Strip the Willow and Rip the Bodice

Because everyone needs a hobby …

“Lout sex, oh, yeah! …” – A Viking Porno May 27, 2010

The most awesome tea mug in the universe - Sarah and I are wearing Viking hats her Grandparents sent. Awesome - I know.

But to the title of this post. That is an actual (italicized) quote from the book:

“Lout sex, oh, yeah! …” p.187

Most of the stuff I read in this novel you really can’t make up. I need a helpful cup of tea. I know in the first text I talked a lot about it reading like fanfiction and what contributed to that. So – an analogy: the previous text is to fanfiction what Viking in Love is to porn.

Yep it’s the sex post – but also a dialect post in disguise. Sure, we’ve got the random use of different period phrases – and I’d say used better, in fact, in this novel. At the end, the author gives a note to the reader explaining why she chose the period and her ties to it (her family was descending from Vikings). Yesterday, I talk a lot about period in the post with my mom and how it’s not so much period-correctness that these novels use – it’s the period itself that makes the books … sexy, I guess.

Oh – and more on that author’s note – my favorite quote is her opening line:

“I hope you liked what I call my medieval version of the Dixie Chicks song video, ‘Good-Earl.'” p.360

You can find that video and song here. Sure enough, the actual ‘plot’ of the novel is summed up in that video. Viking princesses kill the husband of one of their sisters because he’s abusive. It all gets sort of brushed over in the end, though – again convenience. But I applaud Hill for making this note to the reader. It was interesting for me to read why she chose the period, how versed she may be in it and what not.

But then – we’re not looking for period accuracy anymore. That’s probably why I found the note so intriguing – it was a period piece with a period she felt connected to – maybe that’s why the dialect wasn’t totally butchered and why there was a handy-dandy though I never used it glossary in the back of terms relevant to the novel.

So – for period correctness in a romantic novel – I’m applauding Hill. Sure, there’s no bibliography and not the usual things i look for, but we’re given more than what’s to be expected. And I think that’s pretty cool for a Viking Porno.

Clap, damn you! Clap!

You know, I think I could live off of tea. The cup I just made is positively divine and makes me question coffee drinkers – is it worth it without whiskey and Baileys or one or the other?

But moving on. The dialect post in disguise. I don’t know if I can do this but I’m going to change the word dialect to dialogue. There’s a difference obviously – dialect is – just quickly – accent, inflections, what I’ve been talking a lot about. Dialogue is a conversation.

This past school year I was introduced to Bakhtinian literary theory (and I just remembered why I woke up in a panic – I dreamt my computer had burned in a fire and I lost all of my papers from college on theory – no joke). My first exposure to it was during my independent study on Victorian Children’s literature. I had taken a very strong liking to the effects of dialogue – not just between characters (and my favorite part of writing is dialogue) but also between the text and the reader. My wonderful fantastic etc. professor gave me a copy – what I now call ‘The Purple Book’ – of Bakhtinian theory – The Dialogic Imagination.

I sometimes coddle a bottle of Jameson. I also sometimes coddle a book on Lit Theory. I also like to sleep with 'Bleak House' under my pillow. Shut up.

Before I dive into Bakhtin’s actual essay’s – I was given a great summary of his theory in my ‘Lit Theory’ class (haha, go figure). I’m stealing this quote from a recent paper – I don’t have the book as it was a print out, but I will link to it nonetheless as I do have it’s information.

“A speaker and a listener form a relationship. Language is always the product of at least two people in a dialogue, not a monologue.” – Bressler p. 45

The speaker in this case, is the text. The listener, the reader. Easy enough. So, with a text you have a dialogue between the reader and the text. Let’s follow this up with something actually from The Purple Bakhtin Book (form his essay Discourse in the Novel):

“The novel as a whole is a phenomenon multiform in style and variform in speech and voice. In it the investigator is confronted with several heterogeneous stylistic unities, often located on different linguistic levels and subject to different stylistic controls.” Bakhtin p.261

I’ll break it down into what I’m applying this theory to with Viking in Love. I set a reminder though that I’m very new to literary theory and this blog is partially a way for me to continue to explore it. If you have another application of this theory or if you think I misinterpreted it, please comment – I’m not here to be the ultimate source of knowledge – I’m still very much learning.

Okay – back to breaking it down. First – make sure you get the idea of the text and reader as a dialogue (I swear, this is going to pay off once I start addressing the novel). Now, I am going to go make myself another cup of tea, get my computer charger, and explain myself – I’m like the Doctor, sometimes. I need tea to fully regenerate.

