Dear Yuletide Writer...
Nov. 14th, 2009 07:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosie_ruesDear Yuletide Writer,
Firstly, thank you for offering to write in one of my tiny fandoms :) Secondly, please enjoy yourself. This is supposed to be fun. Write whatever you fancy about these characters and I'll enjoy it ^_^
This is really to expand on what I wrote in my prompts – to explain why I like these fandoms so much, and give you some suggestions if you're stuck for ideas. Don't feel confined by any of these though.
Catherine Christian: The Sword and the Flame/The Pendragon
Okay, so last I checked, I was the only one who had offered this, so this is more in the way of a fly-by rec for any Arthurian folk on my flist. This was first published in 1979 and is long out of print (but amazon secondhand has very cheap copies). It's a historical retelling of the Arthurian legends which pulls in a lot of later characters as well. It's told by Arthur's childhood friend and most loyal follower Verus (aka Bedivere) and follows him from their childhood in an impoverished farmstead, through Verus' time in Rome and then all through the golden age of Camelot to the end of Arthur's reign. Verus is a fantastic character – thoughtful, loyal, sometimes a little narrow-minded and always defining himself by his loyalty to Arthur. There's also a wealth of minor characters, including Verus and Arturus' foster sister Vivian/Ygern and my personal favourite Palomides, Verus' fellow soldier who follows him back from Europe to serve with Arthur and whose quick intelligence is a perfect foil for Verus' solid and absolute reliability (and he's the most slashable character in there – even through Verus' rather oblivious perspective. He leaves everything behind to go to Britain, flirts with Verus, and at least one character assumes they are lovers). I first stumbled across this book in my school library years ago and then found a secondhand copy about six years ago and reread it with my heart in my throat, remembering just how powerfully her version of Arthur's Britain had hit me the first time round. It's a real, complex place, and by the end of the book, you're grieving as much as Verus is for its loss and for the death of Arthur.
Oh, and this is what drew me in the first time – the first scene:
It is twenty years since my lord Arthur, the king – the Pendragon – was carried to his secret resting place on this Island in the marshes.
Now I, the last, as I was once the first, of his Companions, lie in a quiet cell, and hear the white monks chant their Christmas midnight mass, and I know that I shall not again feel the world turn from the solstice of winter on towards the spring.
Snow lies deep on the sill, blue-shadowed in the moonlight, marked by the tiny tracks of the birds for whom Brother Paulinus shakes out crumbs: the same snow that finally drove me from the roads I have been travelling for so long, to die like an old dog, close by my master's grave.
Paulinus is a good boy; an honest boy. He warned me fairly from the first that he was Saxon-born. I did not need to be told, for his accent grates on the ear. At a guess, listening to them singing tonight, half the brothers here share the same blood. Their abbot, who once, so long ago that it seems another life, was Griffin, my freckled page, makes no distinction. He tells me, smling (and the smile at least I remember), that Christ, like the emperors, is content to accept auxiliaries in his legion. What with wars and sickness and emigration, there are not many of the true Celtic blood left in these lowlands of Britain now.
When my wits are not wandering and I have voice enough to dictate, Paulinus writes down what I can remember of the Matter of Britain. His kin burned our records when they sacked Camelot. I think he would like amends for that burning. Now they are conquerors and have no more need to fear him, the Saxons respect Arthur as a hero. They even, I believe, sing his story in their barbarous glee music, round the fires of evening.
So Paulinus, Saxon industrious, sits at the foot of my bed, with his inkhorn and his parchment, scratching swiftly, very anxious lest I die too soon, before his record is complete.
“Facts! All you need remember are the facts, my lord Bedivere. Don't tire yourself. All we need to record are the facts.”
Facts? What are facts? A centurion's report. The sort of report Theodoric the Goth taught me to make half a century ago and half a world away.
For twenty years I, Bedivere, have kept the flame of Arthur's memory burning among his own people, in the hills and the lonely places, in outlaw camps and roadside rest-houses, in farmhouse kitchens and turf huts of the Hill People, with my harp's singing. Celidon the Merlin taught me long ago that the fire in the heart of a nation can burn for a thousand years, if its harpers guard the spark.
There are facts – yes. And there is memory's secret flame, and that is another matter. Back of it all, far away and clear, so clear now, like the reflection of bare branches in a windless lake, there is the truth of things as they actually happened, the truth that only those who were there can know, the reflection that will fade when darkness comes and be lost in the minds of the dead.
For Paulinus, I suppose, the Matter of Britain should begin with the 'facts' of Arthur's birth and these I cannot tell him. An oath is an oath, and my oath binds me still.
For the harper, the story should start with one great chord, swept right across the strings, to catch men's hearts and hold them, rapt and breathless, waiting for marvels.
