Once again, Azalea is moved to write by a bad book, or rather, one that has been praised beyond its merits.
Blindspot, by a Gentleman in Exile and a Lady in Disguise was actually concocted by Jane Kamensky and Jill Lepore, one a historian, the other a writer of fiction. It is set in Boston in 1671(?) and heavy on local public events – the Stamp Act, quartering of troops in the Town Hall, etc, to provide a you-are-here viewpoint. (Any readers old enough to remember that radio show?) This part works well, the historical events being worked into the plot and not over-emphasized, but the effort at describing the physical setting gets real tedious real fast – “…she walked quickly along ___ Street, passing __, ___, and ___, before turning the corner onto ___ Avenue, where the ___ was under construction…” This sort of thing is of the essence in a historical novel, but it needs to be part of the setting, not stopping the action.
The authors put three very interesting characters into this scene – a portrait painter just arrived from Scotland where he has run from debts he couldn’t pay in a lifetime, a girl who disguises herself as a boy to escape the workhouse by working as the painter’s apprentice, and a learned (black) doctor (in both the 17th century senses of that word) who has run from slavery. (Actually the doctor is only talked about for the first few hours of the audio book, which goes to 20 cds!) Are the man and woman going to marry? Is the doctor going to be instrumental in exposing the evils of slavery? Are you reading this blog?
The first part, where the painter learns his way around Boston and its possible customers, the apprentice learns painting, and Othello is off-stage (you didn’t think the learned authors would miss that reference, did you?) is really well done, interesting and believable. Then doctor ex machina arrives and the ‘story’ takes over! Who really killed Edward Bradstreet, and why? How will the lust floating around the painter’s house be resolved? How will slavery be ended?
And this is told, preserve us, in letters! The painter addresses his “dear reader” in almost real time, without any explanation. Fine – that’s a literary device and I accept it. But for some reason the girl writes supposedly real letters to a real friend in another city, including
SPOILER ALERT!
whether they make love with her on top or him! OK, maybe that only turns up in his sections, but hers is still far more frank than can be believed. And speaking of frank, how does she pay for the postage? Or was it on the old English system of the recipient paying? In any event postage charges were not trivial. We hear how she painfully wraps her “beautiful breasts” to avoid detection, and is nearly discovered by a menstrual rag (with a realistic discursion on how she’d almost forgotten about menstruation, having been too starved till now). But men were very relaxed about peeing in company back then – a missing penis is a lot more difficult to disguise than breasts, so the authors ignore it.
It continues to surprise Azalea that authors who will tell you a lot more than you want to know (anyway, than I want to know) of the precise details of a sex act, and talk a lot about food, will leave out the bathroom, except sometimes as a place to hide in. We hear several times in this book how muddy the tidal flats are but nothing about going out in the yard to the privy, and believe me, that’s what they did, except when they stayed in and used the chamber pot. (Who emptied it?)
But once you start in on the anachronisms… The one that gets Azalea’s goat the worst (know the origin of that saying?) won’t bother most people – “thrived” is not the past participle of “thrive”, though the NY Times is striving to make it so. (Was the man drived mad by drink ?)
I think at some point Jane Kamensky went back to her classes and Jill Lepore carried on regardless with the plot – regardless of logic, common sense and historical accuracy. Just as a taste – Jamie runs into his room to shave and dress hurriedly, at a time when the household has no servant – how did the water get into his room? Who heated it, or did he shave in cold? (Much more interesting to me than which part of her anatomy he put his fingers into – I am not making this up!) How did the water even get into the house with no one doing the housework – and it was work in those days? (see Susan Strasser, Never done: a history of American Housework – and she’s talking about the nineteenth century!) A runaway slave turns out to have been freed years ago, how come the slave didn’t know it? etc, etc.
I listened to the audio book: John Lee is a champion. Were it not for his charming Scots accent I would have pulled the (metaphoric) plug once the book degenerated into a nonsensical romance. Cassandra Campbell, granted she had a much worse part to try to pull off, sounded always 21st century, not quite Valley Girl, but not far off. Disappointment in what promised so well for the first few hours is what is fueling this post.
Yuk! Enough.
Earlier posts told of my experiments in making a sun hat out of inappropriate yarn – I finally made one in white cotton to be like the pattern picture, but in the confusion of moving that never got photographed – until this week, courtesy of the social work intern at Azalea’s new greenhouse.
Ta da! Windansea hat, as she should be knit:
Tags: "Jane Kamensky", "Jill Lepore", "Never Done", "Susan Strasser", "Windansea hat", Blindspot, housework, pearl cotton
