Violet Bent Backwards Over The Grass – Lana Del Rey (2020)

When it comes to writing, one of my greatest inspirations has alway been music, and when it comes to my life, its most prominent backtrack has been the music of Lana Del Rey. Ever since she released her official debut album back in 2012, I have been comforted, inspired and bewitched by her incredible abilities as a writer and as a musician. It’s actually a little bit of an obsession; I have all of her albums, an Ultraviolence canvas poster on my wall, and a trio of tickets to her cancelled UK tour last year. So perhaps I’m a little biased when it comes to my evaluation of her debut poetry book, but it was nothing less than what I expected it to be; beautiful and clever, yet so simple and poignant. The best musicians are poets, writers and storytellers first, and Lana Del Rey is no exception.

Since 2012, Lana Del Rey has released seven full length albums, as well as a prior album under the name Lizzie Grant. Born and bred in America, Lana’s work often delves deeply into the psyche of the country, especially that of her home state of California. Her other topics of discussion in her music include passionate and dangerous love, the lifestyles of the rich and famous, notoriety and more recently, the joy and peace of the simple life. While some of her songs may indeed be based on her own personal experiences, Lana Del Rey is first and foremost a storyteller, so I’ve never exactly listened to any of her music and interpreted it as representation of her life. In my eyes, it’s of a similar fictional ilk as Taylor Swift’s Folklore and Evermore albums, relying on the power of imagination to craft a rich world in the listener’s, or in this case, the reader’s mind.

Violet Bent Backwards Over The Grass is a literary take on Lana Del Rey’s unique style and talent. All of the poems are sumptuous in their own right, but I have picked out my favourites and taken a closer look at why I feel they are so special:

1)Bare feet on linoleum

I think that the title of this poem perfectly summarises how much Lana Del Rey’s take on romanticism as a writer has evolved; where her works used to be concerned with the beauty of wealthy, glitz, danger and luxury, now they find the beauty in the simplest and most homely of things. It’s a point that hits home even more in her latest album Chemtrails Over The Country Club. In ‘Bare feet on linoleum’, the speaker laments how people, especially great artists such as poet Sylvia Plath, can be brought down by secrets and rumours that they wish to escape from. In the latter half of the poem, she debates whether sanctity from such ostracization can be found in great, epic travels to distant lands, or ‘in the kitchen, bare feet on linoleum, bored – but not unhappy, cutting vegetables over boiling water that I will later turn into stew’. It’s a deeply relevant debate in a modern world caught between the mentality of living grandly while you are young, and appreciating happiness as it happens. It is also discussed in the opening, and titular poem of the novel, in which the speaker watches a little girl merrily playing with a dandelion, and decides to ‘do nothing about everything’, Yet it is this poem that is a favourite of mine, and stayed with me after I read it.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: 13 Beaches from Lust for Life, Chemtrails Over the Country Club from Chemtrails Over the Country Club, How to Disappear from Norman Fucking Rockwell

Best line: ‘tiny beads of sweat dot my forehead, could be mistaken for dewdrops if this were photo season.’

2)What happened when I left you

This a sweet worded, yet extremely powerful poem, documenting the moment when one realises that one is no longer haunted by a person who inflicted great wounds. Although the title suggests an initial breakup, it seems to mean that the speaker did not feel she had truly left this person until she had left all thought of them behind. Now she enjoys a summer afternoon with friends, simply picking out a dress to wear. It is evidence that there is more power in one’s own peace than in vengeance over those who hurt us.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Radio from Born to Die, Cruel World from Ultraviolence, Dance Till We Die from Chemtrails Over The Country Club

Best line: ‘No flickering in my head movies, projected in Bellevue’

3)LA Who am I to Love You?

Lana Del Rey as an artist has always had a special connection to California, and to Los Angeles in particular. Here, she, or the character she speaks through, compares herself to the city, addressing it as if it were a person and begging it to give her a place within it. Again, the speaker is isolated and ostracized, acknowledging that she in character is as restless and tempestuous as LA itself, yet insisting that she could nurture the city and blend in quietly if only she could return to it, for no-one has ever felt more like a companion to her. It’s a melancholy and desperate poem, and one that reminds us how places can become parts of our lives and natures, and form them equally.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Heroin from Lust for Life

Best line: ‘the city not quite awake, the city not quite asleep, the city that’s something else – something in between, the city that’s still deciding how good it should be’

4)The Land of 1000 fires

In its barest sense, The Land of a 1000 fires is about a relationship which functions on the principle of opposites attracting and complementing one another. The speaker is a creative, a dreamer with a romanticised, fantastical view of the world. Her partner is the opposite, grounded, mechanical and masculine, a part of the real world, ‘the land of 1000 fires’. He is her satellite, grounding her to the world and to practicality. This is either a bond which works due to each person completing the other, or is bound to fail as each is thus too dependent on the other. Yet it is an interesting and very real feeling for a writer, as we always have a foot in another world and are fascinated by those who don’t. Yet where most dreamers seek other dreamers, the speaker of this poem wants a lover who is part of the cold, steel world of modern reality, with ‘two blue steel trains’ running ‘through the tunnels of your cool blue steel eyes’. It’s the sort of poem that you are confused by upon the first reading, that you understand on the second, and that comes alive to you on the third.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Sad Girl from Ultraviolence, Freak from Honeymoon, Shades of Cool from Ultraviolence

Best line: ‘there are seven worlds in my eyes, I’m accessing all of them at once, one to draw my words from and my muses, another one I try and harness late at night that lies somewhere off of the right of Jupiter, and then of course there’s the one I live in, the land of 1000 fires’

5)Never to Heaven

Never to Heaven is once again a poem about contentment, and how one cannot find it if they constantly look to the stars and search for the meaning of life. For then life shall only pass them by and they shall have never enjoyed it properly. The poem is a rally against pompous views that simple pleasures such as television and coffee are those for the idle and unintelligent. The speaker has found faith in the warmth of her partner, and in the goodness she believes in within herself. She will not look up to the existential wonderment of the heavens, nor down to the sadness and direness of life, but ahead at what is in front of her. It’s gorgeously written, simple and meaningful, and it is printed twice, once in draft, and once in final type, in the book. So perhaps this one is a favourite of Lana Del Rey’s, and rightfully so.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Love Song from Norman Fucking Rockwell, Let Me Love You Like a Woman from Chemtrails Over The Country Club, Not All Who Wander Are Lost from Chemtrails Over The Country Club, Love from Lust for Life

Best Line: ‘I believe in the goodness in me, that it’s firm enough to plant a flag in, or a rosebud, or to build a new life.”

6)SportCruiser

This is a unique poem in this collection, as it is far more prosaic than the others, reading more as a short story that a true poem in places. And fittingly, I feel that this might be the only poem that is truly autobiographical, as the age of the speaker matches that of Lana Del Rey herself. On her thirty-third birthday, the speaker tires of lamenting over a lost love, and decides to begin to take flying lessons, embarrassed that she does so in the metaphorical hope of becoming her ‘own navigator’. She is alarmed when the instructor comments that she does not trust herself, and takes the phrase to heart in reference to her approach to life in general. Similarly, she ponders why she cannot easily take up the skills of sailing, and her instructor this time comments that sailing is simply not what she does. And thus the speaker realises that is alright if she does not excel in such fields, for her strength is her writing, and she simply works differently as a person to the pilot or the captain. It’s quite a reassuring poem, especially for someone who feels that is not enough only to have one strength. We as humans are all unique, each of our minds ticking differently, and SportCruiser tells us that that is okay.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Get Free from Lust for Life, Lust for Life from Lust for Life.

Best Line: ‘because pilots aren’t like poets, they don’t make metaphors between life and the sky.’

7)My bedroom is a sacred place now – There are children at the foot of my bed

Similar to ‘What happened when I left you’, this poem talks about the deep peace felt at the departure of the ill effects of a person toxic in the speaker’s life. She has now obliterated the gaslighting inflicted upon her, and confronted the reality of the person who made her feel this way. She knows who she is, in the little traits that make up herself, and now such a person is no longer permitted in her bed, for it ‘is a sacred place now’; boundaries have been established, and the speaker has retreated into the comforts of the essence of herself. It’s a poem infused with unusually modern sentiments of self care for a writer such as Lana Del Rey, often concerned with the timeless glamour of the past, and it might be my favourite out of all of them.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Tulsa Jesus Freak from Chemtrails Over the Country Club, Coachella – Woodstock in my Mind from Lust for Life

Best line: ‘I go on trips to the beach with my friends who don’t know that I’m crazy.’

8)ringtone

Ringtone is the shortest poem in this collection, as it encapsulates a very small moment, yet the very big feeling that accompanies it. The speaker muses over the happiness the distinctive ringtone marking a call from her lover creates in her, and expresses her anxieties over it. It’s simple, sweet and sad, perfectly encapsulating the complex nature of being both a realist and a romantic.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Cinnamon from Norman Fucking Rockwell, Love Song from Norman Fucking Rockwell, Bartender from Norman Fucking Rockwell, Religion from Honeymoon

Best line: ‘Don’t make me be resilient, I so want to be soft, if you let me be myself, you will be the first one who ever did.’

9) In the flats of Melrose

In this beautifully self aware poem, Lana Del Rey captures the feeling of tiring of a dramatic, volatile relationship, and a mature frustration at a partner for not understanding the importance of peace in love. She longs for a simple, quite, stable life with her love, ‘not you as the saviour, not me as Ophelia, not us putting our faith in the public’s dark art’. But more than anything, the speaker wishes to convince herself that she is capable of such a bond, of wanting and not needing her partner.

Lana Del Rey songs like this poem: Mariners Apartment Complex from Norman Fucking Rockwell, Norman Fucking Rockwell from Norman Fucking Rockwell, High by the Beach from Honeymoon, In My Feelings from Lust for Life

Best line: ‘What will it take for me not to feel like the train will run away with me bound up like the sad heroine tied to the last car’

10)Thanks to the Locals

This is probably the most painful poem in this book, because it’s a brutally honest take on a horrific experience told from the perspective of a type of victim often misunderstood by society. The speaker is finally coming to the realisation that the abusive relationship she is in needs to draw to an end, after a difficult and raw AA meeting. ‘The man I love hates me’, she says, and this is often the essence of the heartbreak felt by victims of abuse, because one cannot turn off the switch of loving someone so easily. She is forced to attend the meetings when her partner is out, manipulated into staying by the fact that his mother is dying…it’s a hard read, but it’s also a refreshingly honest one. Yet the speaker has come to realise that she deserves more, that she wants more, and that all she need do is summon the courage to claim it. She has to face the unknown, the idea of the man she loved being a distant memory, and sometimes that is scarier than staying in such a relationship. Throughout her career, Lana Del Rey has been heavily criticised for portraying abusive and unhealthy relationships in her music, and it was not until I read this poem the third or fourth time that I drew a link between this and a very frightening societal issue. People are more keen to berate a woman for writing about an abusive relationship, or staying in an abusive relationship, than they are to rally against the abusers themselves. They don’t want the reality of the complicated, frightening feelings associated with being a victim of such abuse; they want a world where women are perfect and always sure, an impossible world. Yet at the end of the poem, despite her fears, the speaker pushes through, and makes the decision to leave – ‘I don’t have a pretty couplet to give resolution to this poem, nothing very eloquent to say, except that I was brave, and it would’ve been easier to stay.’

