefront, a brooding castle in the distance) I dipped into a book by Victoria Holt, amused by the awkward, unfinished writing style. Three hours later, I realised I was halfway through On The Night Of The Seventh Moon and thoroughly entertained.

 

1859. Honouring the memory of her German mother, English-born Helena Trant attends a Damenstift (convent school) in the Black Forest. The legend-rich woods hold a deep fascination for Helena. When a creeping autumn mist separates her from her companions at a forest picnic her predicament brightens into a fairytale adventure through her rescue, as evening darkens, by a mysterious stranger on a white horse.

Unable to forget him, she is thrilled when their paths cross again during the festival of The Seventh Moon. The reunion leads to the revelation that he is Maximilian, Count Lokenberg - and to a secret marriage. A few days into the honeymoon Maximilian is suddenly called away. The morning after, Helena wakes up in the home of friends, feeling sick. She is told that her memories of the Count are hallucinations; that she was raped by an unknown assailant and has remained bedridden with shock since the night of the Seventh Moon. When she insists on driving out to the forest lodge where she believes she and the Count had been so happy, nothing but ruins greet her. And that is only the beginning of the nightmare.

 

Holt’s storytelling runs smoothly: her breathless prose combines with a gallery of ambiguous characters and an intricate plot to produce a fast-paced, gripping gothic. The plot of On The Night Of The Seventh Moon is closely allied with the waning of independent German principalities and duchies and the period of unification in the lead-up to the Franco-Prussian War. The political background emerges gradually and gives structure to a story that not only spans a decade but breaks with current romance convention in its prolonged separation of the hero and heroine. The latter allows for plenty of the kind of mystery and intrigue that are hallmarks of the gothic romance that had its heyday in the 1960s and early seventies (a genre of which Victoria Holt was one of the reigning queens). Helena Trant starts out as a cheerful innocent but grows into a woman who, while never letting go of hope, works to make the best of a bad situation. From the beginning, hers is a fairytale with sinister undertones, and the foreboding atmosphere is readily sustained by being told in the first person, single point of view favoured by gothic writers. While at one stage I did begin to wonder if the character I assumed to be the hero would ever return, the suspense inherent in having to puzzle out the motives and intentions of the heroine’s surroundings was one of the most absorbing aspects of the novel.

Liechtenkinn, Klocksburg, Klarenbock, and Rochenstein are imaginary places, but Holt draws on the real-life history, customs, legends, and geography of the Black Forest region for flavour, and the settings she presents are full of interest. The festival that incites the story appears made up, however.

Eleanor Hibbert was never one of my favourite authors in any of her incarnations. As a teenager I deemed the world she created as Victoria Holt grim and depressing. My intense dislike of the ‘hero’ in Menfreya In The Morning finally caused me to shun her books entirely. On The Night Of The Seventh Moon has inspired me to give her a second chance. Beyond that, the book proves that I still have a soft spot for old-fashioned gothic romance.

 

Excerpt

(Fontana Books paperback, 1974, page 44-5):

“So that was how we came to be standing in the square with the revellers all about us. It was about eight o’clock in the evening. Overhead hung the great moon – the seventh moon of the year and there seemed to be something mystical about it. It was a strange scene; naphtha flares burned from iron jets lighting the faces of the people. There were crowds in the square; people were signing and calling to each other. I caught sight of a man masked, with the horned head-dress which Ilse had described, and I recognized it at once from pictures my mother had shown me. Then I saw another and another.

Ilse squeezed my hand. ‘What do you think of it?’

‘Wonderful,’ I said.

‘Keep close. The crowd’s thickening and they may become over-excited.’

‘It’s early yet,’ I told her.

I saw a girl seized by one of the horn-headed men and go dancing off with him.

‘The excitement grows. You’ll see.’

‘What happens if the sky is overcast and there’s no moon?’

‘Some say that Loke is sulking and won’t come out, others that he’s playing one of his mischievous tricks and then one has to be especially careful.’

A group of fiddlers arrived, started to play and the dancing began.

I don’t know quite how it happened; it was the way these things do happen in crowds, I supposed. One minute I was standing there by Ilse’s side watching the laughing and dancing swirl of people and the next there was chaos.”

