Back to Top

Author Archives: Janet Mullany

Elena blogged yesterday about the first time and I’m blogging today about the Meet Cute (with or without a hyphen), the very first meeting of hero/heroine.

Although Wikipedia defines it as an element of screwball comedy or romantic comedy, I think it’s a staple of romantic fiction, because it determines the elements of hero/heroine interaction. Rarely do a hero/heroine meet and find that everything is compatible between them straight away. Austen gives us a prime example of the Meet Cute when Darcy first encounters Elizabeth: She is not handsome enough to tempt me.

So we get Elizabeth’s and Darcy’s reaction to each other, their misconceptions about each other, and, miraculously (if we knew how Austen did this academia would grind to a halt, the mystery solved) their attraction to each other despite themselves.

Since I have a sinus infection that is making my nose look like a banana (misshapen, not yellow) I’m going to invite you to share your favorite Meet Cutes of all time in romance, and share with you the Meet Cute from my WIP. I think this scene will stay, although I’ve just figured out the plot and a lot of stuff has to be rewritten:

.

.. there is someone sprawled on a chair. He wears plain black—very fashionable for a gentleman, of course—but on this man it looks as though he intends to fight a duel and possibly conduct the funeral service over his unlucky opponent all in the same day. His dark hair is unruly, also eminently fashionable but in a way that, along with his unshaven chin, suggests he has but recently risen from his bed.

Goodness.

He is lean, dramatic, handsome as the devil, and I suspect the bed was not his.

A rake!

Will my reputation fall around me in tatters if I approach him?

I regard the soggy handkerchief in my hand and regret that the bosom of my gown, fashionably brief, does not allow for extra cargo.

While I have been staring at him I have in fact been moving toward him, like a mouse fascinated by a snake, so I arrive in front of him as he looks up—his eyes are shadowed, naturally, his eyelashes dark and lush, his face lean and bony—and gazes straight at my bosom.

He yawns.

And hop over to History Hoydens today where our very own Amanda McCabe is talking about sixteenth century navigation!

I’m blessed with ample reading opportunities on my commute and in the bathtub, and like Diane I also like to read before I go to sleep. So it’s quite common for me to have a book on the metro and a book (or two) at home. You’d think I would have a lot more books to talk about than I actually do. I had to go and look at my account on Goodreads to see what I’ve read this year as well as the ones knocking around in my head.

I don’t read a lot of romance for various reasons, but I have to mention a couple: Pam Rosenthal’s wonderful, inventive, subtle, sexy The Edge of Impropriety, a book for and about grown-ups, and not just because of the sex. Honest. Also Julie Ann Long’s terrific The Perils of Pleasure, with its elegant prose and complex characters, though to be honest I’m not sure what it was about, but heck, I had a good time with it.

I also have been re-reading Heyer after an absence of, uh, several decades. I talked about Regency Buck a couple of weeks ago. I also read Cousin Kate–meh, zzzz, Gothically silly; Frederica–this must be the book which began the tradition in romance of adorable children and rumbunctious cute dogs, or the other way round if you prefer; The Nonesuch–sorry, all I could think of was Where’s Waldo, but it had a terrific spoiled bimbo anti-heroine; Devil’s Cub–loved it up to where Mary shot him and then was appalled that she turned into his mom (but obviously, with a cross-dressing loony as his real mother, what else would we expect?); A Woman of Quality–interesting because it was one of her later books with a heroine who was bored and grumpy, but no discernible plot; and Bath Tangle, which I gave up on after finding the hundreds of characters Heyer tends to throw at you in the first few chapters interchangeable, although I’m sure I would have noticed Mr. Spock, as the cover suggests.

I read the newest release by one of my very favorite authors, Jude Morgan (he’s a guy!), Symphony, about the love affair between actress Harriet Smithson and Hector Berlioz, with whom he fell in love when he saw her in her signature role as Ophelia (in English) in Paris. She inspired him–I guess that’s the right word, maybe it should be tormented him–to write the Symphonie Fantastique.

I discovered a new Irish writer called Tana French who writes modern Irish police procedurals; gorgeous, stylish, thought-provoking stuff. I lay on the sofa the day after Christmas and read her first book, In The Woods, and did nothing else all day. Blissful. I’d read her second, The Likeness, a few weeks before (I tend to read things out of sequence).

Early last year I had the interesting experience of reading, one after the other, two books on the same theme, modern retellings of the Orpheus legend–Gods Behaving Badly, the first novel by a smart, funny young English writer, Marie Phillips; and the beautiful, painful, eloquent Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital.

One book that was a major disappointment, but that translated into a wonderful movie, was The Jane Austen Bookclub (how about this one, Cara?). The writer(s) of the screenplay wisely took the author’s copious telling and translated it into dialogue between the characters. A pity–this was a book I wanted to love.

As for nonfiction, I enjoyed Sultry Climes, a book about the Grand Tour, or the STD Tour, as it should really be known. Those enthusiastic young men often brought back more than a few pieces of statuary from their educational travels. I also found a new book about servants, Master and Servant by Caroline Steedman, a thought-provoking interpretation of master-servant relationships in the late 18th-century, based on the case of an elderly clergyman whose female servant became pregnant (it wasn’t his child), and instead of righteously dismissing her, he kept her and the child in the house, doted on them, and provided for them both in his will.