By Rowan Speakman x

My Take on Common Narrative Tropes

Throughout the history of literature, there have always been certain narrative patterns, dynamics and sub-plots which have been popular, and have been recycled and reused over the years. There is often a highly negative connotation to the word ‘trope’, but lately there has been quite a lot of defence of the term, with many people openly acknowledging their favourite tropes. The criticism of them tends to stem from the association with the cliche and the unoriginal, yet there is an argument to say that there is nothing truly original in fiction. Technically, this is true, as we are all inspired by works that already exist, and feelings that have already been felt. Yet every writer has their own unique take on things, and no story is ever the same in different hands. And in the same way, tropes can be altered or subverted, yet remain firmly part of fiction, and its history. So it would be delusional to deny the existence of them, and how valuable they can be when used correctly, as well as how detrimental an affect they can have on a novel when not executed well. Here are six common narrative tropes that have become prominent in recent years, and here are my takes on their worth as weapons in your writing arsenal:

1)Deceased parents or parental figures – This is a trope which is not commonly seen in any particular genre, brushing quite evenly over them all. It is pretty much what it says on the tin; the protagonist’s parents, parents, or another important familial figure, will either have died prior to the novel’s events, or during the early stages of the story. It is mostly considered to be a lazy trope, if the writer is using it as a method of cutting out any barriers to the progression of the plot which parental figures may present, or to avoid developing another character relationship. However, there are a multitude of genuine reasons why an author may decide to write a central character with a deceased parent. The first, and most common one, is that the death of this important figure in a character’s life is being used a point to instigate the plot, or to create conflict and development within the character. Very obvious example; Harry Potter would not be famous in the wizarding world if he had not been the only person to survive Voldemort’s wrath, even when his parents, two accomplished wizards, could not do so. Harry’s status as an orphan also creates in him a profound sense of isolation which he carries throughout the entire series, therefore making the close bonds he forms even more meaningful. Another reason for using this trope is realism; if you are writing a piece of historical fiction, or a war epic, it’s highly likely that your central characters will have lost someone in their circle of nearest and dearest. Conclusion; do not kill off your protagonist’s parental figure(s) just because you cannot be bothered dealing with them within the narrative. Ensure that their death contributes to the plot, the stakes, the character development or to the authenticity of your world.

2) Enemies to lovers: People often make the mistake of associating this trope primarily with YA and fantasy novels, but if you look closer, it’s everywhere, from romantic comedies to thrillers. In short, the romantic plot begins with two characters disliking one another, most often with passion and attraction thrown in there, and slowly learning to work with one another and eventually giving in to their feelings (not to be confused with star-crossed lovers/forbidden lovers, in which an external pressure keeps the couple apart). This is a trope which in theory, I personally like; the idea of two people having to learn to look past their preconceptions and actively develop a bond with someone beyond instant perfect love, sounds like great writing. Yet often, this is a trope which tells a story of two people who are fundamentally incompatible and cruel towards one another, bound only by sexual attraction. This trope can be incredible in the hands of the right writer, or unbearably cheesy and highly problematic in the hands of the wrong one. A great example is none other than Pride and Prejudice; Elizabeth and Mr Darcy’s attraction to one another does not stem from their mutual animosity, but from overcoming their preconceived prejudices regarding each other. Their progression from dislike and distrust to love and respect is slow and meaningful, and shows promise of a healthy marital dynamic. Or alternatively, if there is an unhealthy enemies to lover dynamic present, show awareness of it as a writer and discuss the psychology of it rather than just showing two people sharing a bond composed of just hatred and sex and calling it romance.

3) Deus ex machina: Possibly one of the most predictable, but sometimes the most unavoidable trope, a deus ex machina involves an external force or person swooping in at the last minute to save the day. For example, your protagonist and her friends have been kidnapped, and their kidnapper is about to murder them; but just before he pulls the trigger, her father bursts open the door and knocks the gun from his hands. This trope stemmed from the need to create high stakes and fears in regards to the character’s safety in the readers, but to also keep the central characters alive and able for narrative purposes. Yet it’s become so prevalent, that we the reader pretty much can always tell when the writer is about to pull a deus ex machina. Not only is the predictability of this a weakness of this trope, but it takes the agency of the protagonist out of their own hands and feels quite anti climatic in terms of character. George R.R Martin played on the expectation of this trope to perfection in A Game of Thrones; the reader naturally expects Ned Stark to be spared from execution somehow, given his key role in the story and his strong, moral nature. But Ned is executed nonetheless, his death serving the plot and tone of the series far more than a deus ex machina would have. In short, I’m really not keen on this trope, although it can sometimes be a hard one to get around; however, if you feel you have to pull a deus ex machina, it’s probably a sign that you’ve written yourself into a corner.

4) Found Family: This is one of my personal favourites when it comes to tropes, and there are so many different ways of approaching it. A found family scenario involves a group of isolated characters developing a familial dynamic over the course of a novel, creating an emotional home they lacked prior to meeting the others. Some novels can show this explicitly, and some can weave it in subtly. It can be a central plot, a sub plot and it come in so many different shapes and forms. The characters can behave like friends, siblings, and some could even fall in love. The opportunities are endless, but the idea behind it remains the same; that people can form families and deep connections that feel like home even if their biological family did not provide them with this. So not only does this trope come with great creative freedoms, it also delivers a great message and theme. It is one of the most beloved tropes for both of these reasons, and I’ve never really read any criticisms of it. A fantastic example of this trope done beautifully is the Travelling Symphony in Station Eleven (one day I shall stop talking about that book but it is not this day). The only rule with it is to ensure that the relationship dynamics evolve slowly and organically, much as you would do for any character relationship.

5) The Love Triangle: These are more common in YA fiction, but they are not unheard of in more subtle forms in adult fiction. A love triangle involves two people both vying for the romantic attentions of one individual, who is usually struggling to choose between the two. I do not include affairs under this category, as for a dynamic to qualify as a true love triangle, all three parties have to be relatively equal in terms of who the reader could root for. Usually each potential suitor offers the protagonist a type of relationship or life which directly opposes the one the other can offer. Although the love triangle can be a fantastic source of conflict and an opportunity to reveal a very raw side of each character, when written poorly, each character comes across as unlikeable and full of vanity. Sometimes the choice is so painfully obvious, and the toxicity of the situation so unbearable, that the reader just doesn’t care anymore and is bored with the plot/sub-plot. Also, how often do you see this dynamic in real life? The answer is, very rarely, so it is bitterly hard for most readers to remotely relate. Overall, I would not recommend them if you want to write a mature novel, unless you have some unique ideas, genuine conflicts and well written characters. However, in historical fiction, a competition between two suitors for the attentions of an advantageous spouse are not unrealistic, but a lot of the time the motivations for this fight in reality were based more in ambition and personal need rather than in love. A good alternative to a love triangle; unrequited love, a far more underused and brutally realistic trope.

6) The Happily Ever After: Endings such as these are berated greatly in modern fiction, due to the lack of realism associated with them. However, it is impossible to label such a trope as strong or weak, as the ending of a novel’s success is defined by the story that it follows. In some genres, such as romance or children’s fiction, a happy ending is considered a genre obligation (read my post about defining your genre here). In others, such an ending often feels out of place. But at the end of the day, it comes down to the story you are telling, the journeys of your characters, and the feeling you want to leave your readers with when they close the book. In short, a happy ending is one that shows the protagonist accomplishing their goals and achieving their ambitions, with a positive and uplifting final impression; do you want to portray your protagonist as victorious, and their dreams as inspiring ones? Is your book a cynical one, a hopeful one, or a dark one? There is no way of saying whether a happily ever after style ending is a good or a bad choice in general, because no ending alone can be classed as good or bad. However, if the criticism around this trope is due to a personal dislike of happy endings, then it is not a technical critique, but a literary opinion. You don’t have to write a happily ever after, but you can. At the end of the day go with your gut. But personally, under the right circumstances, I love a well done happy ending, particularly if I care about the characters and I need a morale boost.

My debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse will be released on Amazon this July; feel free to follow my blog account @rowan_writes_ and my Facebook page Rowan Speakman Books. 🙂

For more writing advice, go to the page My Writing Journey, for a list of all of my posts. 🙂

By Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

Sarah Churchill (1660 – 1742)

Throughout history, the favourites of monarchs have had not only enormous intimacy with the rulers they served, but have wielded undeniable political and personal influence over them. There is no greater example of their power, than that of Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough and tumultuous favourite of Queen Anne. Even before Anne ascended to the throne, Sarah’s influence over the princess incited much political anxiety, which grew throughout her reign and continued long after her death. A keen politician, a shrewd businesswoman and a dominating force at the English court, Sarah held a consistent position of power that most women of the time could only dream of.

Sarah was born to parliament member Richard Jennings and his wife in 1660, the youngest of seven children. Three years later, her father become well acquainted with James, Duke of York, who appointed Francis, Sarah’s elder sister, as maid of honour to his first wife, Anne Hyde. Even when Francis lost her position, the duke retained his soft spot for the Jennings family, leading to Sarah taking up a similar position in the household of James’ second wife, Mary of Modena, at the age of thirteen. It was this role which allowed her to grow close to Princess Anne, the youngest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of York. Anne was an awkward child, having grown up in the shadow of her sister and suffering from weight gain and poor vision throughout her life. She saw in Sarah all of the characteristics which she herself lacked; conventional beauty, charm and wit, and soon allowed the older girl to take her under her wing, enjoying the attention she bestowed upon her. At age fifteen, Sarah fell in love with John Churchill, the former lover of King Charles’ mistress, Barbara Palmer; as Churchill had little to offer in the way of finance, the match was disapproved of. Yet Sarah was not content to be only his mistress, and they married secretly in 1677. The couple were to enjoy a passionate and devoted marriage, which would produce seven children from the years 1679 to 1690. They clearly kept themselves very busy. John also had an attachment to the crown through his sister Arabella, who had, to her family’s glee, been a mistress of the Duke of York since 1663, and went on to have four children sired by him.

The same year Sarah married, her brother Ralph died, leaving herself and her sister as heirs to the family estates in Kent and Hertfordshire. Yet there were troubles yet down the road, what with the Churchill’s being openly Protestants, and the court at which they resides a predominantly Catholic one. The marriage was kept within the York family until Sarah became pregnant for the first time the following year. Yet despite religious concerns, the couple remained loyal to James and fled with him to Scotland during the Popish Plot scandal, and King Charles rewarded their loyalty to the Stuart family by dubbing John Baron Churchill of Eymouth, elevating Sarah to the status of a Lady. Her friendship with Anne continued to flourish, and she was appointed a Lady of the Bedchamber for the princess’ marriage to Prince George of Denmark in 1683. Although Sarah’s first child, Harriet, had died as an infant, she finally gave birth to a healthy baby girl in 1681. Anne however, was fated to have a far more tragic maternal story; she was pregnant around seventeen times during her marriage, only five of these producing a child, and all of which died young. The pain of these no doubt brought herself and Sarah even closer, and in 1683, Sarah named her second daughter after the princess, and made her her godmother.

In 1684, Anne’s father inherited the throne after his brother produced no legitimate children. But within four years, religious antagonism had gripped the court once more, culminating in a Protestant scheme to place William of Orange, husband of Anne’s elder sister Mary, on the throne. The conflict truly escalated after the birth of James’ first son, a Catholic heir, and prompted him to place Anne and Sarah under house arrest. Meanwhile, both John Churchill and Prince George had switched allegiances to William, and their wives followed suite by fleeing Whitehall for Nottingham under the cover of night. William was crowned William III, and John was granted the title of Earl of Malborough. However, the Marlborough’s influence had fallen greatly, and was not helped as Sarah’s own influence over Anne became more widely known. Mary demanded that her sister dismiss Sarah, and Anne refused, much to the queen’s anger. Sarah’s ideas were those that, with her husband’s assistance and her closeness with the princess, could be put into effect. The Marlboroughs at one point pushed for a parliamentary grant which would enable Anne to have more independence from the king and queen, cementing the disdain for Sarah throughout the court. William’s response was to offer his sister-in-law an allowance from his Privy Purse, yet Sarah advised against her accepting, and Parliament granted the money. Incidents such as these prompt the thought that, whatever wish Sarah had, be it for Anne’s benefit or for the ascension of herself and her family, the princess would obey it. With spite for her growing, Sarah took Anne to live away from court a while with the Duke and Duchess of Somerset. Soon after, a document was forged which incriminated the Earl of Malborough as a continued supported of the exiled King James. John was imprisoned, leaving his wife isolated and likely fearing for his life. Yet when Queen Mary died in 1694, William restored Anne’s position at court, as she was now next in line to the throne, freeing John in the process. Yet, due to the influence of Sarah, he prohibited Anne from acting as regent, or from participating in governmental affairs, as was custom for the heir to the crown.