Okay – tea fixed, cord found, and now to explain myself. We’ve seen how the novel is a multiform phenomenon in style (the mix of the contemporary with the past) and of course the varying ‘speech and voice’, which I’ve also addressed to an extent that I think is enough to dive a little into Bakhtin here. Keep all that in mind as well, of course. This leaves us with the ‘heterogeneous stylistic unities’ and within these different ‘stylistic controls.’

What I’m going to argue or … I don’t know make a claim for is this: the stylistic controls of Viking in Love are found in the language of the novel, the crude sexuality of the text that interacts with the ‘investigator’ (ie: in this case, the reader). The interaction forms a dialogue of pornography. Rather than watching it on the television, through this dialogue we are having a similar experience through the dialogue of the text to reader.

I would stop myself from touching on Mayhue in this case because her text was practically bowdlerized compared to Hill. Sure, there’s the longing and the romantic descriptions but Hill is to the blunt point. Her text’s contribution to the dialogue of reader and text is raunchy – it’s half of the porno.

The other half is supplied by the reader. While reading the text, the reader is giving the other half of the dialogue, obviously and, thus, adding to the full picture of this viking porno.

Sex scene time!

“She succumbed to the forceful domination of his kisses then and only close her eyes when he moved down her body and began to suckle at her breasts. Turns out that big breasts were not a necessity for love making. Turns out big nipples were good for something.

Ribbons of heat unfurled in her as he brought her to another of those peaking things, just by fondling her breasts and dipping his talented fingers into her woman folds. She had scarce caught her breath when he whispered: ‘Now you can look.’

With arms levered on either side of her head, he was positioned betweist her thighs, his phallus at her woman’s portal. ‘Are you ready?'” p.183

Yeah, I just cock-blocked you all, as they say – but I did it intentionally. And before I forget, there’s this great contest for worst sex scene in a novel that’s held I think every year. You can read and find information about them here.

So – the dialogue of porn. ‘His phallus at her woman’s portal’ – how is the text interacting with the reader? The text is giving a vivid play-by-play of this sex scene – the reader gets pretty much every detail – as if they were watching it on a television screen or computer monitor. It’s lit porn.

Un-cock-bocked:

“‘How would I know?’ she snapped.

Slowly he pushed himself inside her, only a little, then pulled out. Then, in a little more, then out again.

‘You are so tight,’ he grunted out. ‘So wonderfully tight.’

She could tell when he hit her maidenhead, but it only pinched a bit, and the pain was soon gone, replaced by the most amazing fullness. Sweat beading his forehead, he rocked in and out of her until he was buried to the hilt. He rested then, forehead to forehead, and asked, ‘Have I hurt you?’

‘Just a little. Do not stop.'” p.183

You’re welcome for typing all of that.

But again, look how incredibly detailed the scene is. Every moment is charted – we actually get more movement over feeling. The text wants you to picture it – sure, there’s a pinch of pain and ‘the most amazing fullness’ but the dialogue leaves a lot of that up to the reader.

The text is staging a porno on the television in your head created by the dialogue between reader and novel.

This may seem obvious and you’re probably thinking why the hell have I already written about 1500 words talking about what you already know. But i wanted to look at this through lit theory. How the text and reader create this pornographic dialogue – even if it seems obvious. Why not put it in theory terms for fun?

PALATE CLEANSER! CLICK ME!

References

Bakhtin, M.M. “Discourse in the Novel.”The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays by M.M. Bakhtin. Trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Ed. Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981, 259-422.

Bressler, Charles E. Literary Criticism: An Introduction to Theory and Practice. Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall, 1994.

Hill, Sandra. Viking in Love. New York: Avon Books, 2010.

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And it begins … May 18, 2010

I’d say cue the dramatic music, but the reality is that it’s just me – sitting on my bed (which I have to leave on Wednesday sadly) typing. I prefer the quiet … the quiet once Florence + the Machine finishes up on iTunes. Which is in … well, about now. Can’t write with noise – sometimes a quiet tv but I prefer the silence.

Anyway. Not what you’re here to read. Before I get into Mayhue’s book, I’d like to take a minute to point out that I’ve graduated.

a ginger graduates

I apologize if my ginger-ness offends anyone

Also, yes. I am a ginger. I have dark hair but, as you’ll notice with pictures, the red does come out. Why is this important? Well – red hair seems to be an issue in the book I am reading for this week. But I’m not going to get into that now.

I will admit – rather freely – I have yet to finish Melissa Mayhue’s A Highlander’s Homecoming. I imagine I will once I’m done writing this post. I blame it on me staying up until 4:30 am watching the newest adaptation of Little Dorrit. Okay – I’m totally shilling here but, SEE THIS ADAPTATION! It’s really worth every minute.