But for me, Bedivere, the picture that comes to mind, clearer now than when I was a part of it, sharper and more vivid, like the reflection of colour in still lake water, is of three children, wild as winter gulls, and an old, shabby Colonial homestead, deep in the Dumnonian country.
Diana Wynne Jones – Howl's Moving Castle
This is an old friend of mine, and still a real comfort read. I love every character and every little bit of sly humour in this book. I'd love to see something which delves more into Howl's past, even his childhood in Wales, but I'd be just as happy to see a bit of Howl/Sophie domestic banter if that's your thing.
Jean Estoril – Drina books
Just copying what I wrote last year here - These were a childhood favourite of mine and I read them until my copies fell apart. I always adored Drina's big secret and the way she sometimes struggled to find her own way. I reread a lot of them last summer and it struck me how many other stories were crammed into the series - I found myself wondering about Marianne Volonaise and Igor Dominick Sr; about how Mrs Chester felt watching her daughter grow up; about Elizabeth Ivory herself and her transformation from gawky Betsy to ballerina- so many tantalising glimpses in the books. I wanted to know more about the Lorencz family and their escape from behind the Iron Curtain or about the life led by Adele Whiteway (who I think I always assumed was a lesbian) when Drina's not looking. Give me a sense of the time and place and tell me about one of these people and I'll be overjoyed.
Shakespeare – Much Ado About Nothing
Beatrice is my favourite Shakespearean heroine. I love her wit and warmth, and I keep wondering about the hints she drops about her earlier relationship with Benedick. I'd love to know their backstory.
Firstly, thank you for offering to write in one of my tiny fandoms :) Secondly, please enjoy yourself. This is supposed to be fun. Write whatever you fancy about these characters and I'll enjoy it ^_^
This is really to expand on what I wrote in my prompts – to explain why I like these fandoms so much, and give you some suggestions if you're stuck for ideas. Don't feel confined by any of these though.
Catherine Christian: The Sword and the Flame/The Pendragon
Okay, so last I checked, I was the only one who had offered this, so this is more in the way of a fly-by rec for any Arthurian folk on my flist. This was first published in 1979 and is long out of print (but amazon secondhand has very cheap copies). It's a historical retelling of the Arthurian legends which pulls in a lot of later characters as well. It's told by Arthur's childhood friend and most loyal follower Verus (aka Bedivere) and follows him from their childhood in an impoverished farmstead, through Verus' time in Rome and then all through the golden age of Camelot to the end of Arthur's reign. Verus is a fantastic character – thoughtful, loyal, sometimes a little narrow-minded and always defining himself by his loyalty to Arthur. There's also a wealth of minor characters, including Verus and Arturus' foster sister Vivian/Ygern and my personal favourite Palomides, Verus' fellow soldier who follows him back from Europe to serve with Arthur and whose quick intelligence is a perfect foil for Verus' solid and absolute reliability (and he's the most slashable character in there – even through Verus' rather oblivious perspective. He leaves everything behind to go to Britain, flirts with Verus, and at least one character assumes they are lovers). I first stumbled across this book in my school library years ago and then found a secondhand copy about six years ago and reread it with my heart in my throat, remembering just how powerfully her version of Arthur's Britain had hit me the first time round. It's a real, complex place, and by the end of the book, you're grieving as much as Verus is for its loss and for the death of Arthur.
Oh, and this is what drew me in the first time – the first scene:
It is twenty years since my lord Arthur, the king – the Pendragon – was carried to his secret resting place on this Island in the marshes.
Now I, the last, as I was once the first, of his Companions, lie in a quiet cell, and hear the white monks chant their Christmas midnight mass, and I know that I shall not again feel the world turn from the solstice of winter on towards the spring.
Snow lies deep on the sill, blue-shadowed in the moonlight, marked by the tiny tracks of the birds for whom Brother Paulinus shakes out crumbs: the same snow that finally drove me from the roads I have been travelling for so long, to die like an old dog, close by my master's grave.
Paulinus is a good boy; an honest boy. He warned me fairly from the first that he was Saxon-born. I did not need to be told, for his accent grates on the ear. At a guess, listening to them singing tonight, half the brothers here share the same blood. Their abbot, who once, so long ago that it seems another life, was Griffin, my freckled page, makes no distinction. He tells me, smling (and the smile at least I remember), that Christ, like the emperors, is content to accept auxiliaries in his legion. What with wars and sickness and emigration, there are not many of the true Celtic blood left in these lowlands of Britain now.
When my wits are not wandering and I have voice enough to dictate, Paulinus writes down what I can remember of the Matter of Britain. His kin burned our records when they sacked Camelot. I think he would like amends for that burning. Now they are conquerors and have no more need to fear him, the Saxons respect Arthur as a hero. They even, I believe, sing his story in their barbarous glee music, round the fires of evening.