In 1702, Anne became queen, and The Marlborough’s position was secured. When John and Sarah turned down her offer of a dukedom due to their lack of finances to fulfil the position, the queen gifted them a pension of five thousand pounds annually, as well as an added bonus of two thousand from the Privy Purse. As well as her new status as a duchess, Sarah was created Mistress of the Robes, and awarded the titles of Keeper of the Privy Purse and Ranger of Windsor Great Park, the latter two never before being bestowed upon a woman. The Duke of Marlborough was away fighting in the War of the Spanish Succession for much of Anne’s reign, as she had granted him the military title of Captain-General. Sarah herself appeared rarely at court, yet Anne wrote to her for advice on almost all political matters, but was aggrieved by how little she saw of her closest confidante. Yet Sarah was not the sweet companion Anne desired; she was never shy of giving the queen her direct opinion, and did not flatter nor pander to her as she wished. The duchess became ever more dominating of her, holding tight strings around the Privy Purse and even controlling who had access to the queen. In many ways, she was half queen of the country herself for a time. It is for this reason that many question whether or not Sarah had any true affection for her old friend, or whether her allegiance to her had been borne purely out of political ambition for herself and for her family. I believe that initially their bond could have been a true one on both parts, for back in the days of Charles II’s reign, Mary would have been a more politically fitting ally for Sarah to beguile. Yet undoubtedly as her power grew, the Duchess of Marlborough became harsher towards the queen, and more controlling of her policies. And, as any favourite overstepping the bounds of acceptable power, Sarah was becoming an increasingly unpopular and divisive figure at court.

Sarah was a firm supporter of the Whig party, and was determined to convince Queen Anne to favour them over the Tories; she demanded that Anne place her son-in-law, a keen Whig himself, on the Privy Council, and the she was refused. As Sarah now clearly only wished for Anne’s company if it were to badger her about her political desires, by 1704, the queen felt that their friendship had run its natural course. The two women’s vast differences, particularly those pertaining to religion, had proven too great, especially when accompanied with Sarah’s persistent overstepping of the mark.Yet as disliked as the duchess was, she now wielded great power throughout the Stuart court; she had an intimate communication with her husband the duke, and the Lord Godolphin, two of the most powerful men in the country, and did enjoy great respect for her shrewd mind, charm and forthright nature. Her carefulness with finance and her head for managing the queen’s Privy Purse, earned her a level of regard rarely attributed to a woman in power, and her skills were said to rival any man’s. Yet Sarah’s position as the queen’s favourite was now firmly sliding away from her, and as it did so, she became ever more desperate for Anne to heed to her wishes, and bitter when she did not. In 1703, Sarah’s only son died of smallpox, and she grew reclusive and curt in her letters to the queen. The open channels of communication were fast closing, but another it seemed, was occupying them. Around this time, Sarah had brought her impoverished cousin, Abigail, to court, in the hope of securing her a position in the queen’s household. She was soon made Lady of the Bedchamber, and was able to give the queen the flattery and the pleasant companionship which Sarah would not provide. Sarah was enraged to discover that Anne had assisted in, and attended, Abigail’s advantageous marriage without her consultation, and that money and been taken from the Privy Purse to finance it without her awareness.

Thus when Anne’s husband passed away in 1708, Sarah seized the opportunity and returned to court uninvited, insisting that the distraught queen accompany her to St James’s Palace. Although Anne initially refused, and wished for Abigail’s comfort, Sarah was persistent and eventually had her way. Further bolstered by her husband’s great victory abroad, the duchess grew even more disrespectful and desperate towards the queen, going as far as to openly quarrel with her prior to an official ceremony, again demanding that she express her support for the Whigs openly. She succeeded only in making Anne feel isolated and harassed, and further dependent on Abigail. Yet the queen was determined that the public should never know of her rift with Sarah, for the primary sake that her husband was Captain-General of her army. In 1711, Sarah utilised parliamentary pressure, to try and force Anne to dismiss Abigail. Yet all she truly succeeded in was ridiculing the Marlborough name through creating such discord over an ultimately highly trivial matter. Her pettiness even extended to spreading rumour about Abigail conducting a homosexual affair with the queen, yet, contradictory to the 2018 film ‘The Favourite’, there is no evidence that the dynamics between any of these women were sexual in nature. Abigail was a symptom of the discrepancy between Sarah and Anne, not the cause. Yet such personal vitriol towards her cousin’s place at the queen’s side, does prompt the suggestion that Sarah truly desired Anne’s affection, and was highly jealous of her usurped place as her friend. For her titles and powers were as of yet, still in place, and her husband still one of the most powerful men in England. No, it was undoubtedly becoming a personal struggle, or at least one that mixed with the greed of political ambition.

But by now, old Queen Anne’s patience with her former favourite had worn out. She stripped the Duke of Marlborough of his rank and title, and conducted a painful final meeting with Sarah. The latter uncharacteristically wept and threatened Anne with God’s wrath, yet the queen was firm in her dismissal, and Sarah too, lost her positions. For extra spite, Abigail was created Keeper of the Privy Purse in violation of the queen’s promise to Sarah that the title would be hereditary. The Marlborough’s retreated to Europe, where they were welcomed at the German court, yet Sarah was discontent with life away from England and was frequently unwell. Whether she mourned only her fall from personal influence, or was truly saddened by the loss of her old friend, shall forever remain a mystery. Yet the moment Anne was announced dead in 1714, Sarah and her husband returned to England, and into the good graces of the crown once more. A distant heir, but a Protestant one, George Ludwig, Elector of Hanover, was crowned King George I, marking the beginning of the Georgian era and of Whig prosperity. Sarah now turned her attention to her descendants, and securing them advantageous matches in the new court. She enjoyed a close dynamic, interestingly, with her daughter Anne Spencer, now Countess of Sutherland and ancestor of Diana Spencer, Princess of Wales, yet remained revealingly estranged from her other daughters, which I believe says a lot about her character. The year 1716 would prove most trying for the duchess, with her beloved husband suffering two strokes and her favourite daughter passing away. She was devastated by both tragedies, and lovingly nursed John back to health. Yet despite her care, the duke died six years later, and his daughter Henriette, succeeded him as duchess in her own right.

Of course, Sarah became a trustee of her daughter’s vast estate, and utilised her great wealth to invest in land, once again taking advantage of her skills with finance. The dowager duchess detested vast expenditure, only displaying extravagant spending on her family tomb, and on a Column of Victory dedicated to her husband. During this period, she also continued and completed construction of Bleinheim Palace, a Marlborough project decades in the making. She kept highly detailed records of incomes and spendings, proving that she very much did not need royal favour to preserve her family’s wealth. Yet she still remained ambitious in such a sphere, growing close for a short time with Queen Caroline, and attempting to betroth her granddaughter to the Prince of Wales. However the latter plan was vetoed, and Sarah’s old entitlement brought a swift end to her friendship with the queen and to her status as Ranger of Windsor Great Park. Her dislike of George II and the rise of Tory power, only further alienated her form the court she had once monopolised. That same court was by now, wise to Sarah’s ambition and domineering ways, regardless of the brilliant mind behind them. Sarah never again married, and died in 1742 at the remarkable age of eighty-four, to be buried at Bleinheim with her husband. She left behind lands worth a total or four million pounds, as well as seventeen thousand in rent rolls, an astonishing amount of personal finance by any standards, let alone for a woman in the eighteenth century.

My choice of Sarah Churchill as an edition to my list of compelling women of history stands out among the others, as I feel I have been quite critical in my analysis of her. Perhaps I do not admire certain aspects of her character, in the way I do for many of the women on this list, but I am fascinated by her, and do have a respect for her intelligence and tenacity which indeed many of her rivals had themselves. She ascended to great wealth and influence from a relatively common background, and managed to maintain such power for the majority of her life, through means that went beyond the man she married. Her rank, freedom and office, equalled those of male courtiers of the era, and her dynamics with the women around her remain fascinating and meaningful. We shall never know if she truly had love for Anne beyond her station, but regardless their relationship was of such intimacy and importance that it had political repercussions, and posed a threat to the security of government on a few occasions. Sarah was able to leave her daughter a duchess in her own right, a rare occurrence, even by today’s standards, and was part of a bloodline which continues down today into our current royal family and to the likes of Winston Churchill. So maybe I do not particularly like Sarah, but I do respect her, and while she’s certainly not someone I would have tea with, I would certainly call her in a crisis.

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

The Familiars – Stacey Halls (2019)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR: THE FAMILIARS)

. There’s something deeply, poigniantly special about The Familiars. It succeeds at being dark, harrowing, heartwarming and beautiful all at the same time, and it does so with such a gentle grace that proves both the intelligence, and the artistic talent of the author. Set in 1612 Lancashire, Stacey Halls’ stellar debut tells a unique and untold story of a young gentrywoman struggling to produce an heir. Fearing for her life, she seeks the help of a mysterious local midwife, and is drawn into the witch hunts sweeping the north of England, and a fight to protect her only friend against the cruelty of a male dominated, and narrow minded society. It’s a tale which embodies a successful piece of historical fiction, by both educating about the terrors women were subjected to only a handful of centuries ago, and reminding us how a few rotten bones of this society still endure to this day.

. The heroine of the book is Fleetwood Shuttleworth, inspired by her real life counterpart who was the mistress of Gawthorpe Hall, Lancashire, in 1612, and whose husband was present at the Lancaster witch trials. Yet where history has obscured the nature of the real Fleetwood, Stacey Halls breathes life into the name through her wonderful charcater crafting. Married advantageously at the age of just thirteen, Fleetwood has spent the last four years being treated like a child, yet expected to fulfil the duties of an adult. By only seventeen, she has suffered three miscarriages, and with each the growing fear that she may not be able to produce an heir for her husband, Richard. In modern times, a miscarriage is a painful and deeply confusing experience for an adult woman. Fleetwood is a teenager, who has suffered three without any real female support or guidance. It’s truly hard to even fathom this experience, even more unsettlingly so when one considers how historically accurate it is. Having come from a troubled home, under the care of a cold and dominating mother, Fleetwood is eternally grateful to Richard for taking her away from this, and despite their age gap, loves him unfailingly. Richard, prone to shifting, immature moods, is a confusing constant in her life; it is clear that he cares deeply for his wife, yet shows her no true respect, allowing her mother to swan in and act as mistress of the house, patronising her and leaving her to sleep alone, only to further make the servants gossip about her. Yet Richard is all Fleetwood has, as was so often the case for women of that time, especially ones so young and isolated.

. But Fleetwood has some little acts of rebellion, in the forms of her beloved dog and her love of walking and riding. Indeed it is questionable to be galloping around the countryside while pregnant, but Fleetwood’s abilities as a horsewoman are evidence of an individualistic strength within, and they afford her a small amount of independence and freedom. It is by these means that Fleetwood meets Alice, a peculiar young woman who aids her after a fall, and whom she witnessed eerily gathering dead rabbits from her lands not long ago. Yet Alice is able to soothe her horse and her wrist, and instills a feeling of calm and security in Fleetwood, so rare in a life without positive female companionship. Upon discovering that Alice is a midwife, she insists that she be hired to help her deliver her baby, a task which she fears greatly having discovered a hidden letter from her physician, fearing for her life in childbirth. Alice’s knowledgeable care proves invaluable to Fleetwood’s health, and the two women, although almost opposites in nature, form a tenuous friendship, which is, of course, heavily scrutinised by the men around them. Indeed throughout history, midwives have been viewed with suspscion by men, for fear that they may educate women too much, and afford them too much sexual independence. In Ancient Greece, the Hippocratic medical doctrines actually outlawed them, and the death rate soared (you can read more about that in my Agnodice of Athens post). In short, the patriarchy has always disliked the notion of women being more capable than men in any sphere, even in those, actually especially, in those concerning their own bodies.

. And threats from those closest to Fleetwood also come in other forms. Roger Nowell, a magistrate and the closest thing Richard has to a father, is stoking the fires of a witch hunt in the name of King James throughout northwest England. Having arrested an entire family of women, due to their supposed cursed murder of a pedlar, his ambitions, and those he has for Richard, dwarf all reason and logic. And as Roger becomes more vocal about his work, Fleetwood becomes acquainted with the realities of those he hunts. Alice’s wisdom, her knowledge of herbs and several mysterious occurences cause her to connect the dots, and to ponder the true reasoning behind the arrests of these women. Their skills save mothers and babies, not harm them, and it is their independence, their gender, and their poverty which incites the rage of the law, not the supposed ungodly evils they commit. ‘If the Devil is poverty, and hunger, and grief, then yes, I think they know the Devil’, comments Fleetwood herself, as she comes to understand the true nature behind the witch hunts. They are a weapon of control and oppression, masked behind the glory of religious zeal, as sadly lot of atrocities often are.