Booking Through Thursday: Podcasts

Clare asks, via Booking Through Thursday:

 

Do you ever listen to book-related podcasts? If so, which ones and why? (Include the URLs for people who aren’t familiar with them.) Or, of course, there’s the flip side … did you even know that such a thing existed?

 

This question reminded me of summers with my paternal grandparents. Their TV never seemed to be switched on. Instead, as grandmother baked her famous graham rolls or lacy oat biscuits in the sunny kitchen or grandfather fashioned candlesticks, toys, and furniture for the family in his carpentry workshop in the basement, they would listen to radio programmes. On Saturday mornings, grandparents, children, and grandchildren would throng around the greyish-blue-painted kitchen table for a sturdy breakfast and discuss bird sounds, gardening tips, and scientific discoveries as the week's favourite nature programme aired.

And that is how I use podcasts: as pleasant and instructive background to a non-demanding manual task. Via my laptop I have happily enjoyed reviews, author interviews, and other book-related selections while painting walls, sewing in buttons, or eating lunch. I don't have an iPod. And for the actual contents of a book I want to hold the bound version in my hands, turning paper pages while curled up in a comfortable chair, a fragrant cup of Lady Londonderry tea at my side.

 

Here are a few romance-related podcasts I have enjoyed recently:

 

• At the Fancy Dress Albert Public House, romance author and costume historian Kalen Hughes talks with Jana Oliver about women’s wear in the western world through the last few centuries.
• Among Harlequin’s behind the scenes spotlights, an interview with Deanna Raybourn and Jane Porter.
• Romance Writers of America’s Librarians Day podcasts include Barbara Samuels, Jayne Anne Krentz, and Susan Elizabeth Phillips.
• Better World Books' chat with Juliet Gael about her novel, Romancing Miss Brontë.
• For those who like listening to audiobooks, Librivox offers thousands of free podcasts in different languages. You will find various readings of Jane Austen’s works, for example.

 

Feel free to post the link to your own Booking Through Thursday thoughts!

Venezuela: His Wicked Kiss by Gaelen Foley

 

1818. In her father’s small research camp in Venezuela’s steamy Orinoco delta, Eden Farraday longs for society balls and, above all, a love match. Her daydreams brighten into hope when a timber crew captained by an Englishman shows up on the river. But England holds painful memories for her father, and the visitor, Jack Knight, is on a secret mission on behalf of Venezuelan revolutionaries. Dr. Farraday’s Australian assistant, too, has other plans for Eden. Her plea to be allowed to sail back home is refused.  Desperate, she takes fate into her own hands and stows away on Jack’s ship.

 

The first four chapters of Gaelen Foley’s His Wicked Kiss take place in the remote jungles of Venezuela, and were a hugely enjoyable part of the book for me. The remarkable setting thrives under Foley’s lush prose, saturating the story with richly detailed atmosphere. The characters have well-rounded personalities that create crackling energy in their interactions. Eden shares the traits of the typical Foley heroine in that she is a supremely beautiful, young innocent, but in the research camp she demonstrates both toughness and competence,  charming me with her scientific bent. Unfortunately, the closer she gets to the England she idolizes, however, the more she begins to leave her warmth and independence, her spark, behind.

A great deal of this book is spent aboard the hero’s ship.  This is where the relationship between Jack and Eden begins to develop, and they have some lovely scenes together as friendship deepens into more. Nevertheless, I grew a bit restless. Having read a few shipboard stories back to back, I am realising that protracted confinement aboard a seafaring vessel generally fails to engage me beyond the vague interest of novelty plus the small hope that we might dock at an exotic port. Now I know why I never quite could convince myself to settle down and read the by all accounts excellent Patrick O’Brien. I have to admit to skimming at one point.

Ireland, in which some passionate encounters take place before the final arrival in England, is a complete blank – we get to see, smell, taste nothing beyond a castle bedroom. The England of His Wicked Kiss is a generic place restricted to family reunions and a few vaguely sketched society events among the same interiors one plods through in regency after regency. (No wonder the regulars at Almack’s are always described as jaded or yawning.) I looked back at that vivid opening and its promising unpredictability with a wistful sigh. It didn’t help that the last quarter of the book dwelled on resentment and frustrations. I only perked up because of a suspenseful finale.