I also discovered A Picture History of the Grenville Family of Rosedale House, a collection of watercolors by a young girl named Mary Yelloly, painted in the 1820s when she was between eight and twelve years of age. She only lived to be twenty-one, which gives a sweet poignancy to her pictures. The paintings were discovered and published only recently. You can read about the book here, and this is one of the paintings.

And here’s something I hope you’ll read and enjoy–I’m doing revisions for it at the moment–coming in May, my next book, A Most Lamentable Comedy, available from amazon.co.uk, and although it’s not listed there yet, this UK site, The Book Depository, offers free shipping worldwide.

What are you reading? Plan to read? What books did you enjoy recently?

And what are you doing to celebrate?

First, I trust you let this man into your house last night. You really should have, you know. His sack carries coal or salt or something else I can’t remember, providing you with plenty for the new year, although chances are in my neighborhood he’d dump the salt/coal and leave with your laptop.

Some particularly dedicated and hardy people celebrate New Year’s Day by going swimming. Outside.

The Chicago Polar Bear Club has these rules:

1. Swimsuits only. No nudity (it’s a family event) and no wetsuits (that’s cheating).
2. Swimmers must go all the way under the water before coming out to be “official.”
3. No whining!

On the left, the Lake View Polar Bears of Chicago in action, chunks of ice and all. Their motto is celebration of shrinkage. Yikes.

This insanity is practiced worldwide. On the right, the Berlin Seals put the old year behind them. It seems to be snowing and swimsuit optional.

Like Eleanor, I don’t really believe in new year’s resolutions. But this year I do want to continue to lose weight (hooray! although recently it’s been a bit of a butterfest), to put the joy back in writing, and to be more generous in my time and resources to others.

How about you? What are you doing today and what are your plans for the new year? And is anyone going swimming today–I’d love to hear from you!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | 11 Replies

Whatever you celebrate at this time of year, we Riskies wish you a peaceful and joyous holiday season.

I’m not religious yet I find the images of the birth in the stable powerful and moving, as is so much of the music associated with Christmas (The Messiah rather than Bing Crosby et al). I can feel the anticipation, the buildup to the big day. Here’s a poem I’m particularly fond of, written by Thomas Hardy in 1915; it’s based on English folklore that animals in the stable fall to their knees on Christmas Eve, as they did long ago in Bethlehem.

The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen.
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few believe
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve
“Come; see the oxen kneel

“In the lonely barton by yonder comb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.


Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 6 Replies

I can’t remember my first.

What an embarrassing confession. I know that I had my massive teenage Heyer binge after I read Austen, which must have been for high school, because I remember telling my English teacher that Heyer was just like Austen. Hmmm. But I can’t remember which book it was, although I remember earlier listening to girls complain about having to read P&P and it was so boring. Ha. The rest of us were blessed with Silas Marner, chosen, I’m convinced, because it was the shortest George Eliot–that it’s also complex and difficult apparently wasn’t a problem for a bunch of teenage girls who were really only interested in John, George, Paul and/or Ringo.

I remember watching something on a black and white TV with terrible reception and realizing, despite the blizzard onscreen, that it was the BBC Persuasion (the one from long ago) because I recognized the words. But I really fell in love with Austen after college, when I lived in Bath, and found that you could retrace Ann and Wentworth’s steps through the city.

And she’s been pretty much a constant in my life ever since. Every time I reread one of her books I find something that relates to where I am at that time–falling in love, falling out of love, married, unmarried, being a parent, growing older. Her novels offer consolation, inspiration, and a challenge. I admire Austen’s toughness, her unflinching clarity on family relationships.

Here’s a great poem by Kathe Pollitt, Rereading Jane Austen’s Novels, which I borrowed from a collection of Austen-inspired poems at pemberley.com. It’s bleak and biased, and not altogether accurate–Lizzie Bennett thinks nothing of a five mile hike (in the mud)–but I hope you’ll like it.

This time round, they didn’t seem so comic.
Mama is foolish, dim or dead. Papa’s
a sort of genial, pampered lunatic.
No one thinks of anything but class.

Talk about rural idiocy! Imagine
a life of teas with Mrs. and Miss Bates,
of fancywork and Mr. Elton’s sermons!
No wonder lively girls get into states —

No school! no friends! A man might dash to town
just to have his hair cut in the fashion,
while she can’t walk five miles on her own.
Past twenty, she conceives a modest crush on

some local stuffed shirt in a riding cloak
who’s twice her age and maybe half as bright.
At least he’s got some land and gets a joke —
but will her jokes survive the wedding night?

The happy end ends all. Beneath the blotter
the author slides her page, and shakes her head,
and goes to supper — Sunday’s joint warmed over,
followed by whist, and family prayers, and bed.

And remember, this week we’re holding a contest for Austen’s birthday–so comment often and early!

Follow
Get every new post delivered to your inbox
Join millions of other followers
Powered By WPFruits.com