. Alice is a friend to Fleetwood in many ways, in terms of social awareness, medical care and in encouraging her to use her eyes and her voice. From a look in the household ledgers, Fleetwood discovers that her husband has been keeping a pregnant mistress at none less than her old family home, the woman being a relative of Roger’s. Heartbroken and betrayed, Fleetwood and Alice flee north to her mother’s home, and during her time there, the young woman is transformed. Gone is her silence and her steadfast devotion to her husband’s authority, as she comes to terms with the reality of her marriage, her class and the system women are trapped in. Yet when she finally returns home, another betrayal awaits her; Richard and Roger arrest Alice instantly, taking her away to be imprisoned in Lancaster. A distraught Fleetwood refuses to back down this time, confronting her husband, and making every attempt to plead Alice’s case to himself and Roger. Even as her marriage seems to fall apart, Fleetwood rides up and down the counties, learning about Alice’s life and piecing together the circumstances which led to her arrest. Alice was unfortunate enough to have discovered the pedlar cursed by the Device family, and was harassed by them to the point where she herself was noted as a suspect. Her mother had died, her father had gone half mad and relied on her care, and her lover had abandoned her, their child dying tragically, only for her to be accused of murdering it. And now, Alice is incarcerated in a black pit at Lancaster Castle, inciting one of the most harrowing scenes of the novel, in which Fleetwood visits her friend, and the two women sit on the steps, polar opposites in appearance, character and background, but both crying and clinging to each other. The patriarchy is truly one of society’s greatest evils.

. Now, the fates of Fleetwood, her baby, and Alice’s are irreversibly intertwined, and Fleetwood determines to save all three. On the night before the Lancaster assizes, Fleetwood takes her husband’s musket and her great dog to the house of Alice’s lover, and forces a written confession of Alice’s innocence. Yet before she can return with her evidence, she goes into labour out in the woods, among the wind and the driving rain. I live in the northwest and when the weather’s rough, here, it’s rough, so I seriously do not envy the poor woman here. Remembering the letter, Fleetwood believes she is dying, and grieves that she will never see her child, her husband, nor Alice, again. Yet she is found, and taken back to Gawthorpe, sickly and frail. Fleetwood endures hours of agonising labour, drifting in and out of conciseness, and in and out of the jaws of death. She cries for Alice, and begs Richard to take her letters to Lancaster. And then she spies a fox by the bed, and soon, Alice is at her side, and Fleetwood is saved from death, delivering a healthy baby boy. Later, she learns that Richard galloped all the way from Lancaster, then back with her letters, reading them before the magistrates and freeing Alice to bring her home to Gawthorpe, in a final act of love and redemption.

. Alice departs, leaving in her wake a healing family. Fleetwood learns that Richard never intended to replace her with his mistress, and that the letter was not about her pregnancy, but about the woman housed in her old home. With a new dose of realism and of trust, the couple have another child, and five years pass in peace. Yet Fleetwood is no longer a submissive wife, for her eyes have been irrevocably opened and her life taken into her own hands. She is able to come to understanding with her mother, and Richard denounces Roger, and all that he stood for. The novel closes with Fleetwood burning her childhood home to the ground, preventing the king from ever staying there on his tour, and leaving more witch hunts in his wake. It’s a fantastic completion of a wonderful character arc, and one that is so rare; one in which the heroine is allowed to be a multitude of things. A wife, a mother, a mistress, and a woman with fierce social and political views which she is more than capable of acting on.

. There are so many layers to this beautiful story, and so many different messages and lights shone into undiscussed corners. It’s the tale of a system built against the spirits of women, of the power of female friendship, of prejudice and religion, and chiefly, of hope. So much love went into the writing of this book, as well as the intensive research Stacey Halls has clearly conducted into seventeenth century culture, the witch hunts, and northwest English history. The characters and the situations they are put in are so complex and compelling, and reminiscent both of historical and of modern issues. It’s a gorgeously feminine book, and I still find it so astounding how that, given history’s preference towards male stories, that all the greatest ones are about the women they overshadowed. The Familiar’s is a story that will stay with me for a long time, and I’m eager to learn more about the real events around it, and to hopefully pay a visit to Gawthorpe Hall one day. Perhaps, we can imagine that the tale is real, for in the Lancaster assizes of 1612, all but one woman was hanged; that one woman was Alice Gray, and she could have been forgotten were it not for this beautiful book. Perhaps, it was indeed the love of a friend who saved her, and it’s certainly heartening to think so.

By, Rowan Speakman

To read more about Gawthorpe Hall on Stacey Halls’ website, click here.

To read more about the real Fleetwood Shuttleworth, click here.

To read more about Lancashire born Stacey Halls and her fascination with the Pendle witch trials, click here.

To view Stacey Halls’ website, click here.

Writing Female Characters

In this day and age, this may seem like a ridiculous blog topic, because it is in fact such a simple one. The thing is, writers have been tricked into believing that writing complex, three dimensional woman is a challenge that needs to be navigated with the utmost precision. Nowadays, there’s a massive rulebook when it comes to writing female characters, and such a rulebook is notably absent from the table when it comes to writing male characters. Do not make her ‘too feminine’, but do not make her ‘too masculine’, do not make her ‘too strong’, but do not make her ‘too weak’, do not make her ‘too smart’, but do not make her ‘too simple.’ It’s not only an interesting reflection of a lot of unspoken societal expectations of women in real life, but a massive limit on the creativity and humanity of your writing. So let’s throw out that massive, dusty rulebook that’s been slowly building over the last few decades, and break it down into a few, simple guidelines to making your book one that gives your female characters a chance to shine.

1.Allow your female characters to have flaws and moments of vulnerability: This is one of the main criticisms of the image of ‘the strong female character’ archetype which we’ve been bashed around the head with for years. In response to the ‘damsel in distress’ trope, the ‘strong female character’ was born, equipped with badass fighting skills, a cold hard glare and quippy remarks. Now those three adjectives sound great, and could be traits of brilliant character; but in order to obey the rule of this trope, that was often all this character was. She always wins, never cries, has no time for romance, is never ‘uncool’ and embodies moral perfection. Not only is this just a badly written character, its also not a fun read for women. It’s not interesting or inspiring to read about a character who is just so unrealistic. Now, I’ve never been one to buy into the idea of crafting characters purely as role models, but if the damsel in distress trope was considered to be damaging, I’d wager that the strong female character is ten times as damaging. She’s an impossible expectation, not an inspiration.

2. Do not make every woman in your story an antagonist or an annoyance without her own perspective being accommodated: By all means, write a novel from a male perspective; this isn’t sexist, just because it’s very common. But do not populate your male character’s lives with women who exist as stereotypes, such as ‘the nag’ or ‘the neurotic wreck’ who are only present in the narrative to obstruct the goals of the men in their lives. Think about Breaking Bad and the characters of Skyler and Marie; remember how fans of the show reacted to those characters? Now there is a massive argument to say that the sexism issues around this are to do with the audience’s reaction, but ultimately, the purposes of Skyler and Marie within the story are to interfere with and be shocked by the behaviour of their husbands. Make sure you give your female character’s their own stories and their own arcs, rather than having their whole existence hang off the experiences of others.

3. Do not portray your female characters in a way that reduces them to a sexual object: This may seem like a fairly obvious guideline, but it is easy to misconstrue as one of two rules. Firstly, this does not mean that you as a writer cannot address the experiences of a woman who has been treated like this, and explore her perspective and feelings around this treatment. Secondly, this does not mean you should not portray female sexuality; being sexual and being sexualised are two completely different things. What it does mean, is don’t write a book where the women are purely there as toys for your male characters, or are only described in terms of their sex appeal. Countless James Bond movies fall into this category, and it often completely ruins them for a female viewer. Don’t write a book like this.

My conclusion: Approach writing a male character and a female character with the exact same attitude. Write a human being, without reducing them to an unrealistic caricature, a villain or a sex object based on their gender. Just write people, exploring their experiences, feelings, dreams, desires, flaws and relationships. And if it’s a particular interest of yours, explore social issues, experiences and inequalities to do with being a person of a certain gender. If you want more tips on how to craft complex characters, check out my post on this here.

Be creative!: Let your imagination run wild, and don’t restrict it by what you think makes a great female character, or indeed a male one. Think of things you have experienced, movies you’ve seen, people you have known, music you have listened to. Think of a character who you feel you’ve never seen portrayed before, or be inspired by one you’ve already loved. There is no formula to writing a wonderful female character, because there’s never a formula with writing, and there’s never a formula with people. Just don’t use your writing to be offensive towards one gender, or reduce them to a one dimensional stereotype, just as you wouldn’t in regards to one sexuality, race, or religion. And it’s that simple! So throw out the rule book, and go and write about any kind of woman you want to write about; she can be brave, cowardly, intelligent, ignorant, kind, selfish, confident, shy, or any mixture. She can be single, in a relationship, have a lot of friends, have none, love her family, hate her family or any combination of the former. A female character’s personality, lifestyle or relationships do not determine their status in the fight for fictional gender equality; but how you treat her experiences as you write her, does.

My debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse will be released on Amazon this July; feel free to follow my blog account @rowan_writes_ and my Facebook page Rowan Speakman Books. 🙂

For more writing advice, go to the page My Writing Journey, for a list of all of my posts. 🙂

By Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

Hatshepsut (1507 B.C. – 1458 B.C.)

Often forgotten in the memory of popular culture in the shadow of the most famous Egyptian female pharaoh, Cleopatra, Hatshepsut, the fifth pharaoh of the eighteenth dynasty of Egypt, was without doubt the longest reigning and most successful woman to ever sit on the throne of Egypt. Despite her restoration of Egyptian culture and economic prosperity, relics of Hatshepsut’s rule were defiled only thirty or so years after her death, and would not be discovered until the nineteenth century. And even upon the discovery of her existence, her successes in the realms of trade, architecture and peace keeping were overlooked in favour of the image of that of a wicked stepmother, a usurper and a seductress. The full extent of the hidden triumphs of Hatshepsut’s reign have only truly been unearthed in very recent years, and the impact that she had upon Egyptian society during her reign is a potent reminder of the value of a monarch who puts the prosperity and welfare of their own country above the glory of warfare.

Born the only child of the pharaoh Thutmose I and his chief wife Ahmose in around 1507 B.C., Hatshepsut’s bloodline was impeccable, and her claim to the throne strong regardless of her gender. Thutmose was a respected and celebrated militaristic ruler, known for his brutal campaigns into Syria and fiercely admired by his eldest daughter. But his marriage to Ahmose had only produced two daughters, Hatshepsut and her sister Nefrubity, and so he turned to his harem of secondary wives, a common practice in Ancient Egypt, to select a male heir, the future Thutmose II. Hatshepsut married her half brother, another accepted familial tradition, becoming queen when he ascended to the throne. Thutmose II had a reputation for being a weak and ineffectual leader, leaving a power vacuum for Hatshepsut to learn the arts of governance, and build on the experience she had gained under her father’s rule. The couple had only one child together, a daughter named Nefurure, and were unable to conceive another, leading again, to the appointment of the child from a secondary wife, as heir to the throne. When Thutmose II died in 1478 B.C., his son, Thutmose III, was only two years of age, resulting in Hatshepsut stepping in as co-regent of Egypt. This was very much not an uncommon or unaccepted practice when a pharaoh was so young, even if the co-regent was a woman, the latter’s position in Egyptian society being of a more complex nature than in Western societies. Egyptian women enjoyed the equality of owning their own properties, and being central to many religious practices, and thus it was not considered inappropriate for the mother or stepmother of a young king, to assist him in ruling the country. During her reign solely as Queen, Hatshepsut had held the office of the Gods’s Wife of Amun, making her the most high ranking priestess in the cult of Amun, the Egyptian god of sun and air who was worshipped passionately during the eighteenth dynasty, in thanks for his supposed assistance in overthrowing Hykos occupation. Hatshepsut’s knowledge of religion, and her position within its power structure, was to prove essential in securing her position as pharaoh in her own right.