Based on my reading of five of her romances, Gaelen Foley specializes in over-the-top-fairytale-passion-gone-wild romance. Although this type of storytelling rarely clicks with me, Princess and Lord Of Ice did earn places on my keeper shelves, which is why every now and then I take a cautious peek at Foley’s offerings. His Wicked Kiss has a big plot and brims with the author’s trademark passion. If Eden and Jack had remained in South America or Jamaica (Jack’s home base) I like to think that the book could have joined my two keepers. The epilogue works as a nice nod to what could have been if Foley had kept the story in “the New World”. But that is merely this reader’s dream, and neither here nor there.

Excerpt

(Ballantine Books mass market paperback, 2006, p.46):

 

“Jack led the way, stalking down the rustic hemp-and-plank boardwalk, which was raised some inches over the forest floor.

Behind them, the blazing tropical sun came back out over the river, burning off the temporary coolness from the rain. The broad leaves above still dripped, however, as they entered the netherworld gloom of the emerald jungle.

The plants and young trees on either side of the walkway threatened to take it over, while countless lianas hung down from the branches above. Ahead, he saw a flicker of movement, pale swishing skirts. His male senses pricked up.

Light footfalls pattered closer, their rhythm vibrating toward him down the planks. A shy silence followed. He searched the greenery. Where was the little imp? Stopping at the lattice of a chest-high fan palm that arced across the path, he saw curious green eyes peeking at him through the pinnate fingers of the palm frond.”

Teaser Tuesday: Blame It On Paris by Laura Florand

Teaser Tuesday is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by Miz B of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

 

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• Be careful not to include spoilers! (Make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away. You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title and author, too, so that other Teaser Tuesday participants can add the book to their TBR lists if they like your teasers!

My teaser

From Blame It On Paris by Laura Florand (Tor mass market paperback, 2010), page 204:

“‘I don’t hear you whistling’, he called up. ‘You know, in France, cherry pickers are supposed to whistle to prove they’re not eating all the cherries.’”

Blame It On Paris is so far my favourite funny read of the year. Many laugh-out-loud moments - and some misty-eyed ones - as Florand's memoir chronicles the perils and joys of navigating a cross-cultural, cross-world relationship.

 

Feel free to post a link to your own Tuesday Teaser!

India: The Duke Of Shadows By Meredith Duran

In analysing a book you loved, do you ever find yourself dwelling more on the issues you encountered than on the joys? I find this happens sometimes with books I either admire or find dreadful. Passion stimulates the thought processes. And good literature can stand up to criticism without losing any of its power.

 

1857. After surviving the shipwreck that claimed her parents, newly arrived painter Emmaline Martin finds she does not fit in with her fiancé’s set in Delhi, India. As violence erupts and Indians rebel against the small British ruling elite, the only person who can help Emma to safety is a man whose mixed heritage straddles both worlds. The same man who stands between the ambitions of Emma’s fiancé and the dukedom of Auburn.

 

The main frustration I experienced with Meredith Duran's strong debut novel, The Duke Of Shadows, is that only its first half is set in India. In the middle of a desperate cliffhanger the story I had invested in drops everything only to reassemble  itself in a new locale with new actors – and with a ‘Big Misunderstanding’ plot. It made my reading experience schizophrenic and required me to reset my emotional compass.

One might argue this is a useful ploy as it makes the reader tune in to the cultural jolt the hero and heroine feel as they move from India to England and get to know each other’s home territories. It did not work for me. If I had not been so thoroughly taken with the hero and heroine and with Duran’s smooth, intelligent prose, the book would certainly not have recovered the high opinion the Indian section had earned from me.

The contrast between British colonialism and rising Indian nationalism lends immediate urgency, and in this climate the story positively vibrates with energy. When it moves to the drawing rooms and brothels of England, it can't help but tread beaten paths and in the process its uniqueness thins.

What also annoyed me is that because of the abrupt change of scene, the 1857 rebellion becomes little more than a device to catapult the hero and heroine into each other’s arms. Once that is achieved, the plotline is all but abandoned, and so we don’t get to see the outcome of a traumatic, nationwide conflict that had huge ramifications both for India and for Britain.

So why did The Duke Of Shadows leap onto the list of my all-time favourite historical romances?

The automatic Western, novelistic association when reading about the Indian events of 1857 is probably to M.M. Kaye's Shadow Of The Moon*. The latter's epic scope allows for historical detail that the shortened page count of today's romances can't rival, but Duran's choice to focus on the emotional and psychological effects of the horrors on her characters is effective.