The great thing is, what I really wanted to talk about doesn’t require knowledge of the ending of the novel. It has to do with structure – no, not structure of the story or even Structuralism (I’m going to wait to get through a few books before I tackle the theory – it wouldn’t make sense for me to do it with only one of the books under my belt). What I’m talking about is narrative structure.

I found this year – in my last semester of college in the fantastic Lit Theory class I took (well, that and my independent last semester – we touched on it a bit then too) – that I’m rather a fan of Bakhtin. While I can’t claim to have mastered theory (can one master it?), what I have studied about Bakhtin has peeked my interest. I am absolutely mad about narratives – narrative voices, narrative techniques – as I said in the Mini-Review of Little Dorrit, Dickens could write a phonebook and I would read it because it would be structured so well (I know that makes no sense but if you’ve ever said that you’d listen to your favorite actor read the phonebook, you know what I mean).

Since this blog isn’t asking a question – isn’t looking for something in particular – I thought the best way to go about the first post was to discuss something that evokes emotion from me. And, of course, that’s narrative structure.

When I say that I needn’t read the whole book to discuss what I think about the narrative, it’s true. The voice is established. The writing style is established. Unless someone else takes hold of the pen on the next page – this isn’t going to change. I mean, I may be taking a liberty saying it ‘can’t’ change. Perhaps what I mean is – I don’t expect it to.

My face as it usually looks when reading this novel. And I continue to remain a ginger.

The first thing about the writing style of this book that I noticed was the strange paragraph splits. As a writer myself – I like to have a single sentence or word or whatever hanging in the middle – I’m not criticizing that. What I’m more interested in is the strange splits in this novel. It isn’t that I don’t know what the author is trying to do – she’s trying to create a sort of … dun-dun-dun moment or a ohh moment – you know what I mean. Problem is: she’s doing it rather poorly.

“He rode like a madman, without care or caution, his only thought to reach Merlegh Hall before it was too late.

Before his friend Thomas MacGahan took his last gasping breath.” p.1

Okay – this may just seem very picky to you. And maybe it is. It’s a stylistic movement that’s subjective to the reader. But it was the very first thing I noticed about this novel.

Now – why on earth would that be important? I think – from that split – you can see that moment the author is trying to create. And, in my opinion, you hope she doesn’t abuse it. Splits like that can get annoying to me – but again, subjective. I think it’s the contents of the split that really matter.

But again – this is stylistic and there are more strange paragraphs splits but it isn’t going to do you or me any good to list them. You know what they are – I shan’t baby you – or bore you – with them.

I want to move on to the actual voice of the narrative. On my little notes (which I have to keep instead of always writing in the book as there is no room), I have several things written down that I wanted to include when talking about the narrative in this post:

  • Fanfiction (seen in names, characters, etc.)
  • Repetition
  • Convenience
  • Sexuality (characters/narrative seems drenched)
  • Third-Person Limited
  • Contemporary

These six notes really make up the narrative as a whole. Some of them bad, some of them actually good. But I’ll just go down the list as it is and explain them.

Fanfiction

This is something I tend to talk a lot about when commentating (or maybe it was just because the last book I gave this sort of treatment to was like reading Fanfiction …). It’s not always quality that brings this up – it’s very much content, very much character. I believe I said either in my blog or in my seminar class last semester that I am not talking down to fanfiction – yes, there are good writers out there (pity they don’t use their talent and create their own characters and whatnot), but there are defining traits that tend to sweep fanfiction into a lump (exceptions of course).

First, look at the names. While the main male protagonist – Robbie – has a somewhat normal name, the female has a rather lavish one: Isabella. I know, it’s a normal name for a girl. But, they also shorten it to: Isa. While Robbie is a nickname for Robert – Isa is rather odd for Isabella, don’t you think? Maybe not. But then … look at her character. She’s this hard working, sheep-birthing girl living in her own little cottage in Scotland in the 1200s. She speaks her mind, is lavishly beautiful.

And a ginger.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. What I mean to say is Isa is the ideal female protagonist. We automatically root for her because of spunk and independence. Her flaws are hardly visible. The reader latches to her. Listen to the way she handles herself:

“At the conclusion of her circuit Isa stopped and shook her head slowly before looking back toward her grandfather.