Around seven years into her regency, for reasons still concretely unknown to historians, the reliefs depicting Hatshepsut as a demure and feminine picture behind her stepson, vanished, and were replaced with the androgynous image of the second know female pharaoh to govern Egypt. Although the reigns of Hatshepsut, her father, husband and stepson remain vague in terms of exact timings, evidence of her position as pharaoh was found centuries later in the form of two pottery jars in an Egyptian tomb; one, was stamped with ‘Year Seven’, and one with ‘The God’s Wife Hatshepsut’ marking the year in which she took the throne. The theories behind her reasoning for taking power are divisive ones, the earliest marking her as power hungry, cruel stepmother overstepping her boundaries; historian William C. Hayes of the Metropolitan Museum branded her as ‘the vilest type of usurper’. Perhaps these judgements would have been fair, had it not been for the ridiculously young age of Thutmose III; modern historians have offered the view that Hatshepsut may have taken the throne in an attempt to assure that it was secure for her stepson’s ascension, and to strengthen the country by offering them a capable ruler of a suitable age. Indeed, Thutmose was far from imprisoned and cut off, in a manner similar to that of the princes in the tower; he was trained to be an extraordinary combatant, represented in holy reliefs and later put in charge of the pharaoh’s immensely powerful army. The latter privilege would have given Thutmose the adequate power to overthrow his stepmother, and the fact that he never acted on it speaks volumes. Many have also claimed Hatshepsut’s masculine portrayal of herself in states and relief, as deceptive or evident of a cross dressing ruler, but this was most likely not an accurate interpretation of her intentions. Hatshepsut would have been acutely aware that both her gender, and the manner in which she took the throne, put her in a significant position of weakness. By presenting herself in grandeur with the traditional pharaoh’s beard and khat head cloth, she was reassuring her people that she was capable of holding the position of pharaoh. As there was no word for queen regnant in Egyptian language, Hatshepsut dubbed herself the king of Egypt, and she was known as this until her death.

The reforms that Hatshepsut put in place were to have an enormous impact on Egypt and its welfare. One of her primary concerns, was that of restoring the trade routes lost during the Hykos occupation of Egypt. Key in this policy, was her trade campaign to the Land of Punt in northeast Africa, from which she returned with many riches to bestow upon her people, and to put her in a position of a respect in a culture which revered wealthy and luxuriant monarchs. Thirty one live myrrh trees were shipped back to Egypt from Punt, marking the first attempt at moving live trees from foreign soil, as well as stores of frankincense and resin, the latter marking the first recorded use of resin as a product. Hatshepsut’s spoils were responded to with awe, a relief from the period translating such a reaction as ‘never was brought the like of this for any king who had been since the beginning’. Hatshepsut’s other great triumph was her remarkable influence on building and architecture, and her campaign to restore the beauty of Egyptian culture that had been decimated during Hykos occupation. The pharaoh appointed famed architect Ineni to head her great projects, such as the restoration of the Precinct of Mut and its great twin obelisks, one of which is the tallest surviving ancient obelisk recorded. Sadly the precinct was to be broken apart by later pharaohs. The Temple of Pakhet combined the worship of the leonine war goddesses Bast and Sekhmet, into a stunning underground temple on the eastern side of the Nile, which was to later be dubbed the Speos Artemidos by the Greeks, for the close resemblance of its deities to their own goddess, Artemis. The temple also boasted a copy of Hatshepsut’s famous texts, denouncing the sacrilege of Hyptos rule and the cultural decline it caused. Along with her great monuments, she also improved the roadways and sanctuaries of Egypt to enable swifter trade and prosperity for her people. Yet the greatest of Hatshepsut’s architectural beasts, was her mortuary temple at Deir el-Bahri on the West Bank of the Nile; this was the first of such royal tombs to be built in this area, which would later be dubbed The Valley of the Kings, its mass of temples growing as pharaohs wished to be buried near the splendour of Hatshepsut’s own resting place. The ornate temple featured colonnades a thousand years prior to the construction of the Parthenon, pools, gardens, and vast impressions and statues of Hatshepsut and Thutmose, as well as chapels dedicated to Amun Ra, Hathor, Anubis and Osiris. Looking back throughout the history of Ancient Egypt, Hatshepsut was easily one of the most prolific builders of the age, her projects exceeding those of the Middle Kingdom in grandeur, finesse, and elegance. So much statuary was constructed during her reign, that relics from Hatshepsut’s architectural endeavours can be found in every major museum in the world.

Hatshepsut’s Magnificent Mortuary Temple.

One of the greatest hallmarks of a powerful Egyptian ruler, was the extent of their ability to laud themselves, and to present themselves as more than a pharaoh, but as a conduit of the gods. Hatshepsut excelled in this department, and was a master at using the power of religion as a political tool. From a young age, she claimed that her father had promised her the throne, and wished to instil this belief by including in her mortuary temple a vast relief of Thutmose I crowning her in the eyes of the gods. To further bolster this, a peculiar but effective story was spread in regards to the circumstances of her birth; the goddess Amun was said to have visited her mother, Ahmose, and conceived Hatshepsut by touching an ankh to her nose, before Heket, goddess of fertility, led the queen to the bed of lioness to give birth, before Hatshepsut stepped into her divinely constructed human form. It may sound incomprehensible, but in Egyptian culture, the idea of the monarch being not only placed on the throne by the gods, but being accepted as almost one of them, was deeply reassuring and in keeping with the strength of their faith, especially when the god in question was one as strong as Amun. To solidify this, Hatshepsut dubbed herself Maatkare, the named translating to ‘truth is in the soul of the sun god’, comparing her rule to the soul of Amun. Perhaps this ability to manipulate the power of religion explained the vast amount of loyal officials that respected and obeyed the pharaoh, the most prominent being Senunmut, who early historians have accused of being her lover, with no evidence whatsoever to support this claim. I think perhaps they wished there to be some masculine explanation behind the success of Hatshepsut, and for Senunmut to be revealed as the evil genius behind her usurp of the throne. And sadly, views such as this were all that remained of Hatshepsut, for a vast period of history.

Hatshepsut died in her late forties or early fifties, in the twenty second year of her reign, as indicated by a recording of her death uncovered precisely as 16th January 1458 B.C. At her request, she was interred with her father inside the walls of her grand mortuary temple, meant as a tribute to her successful reign. By now, Thutmose III was prepared to take his place as pharaoh, having been granted even more power towards the end of his stepmother’s life. He went on to be a prosperous and militaristic ruler, but one that was soon to stamp Hatshepsut from memory. Towards the end of Thutmose’s reign, dozens of her statues, temples, monuments and reliefs began to be desecrated, in some attempt to obliterate her from existence. Many have interpreted this as as joyful moment of vengeance for the young king, and some way of exacting justice for what had been taken from him. Yet the destruction took place far too late in Thutmose’s reign to truly be that of a personal ilk; it was more than likely that he wished to wipe out Hatshepsut to make his claim to the throne, and that of his son’s, cleaner and more direct. Or alternately, Thutmose and his descendants wished to eradicate evidence of such a prosperous female ruler, er future pharaohs strive to live up to the standards of a woman, or be inspired to make their daughters the direct heir to the throne. And so Hatshepsut was forgotten for centuries, her existence never to be known of until the discovery of an inscription in 1822.

During his extensive excavations in The Valley of the Kings in 1903, Howard Carter discovered the sarcophagus of Hatshepsut, but her mummy was nowhere to be found. It had been removed from her beautiful tomb, and separated from her father’s body by Thutmose, or perhaps those that came after him. During his excavations, Carter also discovered the tomb and mummy of Hatshepsut’s nurse, along with another unidentified mummy. Yet it would not be until the summer of 2007, that the mysterious mummy would be identified as the lost Egyptian pharaoh, linked to a molar tooth found within a canopic jar. Studies of her remains have outlined that Hatshepsut suffered from a variety of bone conditions, including bone cancer and arthritis; the cause has been suggested to lie in a poisonous cream used to treat the skin conditions which were common in women the family. She was wearing black and red nail polish, as well as heavy perfumes when she died, and was by the end of her life, obese, a condition which probably did not help her weak bones. It is deeply fascinating that so much could be discovered about such a vital, but long forgotten figure. Yet a part of me wishes that such treasures would be left to rest in peace in the tombs that their occupants spent their lives building, in the homeland which meant so much to them.

There’s something so inherently disgusting about the erasure of any person, let alone a woman of such vital importance to Egyptian history. In a way, Hatshepsut’s story is one that embodies the meaning behind my Unsung Women of History posts; this is a woman who was not only forgotten, she was forcibly erased, because her story was not wanted then. But it is sorely wanted now, and now, we can learn about the incredible achievements of Hatshepsut, and marvel at the beautiful architecture which still stands thousands of years after her death. And so, in the end, she very much left her mark on history.

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925)

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is undoubtedly one of the most famous works of literature of the twentieth century. Symbolic of the decade of materialism and hedonism that was the 1920s and of the fickle nature of the American Dream, it has remained relevant in pop culture for nearly a century, inspiring star studded film adaptations, heated literary debates and interpretations, and of course, countless memes. Anyone who loves literature knows the famous story of charming, but ultimately deluded billionaire Jay Gatsby, who hinges his entire existence on winning the unattainable love of vapid southern belle Daisy Buchanan. Told from the perspective of Nick Carraway, Daisy’s cousin and Gatsby’s only true friend, the novel follows one hot summer on Long Island, when Gatsby and Daisy’s affair culminates in dispiriting tragedy.

The Great Gatsby is one of those rare novels that is famous centrally in its literary form, with most knowing the book itself better than any adaptations. Therefore, when planning this post, I had to think of a rather different approach than that I normally take when talking about books, which usually involves going through the whole plot and analysing and commenting as I go. Yet this would seem a little fruitless with such a well known story, so instead I’ve opted for an alternate spin. Instead, I’m going to take a look at some of the biggest controversies and debates surrounding The Great Gatsby, and offer up my take on them;

Lack of diversity:

The Great Gatsby is often dismissed nowadays, as a story merely about the lives of pretty, wealthy, vapid white people, and there is a valid argument to say that discussing the faults of the mentality that can be infused in these sorts of people, is ultimately the goal of the novel. However, I think the issue derives less from the fictitious characters portrayed in the book, but from the lifestyle of the author. Fitzgerald enjoyed preaching about morality and criticising society through his writing, but his own lifestyle and the company he kept was that of an almost identical ilk to the characters he wrote about. Therefore his stance in regards to criticising the hedonistic, indulgent lifestyle associated with the post war boom of the 1920s, was a rather hypocritical one. Returning to the diversity issue, I believe it to be a very valid criticism of the book, especially from the perspective of a modern audience. Yet looking back on the 1920s, privileged authors in general were not truly considering the issues of inclusivity in the way that they would be expected to do so today. This is by no means a statement that excuses the prejudices of the time, but rather prompts the discussion that the diversity issues within The Great Gatsby are a product of that time, and not necessarily of the author or the book itself. Tom Buchanan, an openly racist character with views disturbingly reminiscent of those of the Nazis, is villainized by Fitzgerald throughout the book, suggesting inherent racism as one of his many criticisms of American society. Sadly few novels of that era included the stories of racial or sexual minorities, and The Great Gatsby is not exception. But I do not believe it to be a racist work of fiction, given how aware Fitzgerald seems to be of the immorality and cruelty of the lives of his privileged characters, despite their uncanny resemblance to himself.

Gatsby and Daisy’s Relationship:

Hailed by some as the tale of a hopeless romantic giving his whole life for the woman he loves, and dismissed by others as no more that the obsessive acts of a deluded and manipulative stalker, this is easily the most divisive debates associated with The Great Gatsby, and I think it reflects a lot of conflicting opinions in modern society. But ultimately, Fitzgerald’s aim was not to write an emotionally charged love story, as he himself admitted that he intentionally left Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship void of substance. To Gatsby, Daisy is a symbol of everything that he wants to be or achieve in the world, she is his epitome of the American Dream. Now, that’s not a healthy dynamic to start off with at all, but sadly its an all too common one; people fall in love scarily often based on an idealised version of a person, and not they person they truly are. Yet this is the very point that I believe Fitzgerald was trying to make with Gatsby and Daisy’s love affair, so let’s take a look at the facts for a moment. Gatsby meets Daisy at the beginning of the First World War, when he is stationed as an officer near her home in Louisville. Young Daisy is beautiful, sweet, innocent and in possession of a wickedly charming voice, and the reason behind Gatsby’s obsession with her is perfectly isolated in this little extract;

“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money – that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it…. High in the white palace, the king’s daughter, the golden girl….