In fact, my complaints pale into mere quibbles when compared with the merits of this novel. I have mentioned the literate prose, which I think is on par with that of any commercial novelist I can think of. It will be very interesting to see where it leads her as her talents grow and develop. Her other major strength is intelligent characterization.

Julian is a marvellous hero. He tries to prevent the coming bloodshed and, when the authorities refuse to listen, uncomplaingly does what he can to save those he cares about. He loves deeply and unreservedly, and no matter what Emma throws at him in the second half of the novel he treats her with compassion and patience. This is a mature, reasonable adult, scarred by his own history but capable of handling his problems without unduly blaming others. (Despite a few derogatory comments by unsavoury characters and the rejection of him by most of his Indian relatives, Julian’s Eurasian blood does not noticeably hinder his success in society back in England. Of course, class, race, or ethnicity are hardly ever (never?) insurmountable problems in romances, but in this instance I do wish the author had invoked her cliché-radar and not glossed over quite so much. Being Eurasian was, even in the mid-twentieth century, something which could get you killed. I hope to return to this subject in a later post.)

The portrayal of Emma is nuanced, making her an interesting character whose emotional fragility has her teetering on the brink of hysterical collapse for much of the story. Sometimes this edged into slightly melodramatic territory for me. The gradual emergence of her inner resilience for a while steers her into obdurate refusal to deal with difficult truths, but what saves her from becoming a self-made martyr is the sensitively handled liberation of her fearfully repressed passions.

Last but obviously not least, Meredith Duran breathes authenticity into the landscape of India and its people: her language is illuminating and evocative. The descriptions fit naturally within the flow of the story, conjure vivid scents and sounds, and add meaning. The armchair traveller in me was wholly immersed in her India, which leads me to my conclusion:

I count The Duke Of Shadows among the most  emotionally satisfying and uplifting romances I have read. A testament to how much I appreciated the writing is that for the first time ever in my years of romance reading I did not skip or skim the love scenes. I did not want to miss a word. I have since re-read the book as well as purchased and read every other novel by the author.

Excerpt

(Pocket Star Books, 2008, p.138-9):

"Early the next morning, they drew up before a rocky plateau that burst vertically upward from the plain. Geologically, it seemed so unlikely as to have been dropped there by some wandering giant. A honeycomb of dwellings clung to the bottom slopes of the tableland, whitewashed walls gleaming in the sun.

'Sapnagar** village,' Emma guessed.

She was riding pillion on Julian's horse; hers had drawn up lame, and was on lead behind them. Julian caught her hand where it sat at the front of his waist. 'Fort,' he corrected, rubbing a thumb over her palm. 'Look again at the plateau.'

All morning he had touched her like this, casually and constantly. She felt slightly drunk from it; laughter came up in her throat for no reason. She shaded her eyes with her free hand and squinted through the haze. 'Good Lord! Those are walls at the top, aren't they? They're carved out of the mountain!'

'The fort hasn't been taken in two centuries. And the Maharajah is an old friend of mine. It's the safest place I can imagine.'"

 

*Nightrunners Of Bengal by John Masters appears to have been a bestseller in its time, but I have not come across many current mentions about it (nor have I read it myself).

**In a 2008 interview at Ann Aguirre’s website Duran explains, ”the description of the fortress at Sapnagar is a composite of Mehrangarh Fort, Amber Fort, and the City Palace in Udaipur, all of which I’ve visited several times”.

 

A film of related interest: The Rising: Ballad Of Mangal Pandey. I loved the colourfulness of this movie with its opulent sets and rousing dance and song sequences. The events of the rebellion are shown from the Indian viewpoint, and the production mixes Indian and British actors. The story is told primarily through the eyes of Mangal Pandey (portrayed with passionate fervour by Aamir Khan) - an important historical character - his friend, a British officer (played by Toby Stephens, whom some may recognize as Rochester from a 2006 BBC production of Jane Eyre), and their two loves. I found Captain Gordon’s romance rather stilted despite its sweetness, but this did not detract from my appreciation of the film. Whether you’re a history buff, a romantic, an armchair traveller, or simply looking for vibrant entertainment, I heartily recommend The Rising.