So Paulinus, Saxon industrious, sits at the foot of my bed, with his inkhorn and his parchment, scratching swiftly, very anxious lest I die too soon, before his record is complete.
“Facts! All you need remember are the facts, my lord Bedivere. Don't tire yourself. All we need to record are the facts.”
Facts? What are facts? A centurion's report. The sort of report Theodoric the Goth taught me to make half a century ago and half a world away.
For twenty years I, Bedivere, have kept the flame of Arthur's memory burning among his own people, in the hills and the lonely places, in outlaw camps and roadside rest-houses, in farmhouse kitchens and turf huts of the Hill People, with my harp's singing. Celidon the Merlin taught me long ago that the fire in the heart of a nation can burn for a thousand years, if its harpers guard the spark.
There are facts – yes. And there is memory's secret flame, and that is another matter. Back of it all, far away and clear, so clear now, like the reflection of bare branches in a windless lake, there is the truth of things as they actually happened, the truth that only those who were there can know, the reflection that will fade when darkness comes and be lost in the minds of the dead.
For Paulinus, I suppose, the Matter of Britain should begin with the 'facts' of Arthur's birth and these I cannot tell him. An oath is an oath, and my oath binds me still.
For the harper, the story should start with one great chord, swept right across the strings, to catch men's hearts and hold them, rapt and breathless, waiting for marvels.
But for me, Bedivere, the picture that comes to mind, clearer now than when I was a part of it, sharper and more vivid, like the reflection of colour in still lake water, is of three children, wild as winter gulls, and an old, shabby Colonial homestead, deep in the Dumnonian country.
Diana Wynne Jones – Howl's Moving Castle
This is an old friend of mine, and still a real comfort read. I love every character and every little bit of sly humour in this book. I'd love to see something which delves more into Howl's past, even his childhood in Wales, but I'd be just as happy to see a bit of Howl/Sophie domestic banter if that's your thing.
Jean Estoril – Drina books
Just copying what I wrote last year here - These were a childhood favourite of mine and I read them until my copies fell apart. I always adored Drina's big secret and the way she sometimes struggled to find her own way. I reread a lot of them last summer and it struck me how many other stories were crammed into the series - I found myself wondering about Marianne Volonaise and Igor Dominick Sr; about how Mrs Chester felt watching her daughter grow up; about Elizabeth Ivory herself and her transformation from gawky Betsy to ballerina- so many tantalising glimpses in the books. I wanted to know more about the Lorencz family and their escape from behind the Iron Curtain or about the life led by Adele Whiteway (who I think I always assumed was a lesbian) when Drina's not looking. Give me a sense of the time and place and tell me about one of these people and I'll be overjoyed.
Shakespeare – Much Ado About Nothing
Beatrice is my favourite Shakespearean heroine. I love her wit and warmth, and I keep wondering about the hints she drops about her earlier relationship with Benedick. I'd love to know their backstory.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 07:22 pm (UTC)I love that book. It's one of those books that my father and I pass back and forth between us, depending on who needs to read it most at any given moment. I really should invest in another copy, just in case.
It's certainly one of the better retellings, although I have a soft spot for Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff too.
One day I'll write my own version. I promised my Dad.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 07:33 pm (UTC)When I was writing the description here, I was thinking of Sword at Sunset, and how Sutcliff has that same intensively evocative style that makes The Sword and the Flame so evocative for me. (Both the copies I've encountered have been under that title - I got really excited when I found the mention of this book called Pendragon, before I realised it was the same book).
I've got the beginnings of my own retelling tucked away, but it scares me a little. Even the tiny bit I've written took over my life to a frightening degree - the people I was living with at the time had to remind me to eat.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 07:38 pm (UTC)I suspect it will be a story I will tell for all my life, regardless of whatever else I write or do. Because, in so many ways, it is every story.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-14 08:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 12:56 am (UTC)I was heavily into Arthurian fiction when I was younger - Rosemary Sutcliff's The Lantern Bearers was my favorite, so much that I have never been able to bring myself to read Sword at Sunset for fear it would ruin it. Mary Stewart's Merlin series came in second. <3
Re: the comments above - that's the way we regard the bible here in Israel. It hadn't sunk in for me before that it must be the same for Arthurian legend in England.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 11:08 am (UTC)The Sword and the Flame is very much in that Romance-influenced historical tradition that Mary Stewart writes. I love the way that she draws in all the historical context as well and the sense, particularly in the first half of the book of the way that the whole of Europe is fracturing as the Roman empire comes apart at the seams - the Greek doctor fleeing Christian riots in Alexandria, the Armorican senators clinging to a Roman identity and refusing to send help to Arthur because he's a native chieftain, Verus' cousin Cai, aged twenty and having nightmares every night because he doesn't know how he can keep feeding all the people on their homestead.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 11:09 am (UTC)