Daisy is the fairytale, the distant unachievable, perfect image that Gatsby aspires for his whole life to revolve around. She is not a person, not a woman that he loves, she is merely the embodiment of the ultimately shallow aspirations he has for his own life. So let us dismiss the commonly held notion that Gatsby possesses the sort of American Dream that is romantic or noble, and that his love for Daisy is one of undying devotion. Because, it is not Daisy herself that he loves. In fact, contrary to popular belief, I think, during the course of their initial autumn fling, that it was probably Daisy herself who had the more genuine feelings. But Daisy is an American aristocrat, and Gatsby is still a penniless soldier off fighting in the war. And so she marries Tom Buchanan, a wealthy white supremacist who reeks of arrogance and misogyny. What a catch. Now this is the point where Gatsby’s behaviour becomes rather creepy, and quite over romanticised; having become wealthy through nefarious means, Gatsby buys a house across the bay from Tom and Daisy, throws lavish parties with the hope of attracting her, stares longingly at the green light at the end of her dock every night, and orchestrates Nick into arranging a meeting between them. And when he finally is reunited with Daisy, and she begins an affair with him once more, obsession becomes possessiveness, as it so naturally does, and he demands that she renounce any feelings she once had for her husband. He puts her on the spot in front of Tom, Nick and Jordan Baker, inciting an argument which does nothing but upset her, and ultimately leads to a tragic road accident.

And yet when Gatsby dies and Daisy does not attend his funeral, the character was forever branded as shallow, fickle and heartless, and I myself was not apart from the witch hunt when I first read the book. And I think that inciting of that sentiment, particularly in young women, is what has produced such outrage in regard to Gatsby and Daisy’s relationship. The whole fantasy of being unconditionally adored by a rich and charming man is played into entirely here, and it’s easy to be caught up in it as a reader before you have long enough to stop and think about the true meaning of it, but that’s part of the cleverness of Fitzgerald’s writing. He was not attempting to write a great love story, we the reader only interpret it as that, in a similar manner to which Gatsby adored his projection of Daisy, and not the reality of Daisy as a person.

Unlikeable, inhuman characters:

As stated, the characters depicted in The Great Gatsby are those from privilege, with vapid and immoral tendencies which have often cut them off from reader’s hearts. Much in the same way that Gatsby sees only what Daisy represents, Fitzgerald is much more concerned with what his characters symbolise, and how they interact with the recurring motifs throughout the story, such as the green light (the distant mirage of the American Dream, which is truly only the colour of money) and the eyes of Dr T.K Eckleburg (the disapproving gaze of God fading away throughout the years). This symbolism replaces characterisation, development and personality, and renders the characters so cold and technical that many find them, when their emotional vacancy is accompanied with their vast wealth, extremely hard to relate to. I recently read an article which commented that the characters walk through the chapters with signs slapped on their heads, bearing phrases such as ‘The American Dream’, ‘Hedonism’ or ‘Organised Crime’. There’s Tom Buchanan, the symbol of old money and prejudice, Daisy, the symbol of the traditionally feminine, Jordan Baker, the symbol of the new woman, and Gatsby himself, representing the naivety of the American Dream. And then there’s blank Nick, floating around to comment on them all. This is one of the reasons why The Great Gatsby has become synonymous with English Literature classes and analytical essays; I’ll admit, I first read the book myself when studying it back in the first years of sixth form. In short, it’s a magnificent beast of literary technical achievement, yet it is hard to deny that it lacks heart. But I believe, as with all well written fiction, that your take on The Great Gatsby changes depending on when you read it. On the first read, I found it incredibly emotive and moving, but on the second I understood the inauthenticity of the character’s more, once I had grown out of my phase of subconsciously linking wealth and prosperity with the word romance.

The Great Gatsby remains indisputably a literary masterpiece, and a mark in the development of modern fiction, as well in the career of one of America’s most iconic authors. Yet I think is important to remember, that one can acknowledge the skill taken to cook an excellent dish, but still not enjoy the taste of those particular ingredients. It’s very much a novel that not everyone should be expected to adore, nor should literature lovers be berated for not doing so. It undoubtedly is lacking in some areas, particularly from a modern, or more emotive perspective, but that does not cancel out the masterful use of language, and the cynical, but interesting discussions it incites. The Great Gatsby holds a special place in my heart, as I’m sure it does for a lot of writers; I learned a lot about the craft of writing from studying it, and have been inspired by it in subtle ways that I have only just recalled now when wiring this post. It has prompted gorgeous film adaptations, generated dozens of hilarious inside jokes, been the theme of countless a party, appeared on nearly every A-Level student’s end of year exam and thus it has transcended the status of influence within the literary sphere, and has become a cultural phenomenon that will doubtless endure for years to come.

By, Rowan Speakman

Defining Your Genre

Pinning down the exact genre of your work is a lot more challenging a task that it initially sounds, especially if the story you have created is something that feels very new, or straddles multiple genres. From my perspective, this is a reassuring sign of the originality of your manuscript, but on the alternate hand, having this problem presents a whole new set of challenges in regards to placing your work on the market. In order to find the right agents to submit your work to, to pin down your Amazon categories, to know your audience, to choose the right cover, you need to narrow your work down into one or two definite genres. One of the biggest reasons I received rejections from agents was not because they felt my writing was weak, but because they could not place it on the market. I took this two ways; firstly, I don’t think I selected the right agents to submit my work to, and secondly, ‘the market’, refers to what genres are currently flying off the shelves, such as domestic thrillers or regency romances. The latter is one of the many reasons I felt that self publishing was a better avenue for me, but that’s another post. But in order to even begin the process of self publishing, you must have your genres pinned down, and you must be aware of the definitions and requirements of each genre. So here are a handful of common literary genres, with their definitions and requirements to hopefully simplify a few things:

Thriller – A thriller is a work of fiction with the aim of creating feelings of suspense, tension and absorption in the reader. What sets the genre apart from those such as mystery and crime, is the focus on the emotional, psychological battles associated with a highly tense, edge-of-your-seat plot. Thrillers have many sub genres such as political, legal, psychological, supernatural, crime or domestic, but all of them must incorporate a plot with high stakes and unbearable tension. Feelings such as doubt, guilt and vengeance are examples of dark mental elements that the characters often experience during the events. Thrillers often benefits from tightly wound sub plots and parallel plot lines, the mysteries of these being revealed at the end. The emphasis on terror and torment is an example of how this genre is a hybrid between horror and mystery. In short, if your story features dark, gripping and brutal plot elements, complex characters, gripping suspense and a gritty setting, you may have a thriller on your hands.

Fantasy– This is often one of the most easily identifiable genres, due to the elements of unreality present within it. Fantasy writing may incorporate settings, creatures, races, events or worlds that do not exist in reality, often with a magical or supernatural element to them. High fantasy refers to novels set in a completely fictitious world, with its own governments, laws, and history fabricated by the author, such as Middle Earth, Narnia or Westeros. Low fantasy refers to novels set in the real world, but feature creatures or aspects that do not truly exist, such as talking animals; magical realism can also come under this banner, featuring characters with powers or skills that are impossible to possess in the realms of reality. Fantasy can include the sub genres such as young adult, fairytale, dark fantasy, supernatural, superhero, or science fiction. In short, if your novel concretely contains any elements or characters that are physically impossible in reality, it should fall under some sub section of the fantasy genre.

Romance- The romance genre is one that is, contrary to popular imagination, extremely diverse, as it can translate into all sorts of plots and settings. The main plot of a romance revolves around the development of a romantic relationship between two people, and explores the conflicts and issues that arise around this relationship, both internal and external. Romance novels are highly character driven, and have an emotional core at their heart, regardless of any plot driven sub plots surrounding the couple. Romance sub genres include contemporary romance, historical romance (my jam), paranormal romance, young adult romance, erotic romance, fantasy romance and romantic suspense. They can range anywhere in tone from fun, sexy and light hearted to dark, serious and moving. The final requirement for a novel to classify as a romance is that is must have an uplifting and positive ending, unless your sub category is tragic romance.

Dystopian- Dystopian differs from fantasy and science fiction in the fact that it entertains the dark possibilities of the future, as opposed to creating a whole new world, or exploring our world with fantastical elements. There is often a great element of depth to dystopian works, presenting some sort of social commentary or raising issues about humanity and discussing what these issues could result in. Alternatively, these novels explore the aftermath of a disaster such as a plague (bit too relevant at the moment), a flood or the rise of the machines, and how humanity deals with a broken world. They can either be incredibly depressing, or imbued with great hope (if you want to read an incredible dystopian novel that falls under the latter category, check out Emily St. John Mandel’s Station Eleven, because it’s really in a league of its own). Sub genres include young adult, sci-fi, romance, or even comedy. Dystopians are usually heavily plot driven stories, with characterisation in general taking a back seat.

Horror – The name of this genre encapsulates the feeling a novel within it should evoke in the reader, through disturbing images, scenes and themes. People read horror to experience the thrill of being terrified and placed out of their comfort zone; the genre in general deals with the fear of the unknown and the darker parts of the human psychology, such as lust, violence, vengeance, doubt and guilt. Horror novels often include elements of the fantastical or supernatural, but the genre is starkly apart from fantasy due to its focus on inciting feelings of terror and repulsion within the reader. Horror is a very timeless genre, as people will always be fundamentally terrified by certain topics, but will also be darkly drawn to them. Sub genres range from gothic, occult, dark fantasy, survival, slasher, natural, undead to crime. In short, your intent as a writer must be to illicit terror and uncertainty in your readers, and to explore dark themes and settings.

Literary Fiction – Literary fiction is a very complex genre to define, as most works under this label dip in to genre fiction somehow. Literary fiction refers to novels that deal with characterisation and are propelled forward purely by the characters themselves. They are introspective works, focusing on the nature of the human condition and exploring deep social or political topics. Literary fiction also does not adhere to traditional story structures, sometimes disregarding a narrative arc with not guarantee of a satisfying ending. The characters, themes, and imagery are not organised within the confines of a plot, akin to a puddle, in place of water within a bowl. It can be depressing and realistic, philosophical and thought provoking or fresh and experimental. I would recommend seeking advice before branding your novel under this genre, as I mistakenly used to do, as its quite hard to identify, and its truly quite rare to find a novel that doesn’t just have elements of the literary, and can be fully branded as a work of literary fiction.

Psychological Fiction – One that is easy to confuse with literary fiction, psychological fiction covers novels which are propelled forwards by an examination of the mental states of the characters, and a psychological explanation as to their motivations and reasoning behind their actions. Psychological fiction books are character driven, the plot being intertwined with the development of the characters, and of their interior worlds. Psychological fiction can be a genre within itself, or it can intertwine with other genres, such as with my book, The Demon’s Dollhouse. In short, if you’ve written a book with rich and complex characters, who the story revolves around and not vice versa, your novel may qualify as psychological fiction.

Historical Fiction- Historical fiction is quite simply a novel set at any time prior to the 1950s, and will fall almost certainly in to another genre. A historical fiction novel can either be a book set in a certain time period purely for its suitability for the story and themes (such as The Demon’s Dollhouse), a novel exploring real historical events such as the First World War through the eyes of fictional characters (my current WIP is an example of this), or a fictional representation of the lives of real historical figures, such as a novel about the love story of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. You can write a romance, a thriller, a fantasy, a horror or literary fiction set in a previous era, and thus the genre is very adaptable; if you’re interested in history, you can find a way to make any genre work in the right period.

Of course, these are only the main genres seen in modern fiction, and there are countless others, as well as sub genres, out there that your book might fit into better. It can feel scary and restricting to try and put your book into one clear box, but you’ve got to remember the importance of sub genres; for example, Codename Villanelle and The Wrong Family are utterly different stories, yet they are both thrillers, one is an espionage thriller, one is a domestic thriller. Readers are far from dumb, and they won’t paint all of one genre with the same brush when choosing their next book to read. Personally, I read primarily historical fiction, thrillers, and literary fiction, but that won’t stop me picking up a dystopian if I think it sounds compelling. But you must be able to narrow your book down into two genre fields, if we are going by the Amazon BISAC categories for example. The Demon’s Dollhouse falls into Historical Romance, and Psychological Fiction, which I think both give an impression of the novel quite nicely.

My debut novel, The Demon’s Dollhouse will be released on Amazon this July; feel free to follow by blog, and my Instagram blog account @rowan_writes_ and my Facebook page Rowan Speakman Books. 🙂

For more writing advice, go to the page My Writing Journey, for a list of all of my posts. 🙂

By, Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Unsplash.com).