‘No. I’ll no be changing my mind. He willna do at all. I’ve no desire to take such a pitiful example of manhood to husband.'” p.66

Robbie, on the other hand, I feel as though the reader is … distant from. Not in an isolating way, though. We aren’t really meant to identify with Robbie are we? Considering the target audience – probably not. We’re only to esteem him – like him – think highly of him (oh God there I go – Robert, spot that fantastic S&S reference). Pretty much, pine for him. He talks of family, and soulmates. He has piercing blue eyes … actually, a lot of people have piercing blue eyes in this novel but more on that later. We first, of course, cling to his actions. Then, of course, his looks.

“Tendrils of dark brown hair escaped the plaid pulled snugly around his head, curving softly over his strong, whisker-shadowed jawline. His lips, slightly parted in his sleep, were full and strong, and for an instant [Isa] allowed herself to wonder how they might feel against her own.” p.93

Yeah – that’s a bit purply, I know. But the author is setting these two characters up for the reader to absolutely, without a doubt root for. And I have to say that she does succeed.

Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t my preferred genre and I’m not saying that to protect myself. I just say it in honesty – her absolute high regard she has her readers position the characters at works. Fanfiction-ish writing works for this sort of novel.

And just so you don’t think I’m being picky about the names – have a look at a few others: Destiny, Ramos, Adira … blimey (Caroline, how you and your friends ever read these stories aloud is beyond me – I die of laughter after the first page if I had to do an actual reading! So … bravo!).

Repetition

Subtle as it is, perhaps, the repetition in this novel is one of the aspects I don’t like. Where the fanfiction quality has a redeeming factor, almost a helpful factor to this type of novel, the repetition of … let’s say the constant ginger hate (Sarah has had to hear about this all day) is old.

By about the fifth time Robbie says something derogatory about a redhaired girl, I pretty much wanted to shout: WE GET IT! YOU DON’T LIKE REDHEADS!

And, of course, Isa is a redhead. Shock and awe right there, folks.

The other repetition that bothers me is Robbie’s qualities. More than once they mentioned him trying to find a soulmate, of trying to be a family man – oh, yeah, and that he’s a warrior. It’s overwrought. It’s annoying. Say it once and your reader will get it. Say it twice, whatever. But in only 100 pages of the book, I feel like I’ve heard it too much.

While it lends to Robbie’s character, it detracts from the writing. Isn’t there anything else about Robbie? Can’t the author tell us more? (no, is really the answer, I think, but exposition is another post entirely)

I’m not saying Robbie has no backstories – he does. But they are repeated and also repetitive in themselves when there is more than one.

Always wronged by the ginger.

WE. GET. IT.

Convenience

This, I have a huge feeling, is part of the romance novel formula. Many a time in my small margins I’ve written, how convenient. Things are just soooo coincidental (extra o’s to add to my sarcasm). Let’s see a couple examples just for the heck of it.

Set-Up: Robbie has just returned after twenty years to Scotland in the 1200s – in reality, he had been living, by magic, in the future for only nine. So, he’s not as old as he should look back in his old stomping grounds. Is this … a problem? Sure, it’s questioned but look at this:

“The MacGahan flinched as if he’d been struck. ‘Thomas told you of Elesyria?’ He shook his head as if he could hardly believe what he heard. ‘That being the case, I canna doubt yer word, MacQuarrie. I relinquish authority over Isabella to you as my son requested.” p.73

Here’s another gem:

“Isabella? The age would be about right. Thanks to the twenty years the Magic had robbed him of, Isabella should only be four or five years younger than him now.” p.59

The first obviously puts Robbie right where we all want him – with Isa. The second is a little more clever (and by clever I mean … not ‘clever’ but it serves it’s purpose). It puts Robbie at an equal age to Isabella and also removes him as being the father-figure he may have been. A guardian is something different – especially with so little an age gap.

Mayhue pretty much uses such conveniences not only to push the characters together (duh) but also to gloss over any discrepancy that could arise from the match. No. He’s not too old. No. He’s not a father-figure. Yes. He can be her lover.

Sexuality

I didn’t mean to make a pun when I wrote the narrative is drenched in it – though if you’re mind is so inclined to be in the gutter, be my guest. I’m not really talking about sex – more … feeling, emotion. The build up. Sorry.

The moment our protagonists meet – the guy and the girl first catch each other’s eyes – the narrative takes on a different form. The voice itself is the same, but the way the characters are handled changes when they are around each other. The attraction is made very well known to the reader – be it through action, a bit of a meta-narrative (a character will shout something like “Dear God!” in their mind as if there is someone listening), or just descriptions (for instance, see Robbie’s above – that is from Isa’s point of view).