Ada Lovelace (1815 – 1852)

Cited by many as the first computer programmer, whilst dismissed by others as a name associated with the feat due only to her name itself, the life of Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, is that of a brilliant mind, hindered only by those who wished to repress its full workings. Due to her breeding, Lovelace possessed an intellect which was a unique blend of the linguistic and the mathematical, and enabled her to see the possibilities within the work of Charles Babbage, effectively prophesying the science behind the modern computer. Yet her success and her happiness were both prohibited by the shadow forever cast by the disastrous marriage of her famed parents, who failed, in very different ways, to give the bright young woman the love and acceptance she deserved.

Born Augusta Ada Byron, Ada was the result of the brief and tumultuous marriage between the infamous poet Lord George Gordon Byron and the aristocratic mathematician Anne Isabella (Annabella) Milbanke. Byron married the steady, rational Annabella only as an attempt to temper his own excessive passions and debauched behaviour. Despite there perhaps being some fondness at the beginning of the marriage, with Byron dubbing his wife his ‘Princess of Parallelograms’ (if anybody ever called me that, I’d dump them instantly), any affections only lasted long enough for Ada to be conceived; the couple were soon at each other’s throats, and separated only weeks after the birth of their daughter. Ada was never to know her father, who left the country after the divorce and died abroad when she was only eight. Aside from a picture of her on his desk, and enquires after her health, he never made any attempt to be a father in the slightest, only crying for his daughter when he was on his deathbed. However, Byron was to have a lasting influence on his only legitimate child, much to the despair of Annabella.

Ada was raised in isolation at her mother’s country estate, primarily cared for by her maternal grandmother Judith. Annabella was as emotionally disregarding of her daughter as she was controlling; badly burned by her marriage to Byron, she became obsessed with quelling any poetic or passionate tendencies which Ada may have inherited from him. The young girl was watched over by her mother’s spies, whom she lately humorously dubbed as the ‘Furies’, whose job it was to report, sometimes fictitiously, on any immoral behaviour on Ada’s part. Another ridiculous protocol was Annabella’s insistence on her daughter being made to lie still for lengthy amounts of time in order to teach her the value of self control; it probably only made her a bit stiff, and quite grumpy. Yet Annabella was as shrewd as she was cold; she was keenly aware of how polarised public opinions were in regards to her separation, and very much wanted to ensure that there should be evidence in place to prove she was a devoted mother. She would send Judith letters full of fake adoration and concern for Ada, with a covering note explaining their purpose, in which she referred to her daughter as ‘it’. This is revolting behaviour to exhibit towards any child, let alone one that has also been abandoned by their father, who would have had power to prevent this treatment, but never acted upon it. Yet, when it came to Ada’s education, Annabella’s attitudes were to ironically nurture Ada’s greatest gifts; against all the customs of female tutoring, Annabella had her daughter’s education centralised around mathematics and science, with the aim of grounding her mind in logic and rationality. Under the tutelage of William Frend, the family doctor William King and Scottish astronomer Mary Somerville, Ada displayed an impressive talent for both numbers and language, which would soon develop into a strikingly original outlook on the study of mathematics.

Ada’s notorious father, Lord Byron.

At the age of eleven, Ada accompanied her mother on an extensive tour of Europe, which further fulled the young girl’s intuitive mind; she retuned to England obsessed with the venture of flyology, and how she might construct a pair of wings to enable flight. This fascination is a prime example of how Ada’s leanings towards maths, science and engineering, were accompanied with a poetic, creative attitude, a unique result of her breeding, the mixture of an imaginative mind and a technical one. Ada’s passionate, linguistic nature was beginning to feel repressed by her mother’s controlling influences, as demonstrated in this pleading quote from a letter of hers; ‘You will not concede me philosophical poetry. Invert the order! Will you give me poetic philosophy, poetical science?”. The latter term, ‘poetical science’, was to become the phrase which would embody Ada’s entire outlook on her mathematical work, and represented a blending of the attitudes of the Romantic era, and of the Industrial Revolution; Ada was, quite literally, the offspring of those views combined. However her creativity had to be put aside for some years, as following her trip to Europe, Ada became horribly sick with measles, her health remaining poor for the next three years, and at some points, even paralysing her. By 1833, she was able to walk on crutches, but her health was fated to be poor for the rest of her days.

The same year Ada’s health recovered, she had a brief affair with one of her tutors, a marriage only being prevented by the intervention of a group of the latter’s friends. However, what with Ada due to come out into society, Annabella quickly swept it under the rug, and Ada was brought into London and presented to the court. She immediately became popular on the social scene, despite her rejection of some of her father’s prominent friends, under her mother’s instruction. It was in London that she was introduced through Mary Somerville to prominent mathematical engineer Charles Babbage. Babbage invited her to come and view his work, a machine titled the Difference Engine, which was designed to perform mathematical calculations. Ada was instantly fascinated with the machine, and requested that Babbage mentor her: ‘I have a peculiar way of learning, and I think it must be a peculiar man to teach me successfully…Do not reckon me conceited…but I believe I have the power of going just as far as I like in such pursuits, and where there is so decided a taste, I should almost say a passion, as I have for them, I question if there is not always some portion of natural genius even.’ For someone so young, Ada had a remarkable amount of confidence and faith in her own talents, and was clearly not afraid to pursue her calling in life. She also had a deep and rare faith in the importance of Babbage’s work, and he took her under his wing, enabling her to study maths further with University of London professor Augustus de Morgan.

When applied to the possibilities of the Difference Engine, Ada’s unique mind was overflowing with ideas as to what it was capable of, her ambitions for the machine venturing far beyond Babbage’s own goals. When Babbage asked her to translate an article written by an Italian engineer on his more advanced Analytical Engine, Ada added her own extensive notes to the article, aside from translating it into multiple languages. Indeed, her notes were three times the length of the article itself, and put forward the idea that Babbage’s machine might also handle letters and symbols in the same manner in which it did numbers, through the concept of coding, and instructing the machine to repeat sequences. This is effectively the basis of modern computer programming, making Ada’s ideas several hundred years ahead of the capabilities of technology. Her notes were eventually published in 1843, but received little recognition at the time; indeed there has been much controversy and speculation into whether Ada is deserving of the title she was later awarded as the prophet of computer programming. Many point out that she lacked the knowledge required, and that Babbage himself was solely responsible to the development of the engines; these two facts are indisputable, but it was also inarguably Ada alone who saw the full possibilities of the machine, and wished to extend its capabilities beyond Babbage’s own visions.

Charles Babbage’s Difference Engine was the first step in the development of the modern computer.

In 1835, Ada married aristocrat William King, who was to become the Earl of Lovelace three years later, making Ada the Countess of Lovelace, and giving her the name she is known as today. The couple enjoyed the luxury of three residences, in Scotland, Surrey and London, and had three children, Byron (1836), Annabella (1837) and Gordon (1839). There is an element of profound sadness to the names of these children; despite her parents’ rejection of her, Ada clearly held both in very high regard, acknowledging their roles in shaping her own abilities. For the first four or so years of her marriage, Ada set her career to one side to focus on her marriage and her newborn children, yet throughout, her husband remained keenly supportive of her ambitions, and the couple socialised in highly academic circles, including with the likes of Charles Dickens. When Queen Victoria ascended to the throne in 1837, Ada was presented to her at court along with other members of the aristocracy. During this year, Ada’s healthy began to decline once more when she suffered a bout of cholera, and over the years was blighted by asthma and digestive issues. These were very prevalent by 1841, with doctors prescribing opiats and laudanum as pain relief; the highly dangerous drugs altered Ada’s personality, inciting hallucinations and mood swings. It was also in this same year, that Annabella decided to drop a bombshell on her daughter, and reveal that Medora Leigh, the daughter of Lord Byron’s half sister, was in fact a product of their incestuous relationship. She also chose to tell Medora this, while she was as it. Kill two birds with one stone, I suppose. That must have made for an interesting tea party. Despite her mother’s disapproval and haughtiness about her lifetstyle, Ada had, in recent years, begun to feel more favourably towards her, and perhaps had begun to forgive her for her appalling treatment of her as a child. But the revelation deeply unsettled poor Ada, quite understandably, given her admiration of her father and her fragile state at the time. Yet she persistently chose to blame her aunt, Augusta Leigh, for the whole affair, most likely out of denial. At this time, Ada became keen to direct her work more into the realms of literature, but it was her husband who firmly steered her back towards mathematics. Yet another person in her life was now trying to stifle her, and what with this, the revelation about Medora, her mother’s criticisms and her failing health, Ada must have spent these years in much confusion and loneliness. Her life became laden with scandals throughout the 1840s, with many rumours of love affairs and an obsession with gambling. Around this time, Annabella hired a tutor to educate Ada’s children, and to steady her daughter morally; rather hilariously, the man declared his love for Ada and attempted to begin an affair with her, which Ada responded to by cutting him off. There’s certainly a pattern in Ada’s life, of academic men becoming infatuated with her; what with the mix of her breeding, her charm and her intelligence, she must have been a very attractive woman to such men, and it is probably more than likely that she conducted a few extra-marital affairs during this period of her life. Yet Ada remained as creative as every in her field of poetic science; in 1844, she and her friend Woronzow Greig attempted to create a model to display the links between the neurological science of the brain and human emotions. This is essentially a very early foundation of the concepts of biopsychology and neuroscience, and prompts the questions of what Ada could have achieved had her work been considered substantial, or if she had been born at a later date. However their plans were never put in place, and Ada fatefully turned towards dividing a mathematical equation for winning at gambling, her investment in the scheme resulting in falling into a debt of thousands of pounds in 1851, from which William King had to bail her out of.

The following year, Ada fell mortally ill with uterine cancer, and was bedridden for months. Even on her deathbed, she was subjected to Annabella’s tyrannical control, with her mother forbidding friends and colleagues which she did not approve of from seeing her. She also insisted that Ada undergo a religious transformation, a panicked idea that a lot of dying people clung to in that era when they knew death was near, and that she repent for her sins. One of these sins was confessed to her husband, who left her bedside in the summer and never came back. Ada died in November, and at her request, was buried beside her father in Hucknall. They eerily shared the same age of death, thirty-six, also sharing a memorial plaque. I can only imagine Annabella’s outrage; by punishing her daughter for her father’s sins, she ironically drove her into loving his memory more than she could ever love her.

Ada Lovelace’s contributions to mathematics, calculus, metaphysics and computer programming would not be discovered until the 1950s, her work published in B.V. Bowden’s 1953 book. Both the shortness of her life, and the lovelessness she experienced for such a large portion of it, make her tale one tinged with tragedy. If her skills, both creative and scientific, had been further bolstered by unconditional love, who knows what she might have achieved. There’s something wonderful, and inherently feminine, about her way of thinking, and her belief that science could not only be logical, concrete and progressive, but creative, beautiful and imaginative. Maybe someday, someone will uncover some secret poems of hers stashed away in a drawer, and I’d imagine, they’d probably be even better than her father’s.

By Rowan Speakman

(All images sourced from Wikimedia Commons).

Hungry Hill – Daphne Du Maurier (1943)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR: HUNGRY HILL)

. When dipping into Daphne Du Maurier’s bibliography, I was keen to start with one of her lesser known works, as opposed to the classics such as Rebecca or My Cousin Rachel, and I could not regret this decision less. Hungry Hill is a story that could only be written with such poigniancy and weight in the hands of Du Maurier, and showcases her ability to not only craft nuanced and memorable characters, but to carry the stories of these characters over a vast period of time. Set in nineteenth century Ireland, Hungry Hill follows five generations of the Brodrick family, loathed across the land for the industrialism they brought to the community, and the profitable mines they established at the base of Hungry Hill. Cursed by the man whose family once owned their great castle, the men of the Brodrick family become consumed by love, greed or idleness, either fated to die young or to lose those dearest to them. It’s a story which can be as hopeful as it can be bitter, as romantic as it can be brutally realistic, all imbued with a writing style full of complexity and nostalgia.

. The opening chapters of the novel are some of the only ones that directly deal with the business of the mines, as they are told from the perspective of Copper John, the patriarch of the Brodrick family for the good first half of the book. Tough, ambitious and dutiful, Copper John is set on transforming the landscape of Ireland into a country of progress, holding his children also to these views. Barbara and Eliza, the steady eldest daughters of the brood, take a back seat to the three younger parties, most notably the two brothers, Henry and John. Just to make things very confusing, all of the central male characters in the Brodrick family are either named Henry or John, but I believe this to be reminiscent not only of the realism of hereditary names in such a period, but to serve as an indicator of the two very different types of Brodrick men. Henry is keen, charming, hardworking and his father’s pride and joy, whereas John is shyer and more romantic, happy to pursue a loving family and to race his beloved greyhounds. In the generations to come, it is always the Henry of the family who is diligent and ambitious, the sort of Brodrick which Copper John would have been proud of, while the John is always lazier, more difficult, or apart in some way. Jane is the last of the first brood of Brodricks, a bright, energetic and kind girl who is a personal favourite of mine, but more on her later. 