And it isn’t once in a while – it’s every encounter – every encounter is tinged with this longing, waiting, wanting. And it makes the reader – I imagine – long and wait and want for them to get together. It’s not that hard to figure it out and it’s hard not to roll your eyes if this type of book isn’t your cup of tea – I’ll admit it. But, like the fanfiction, it works. Like the convenience, it works. It allows the reader to further back the couple, but also puts the idea of sex on the horizon. The author is being a tease for pages and pages – the reader just has to get to that one, final, climax of a page.

And you know what? I’m not sure what happens after those scenes.

Third-Person Limited

This is an aspect of this novel I can really appreciate. The reader is not give an all access pass to this world the author and narrator have created (and I wonder if I will find that this will be a common theme in the novels – to only be let in to certain heads). The reader spends the most time in Robbie’s and Isa’s mind – and usually the transitions are pretty good.

Marginal note: This is acutally clever.

Usually, the transitions are through some sort of appeal to the character’s mind – like the ones I mentioned in the previous section. Good God! or Blasted! or Heavens! often accompanies the switch in character. It’s a good signpost but also sort of fun when your switching during a dialogue. You have a chance to hear in and out of each of their heads.

I’ll admit, though it’s not the best book ever written, I liked this quality. We are granted access to other minds, but those are far more limited than what we are able to get from the main characters. For this type of novel (I know I keep saying that, I’ll try not to), it seems an intelligent choice.

Contemporary

This is another aspect I took issue with rather than praised. It has to do solely with the narrator’s voice and the context of the story. There seems to be an imbalance between the voice of the narrator and the story being told.

While I know several pages of the story take place in modern times, the voice doesn’t suit the story when Robbie finally goes back to the 1200s (if I’m confusing you, click on the picture of me reading the book and B&N will give you a quick summary). It is not consistent. It tries to be serious, it tries to be witty, but I cannot find the attachment between story and narrative.

I know that sounds strange, especially after I praised the third-person limited view. But have a look at this:

“Her hair hung over her shoulder, captured in a neat braid that easily reached below her waist. Wet tendrils curled around her face, framing eyes so intensely green he’d swear she wore colored contacts if he were home.” p.99

Right, we’re in Robbie’s head and obviously that’s why he can mention green contacts but … it’s tacky. If it was in Robbie’s voice and not the narrator’s, maybe it would make more sense. But in third-person limited, we are with the narrator who relates Robbie to us. The narrator seems to be a little juvenile, a little too contemporary for having to go back and forth (I mean, this isn’t the only instance, much of this opinion is based on her wording – are we to think the narrator is part of the modern world or what?).

What makes the above passage even stranger is the use of the word ‘home.’ What does Robbie consider home? I thought for a while it was Scotland in the 1200s but all of a sudden the narrator is saying it’s our present day?

These ‘contemporary’ inconsistencies are a bother – not just for narrative voice but, in a way, for characterization too. When the narrator adapts to Isa’s head, it’s still the same tone of voice, it is still rather modern.

“Well, the perfect Agnes could have her place at the table, right at the MacGahan’s elbow. Be the perfect lady. Isa didn’t care. Not one bit. Though her curiosity was piqued as to what had brought about the new seating arrangement.” p.65

I know it is incredibly silly to pick at ‘seating arrangement’ but … it’s like the ‘contacts’. The narrative voice swerves through time. If it was just Robbie … okay. But when in Isa’s mind, it’s strange. The narrative voice seems not fully developed to really have a place in time for just as she is contemporary, she’ll (and I don’t know why I’m referring to the narrator as a woman, but there you are), be a little more period. It’s an off-putting imbalance – one you’d probably have to read the book to actually pick up on (examples out of context seems strange, I can tell just reading them to myself ).

So there are my six points on the narrative of this novel. I’m sure I’ll have things to add as I go on but, as I said, the voice is established. It’s not a developed voice but the shaky voice is there nonetheless.

Bored of me yet?

How about a palate cleanser? CLICK ME!

Bet you all saw that one coming. Well, as I retire for the evening (oh, look at me being all snobbish ‘retire for the evening’), I’ll read until I fall asleep. Of course, I have been working through another book – Villette by Charlotte Brontë.

Me at the end of the day ...

Don’t let the messiness confuse you – I’m loving Villette though … adjusting. I was talking to a friend the other day about the change from Dickens to Brontë and it is a rather difficult one (especially after being so immersed in Dickens). I have to get used to the different style again – not that I’m complaining. I’m a member of the Brontë Society, after all. Expect a Mini-Review of Villette around the end of May.

So – for tonight – adieu. Pass this blog around to anyone you think would be interested. Don’t hesitate to comment or email.

And I apologize, again, for being a ginger.

Reference

Mayhue, Melissa. A Highlander’s Homecoming. New York: Pocket Books, 2010.