. During the initial period of the establishment of the copper mines, the native Irish community vehemently rallies against the Brodricks, set in their old ways and loathing the arrogance of a foreign family changing the landscape. It is an age-old debate of tradition versus progress, more so than Du Maurier commentating on the social atmosphere of Ireland in the 1820s; indeed, the word ‘Ireland’, is not mentioned once throughout the entire novel, but the sentiments of occupying a land and instilling beliefs of industry and progress on it is a very notably British sentiment. Yet in the case of the Brodricks and the inhabitants of Doonhaven village, no attempts are made by either party to truly understand the other, resulting in endless barrages of broken fences, copper theft and violence throughout the area. 

. So too is the happy family at Clonmere Castle disturbed by the opening of the mines, as the brewing discontentment in John regarding the stark differences between himself and his brother reaches a head. On one rainy night when Copper John and his son set out to apprehend the thieves at Hungry Hill, Henry catches a chill as a reward for his enthusiasm, and his health is never the same again. Meanwhile, John has fallen head over heels for Fanny Rosa Flower, a person whose character and family could not be more at odds with the Brodrick values. Fanny Rosa is exuberant, flirtatious and scandalous, with her only regards being for the pleasures and joys of life; the attraction on John’s part is very understandable, yet Fanny Rosa’s true thoughts and feelings remain as elusive to the reader as they do to John. In one wonderfully scandalous scene, John and Fanny Rosa share a passionate moment by the lake on Hungry Hill, as the family are picnicking, and John ponders as to whether she would have done the same were she with Henry. Indeed, it is long in both John’s and the reader’s thoughts that she had some sort of relationship with Henry during a holiday to Naples, which was to be in fact, the latter’s last holiday. Copper John sets out to the continent to retrieve his son, only to find him laying dead in a French hotel room, having kept the extent of his illness a secret from his family. It takes a great deal of skill for a writer to make me grieve for a character after only seven chapters of knowing him, but Du Maurier conveys acutely the pain of a person dying so young, an occurrence so regular in that era. 

. Sadly, it is the youngest Brodrick who is the next to die. Jane is one of those wonderful but frustrating characters that makes you yearn for all the joys of being young which the coronavirus has robbed us of. On her eighteenth birthday, her portrait is painted, and a great party is held at Clonmere Castle. The young Brodricks dance wildly in the moonlight with the local officers, John and Fanny Rosa go galloping off over the hills together and I am throwing the book against the wall because I will never be never a pretty nineenth century heiress dancing in the gardens of her castle and being flirted with by handsome army officers, and it’s not fair. Regardless, Jane is a beacon of light and support within the Brodrick household, bringing youth and joy to an environment often very harsh and masculine. And when John marries Fanny Rosa, she puts aside her own heartbreak at the hands of a man she had hoped herself to marry, and welcomes her new sister-in-law, and her future niece or nephew. And yet when her carriage is hit by a rockfall as a result of the exploits of her father’s mine, her death is swept under the rug, where Henry’s was grieved for deeply. John comments that she was put out of her misery, what with her broken heart, and that it was for the best. This is probably the most sexist, most cruel reaction to the death of a fictional character I have ever seen. Jane was eighteen, and had years to heal, fall in love again, and to give so many other things to the world aside from her hand in marriage. Yet John, whose troubles she listened to endlessly, and her father, whose ambitions killed her, barely grieve for her? I will never not rant about this; Jane Brodrick deserved better. 

. So John and Fanny Rosa get married, and never did I expect to adore their love story as much as I did. It becomes very clear during their honeymoon at the vacated Clonmere, that Fanny Rosa’s feelings for John truly are sincere, despite her flirting and her indecisiveness. The two have five children together, all of which, especially their eldest boy Johnnie, conceived on Hungry Hill itself, are permitted to run wild. Whichever house they take up residence in is strewn with disorder and the patter of muddy pawprints, a messy kingdom over which Fanny Rosa presides. John grows ever more content to idle and dismiss the mines, yet the life he chooses over this is one I can’t help but oddly admire him for. John is a man who understands that the most precious thing in his life, is his family. He loves them more than he loves the mines, more than he loves ambition and more than he craves the respect it would grant him should he live off his own money as opposed to his father’s. And this is something which Copper John, never more evident than in the circumstances of Jane’s death, forgot. John chooses happiness over respect, social standing and his father’s adoration. Given the tragedies his family suffered as a result of the mines, I cannot fault him for this attitude, and his love for his vivacious wife remains just as strong for the entirety of their marriage. When John dies of a fever, Fanny Rosa covers her deep anguish with her usual defences of materialism and vapidness, to an extent which even her own sons believe she is not in pain. Yet she never recovers from the loss of her beloved husband, eventually submitting to a gambling addiction and various mental health issues that come with age and buried grief. I think probably the most romantic thing about their love story, was how both parties were so imperfect, she high spirited, commandeering and absent minded, and he idle, unrealistic and unmotivated. It’s truly lovely to read about a couple with so many flaws, who remain besotted by one another throughout their entire marriage. ‘If I have been the dullest of the Brodrick’s, I have also been the happiest,’ comments John on his deathbed, and I highly suspect that to be true.  

. John’s death leaves his son Johnnie, as the next central character of the novel. As he ages, Johnnie turns from a mischevious child into a brooding and unpredictable alocoholic, whose stint in the army does little to soothe his nature, which his mother always made excuses for and insisted was inherent. Although at times it is easy to feel pity even for Johnnie, as he envies his brother Henry’s popularity and his marriage to the beautiful and peaceful Katherine, and feels permanently out of place within his family unit. Yet various behaviours, pertaining to his violent nature and treatment of women, prevent him from becoming any more that a vicious idiot. This is a man who makes reference to having slept with a sultan’s wife during his time at war, most likely unconsenually, and shoots his own groundskeeper even as family and friends visit his home. But his worst action comes as a result of the relationship he has with a descendant of the Donovans, the long held enemies of the Brodrick clan, resulting in her pregnancy and his refusal to care for the child. His family arrange for the girl to be sent to America, and Johnnie, haunted still by the tranquility of Henry and Katherine’s marriage, drinks himself to death in a hotel room. 

. Henry and Katherine subsequently take up residence at Clonmere Castle, and the environment becomes one akin to that of the first generation of Brodricks featured in the novel. Henry possesses all the charm and appetite for work of his long dead uncle, moving through various positions of public service and even trying his hand unsuccessfully at politics. Katherine meanwhile is what would have been considered the perfect Victorian wife; calm, reasurring, loving and a devoted mother, and Henry dotes upon her as if she is a queen. They spend their evenings together by the fire with their children, playing music and dancing together, and the mines at Hungry Hill boom and propser as never before seen under the restored attention from their owner. Yet the events that transpire prove that Henry’s love is all spent on his wife, and does not truly extend to his children, seemingly only a product of his love for her. Against medical advice, Katherine and Henry conceive a fourth child, which is to kill her. Henry grows haunted by Clonmere, and the extension at the front of the castle which he had built just for the woman he loved. The tragedy of it is that Henry seems to know that his wife never quite loved him as he loved her, so quietly haunted was she by Johnnie’s own feelings for her. He is broken by her death to such an extent that he forgets the feelings of his children, desparate for their familiar home, and takes them to London where they grow distant from him without their mother’s love. The final act of cruelty inflicted on the four childen comes in the form of Adeline Price, the self important, strict widow that Henry encounters while visiting his poor, lost mother in Nice, and whom he takes home as a wife. Adeline not only insults the children, belittles their feelings and cuts them off forever from their home, she encourages their father to do so as well, and prohibits him from spending time with them. I know that the evil stepmother trope has been done countless times, but that doesn’t make it any less infuriating or realistic. I hated that woman’s guts in every chapter she was in, and sometimes, there’s nothing better than a good old fashioned villain.

. Eventually, the children grow tired of their loveless home, and relocate to Clonmere to spend a Christmas with old family friends, to recall fond memories of their beloved mother and the home Henry took from them. There, they reconnect with their heritage and finally are allowed to heal, and Clonmere is returned to the state which it resides best in; full of laughter and merriment, and not the harsh symbol of commerce, power and respect it had been intended to be. A devastating argument with his father sends Hal, Henry’s only son, to Canada for nearly a decade, before he returns with the same idleness his grandfather John possessed, but with none of his contented nature. Hal strives all his life to be a painter, but is never happy with being mediocre, he tries his hand at ranching and fails, and eventually his father-in-law convinces him to take a job at the mines, where he is mocked for his status as a Brodrick. Even with money enough to feed his own wife and child, Hal feels unworthy of his little family, cut off from his allowance and former status. He is also one of the only Brodricks to feel sympathy for the plight of the miners themselves, detesting the small amount of wages he has to hand them and wracked with guilt about the extent of their labour. Yet when the market plummets and Henry is forced to sell the mine, the miners, filled with panic and rage, begin to loot Doonhaven. At the mines on Hungry Hill, Hal is beaten by the men he sought to give sympathy towards, and falls down the mine shaft to his death. And when Hal’s wife, Jinny, reunites with Henry in the deserted castle, she sees not the cruel father who drove his son away, but a broken, sad man, who carried his son’s little portrait of his lost love throughout his entire life. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

. After the first world war, during the chaos of 1920s Ireland, Hal’s son, John-Henry returns to Ireland. As his name suggests, John-Henry has a temperament which is a mixture of the two strains of Brodrick men; he has the charm and zest for life of a Henry, but the love of nature and individualistic character of John. He leaves the violent streets of Slane behind, and drives out to Clonmere with hope and excitement in his heart, keen to learn more of his family history. On his way, he is waylaid by a group of revolutionaries, who incarcerate him a few days. When he is released, the Brodrick’s beloved Clonmere has been scorched black. Cows move among the ruins, shepherded by none other than a Donovan descendant. Able to retrieve only the portrait of Jane, beautiful after so many years, John-Henry turns and walks away. In the final line of the novel, Du Maurier draws our attention, to the shaft of sunlight shining on Hungry Hill, and to victory of the wild old ways.

. I apologise in regards to the length of the post, but I was just so affected by this book that I really couldn’t shorten it. It truly is a masterpiece from start to finish. There’s something quite epic about Hungry Hill, the sheer length of the time it covers and the manner in which it shows the lives of a relatively ordinary sort of family over a century gives it quite a grounded weight. Du Maurier apparently based the novel on the ancestors of an Irish friend of hers, which adds a whole other level of personality to the story. However, we shall never know which parts are fact, and which are fiction, but I believe that to be besides the point. My edition of Hungry Hill features an introduction by Nina Auerbach, which is a highly insightful read in regards to emphasising just how underrated, and how complex the novel is, as well as how it compares to the Du Maurier’s other works. Auerbach points out that Hungry Hill is a story about spoilt men, and the world through their eyes, the only view from which we could possibly empathise with them. Perhaps this is true, for the characters in Hungry Hill are spoilt in the sense that that they are afforded a position in life where they can choose between a life of happiness, or a life of respect. This calls to mind a quote from my own novel, ‘The Demon’s Dollhouse’; ‘If I have to sacrifice my happiness for my self-respect I will. I implore you not to force me to make that choice.’ Although the contexts are very different, the statement on its own relates greatly to Hungry Hill. Copper John, and his grandson Henry, both had a great deal of self importance and a desire for respect, manifested in their finanical ambitions and those in terms of status. Yet Greyhound John had none of these desires, yet lived so happily and so peacefully, with a heart and a home full of love. ‘Thinking always brought me pain’, says Henry Brodrick, as he drives away from Clonmere for the last time, ‘You can tell that story to your son, when he comes into his legacy…”

. My second-hand copy of Hungry Hill came with this handwritten note on the title page, which just has something so lovely about it. Maybe writing the location of where they bought their books was common practice for the first reader of this copy, or maybe their trip, or this book, held special meaning or memory to them. Either way, thank you for writing it, and I promise to look after it. 🙂

By, Rowan Speakman