Odalisque
 

My novel - the title of which seems to be settling as Odalisque - seems to have reached completion today.

I finished the version on my blog (Of Bondlings and Blesh) in February. Since then, I've been working fairly intensively on an improved version.

The Of Bondlings and Blesh version was the result of a couple of years work.

Earlier versions go back about 20 years.

Reaching what looks like the end of 20 years work is a curious moment. Not sure what to make of it.

Re: Odalisque
 

Many congratulations, Pet. It's good to see this major project reach fulfilment. I think it true to say that it actually started as episodes in handwritten letters to me over 20-25 years ago.

As I saw someone ask elsewhere, when you writing the sequel? :-)

Re: Odalisque
 

Crumbs!! Who asked that? And where?? :eek:

Re: Odalisque
 

That is true! ;)

Re: Odalisque
 

Thank you! :)

Re: Odalisque
 

Odalisque, I'm not going to comment on each chapter of your rewritten novel here, but below are those on Chapter One posted HERE today as the first of an on-going series (you need to join to see them).

============
Odalisque


Being the memoirs of Tuerqui
The Founder’s Concubine
Usurper’s Daughter from the Blood Victoria


Transcribed by P F Jeffery


Edited with reference to the original manuscripts and annotated by Jennifer Petrie, senior archivist at the University of Pain


Is the existence of a rock preferable to that of a candle flame? My feeling is that truly living is better than merely existing – however brief its span. Rather a single night as my mistress’ odalisque than a long life free from trouble.
– from a memorandum book in Tuerqui’s hand


Chapter 1

Well this is the business. It really flows sweetly about sexual, grotesque, spiritual and dynastic matters - as if it were meant to be!


Please ask me or Odalisque (PFJ) for attachment of this one chapter if you want to check it out. And then see if you can resist the rest! http://h1.ripway.com/Spook%20Puke/00...smileyvamp.gif


TWO SNIPPETS
“I’ve heard people mention it, mummy, and know that Surrey folk do very bad things.”


“The Third Battle of Lundin was bloody hundreds of years ago,” Jenna remarked. "If the ghosts haven’t got over it by now, they need to get a life… Or get a death!”


TYPO:
and we we’d be carried off as slaves.

Re: Odalisque
 

A useful link, Dessy...

Although I wouldn't be surprised if I was hurled from that board after having today described Guy N Smith's books as "bilge". :(

Re: Odalisque
 

I haven't been hurled from that board, in spite of my expressed opinion of Guy N Smith. Perhaps they just don't care. :(:(

Re: Odalisque
 

Edited below (Jun 22) to change URL.

Just to confirm. My on-going comments on ODALISQUE are now on a public site:
http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html

Re: Odalisque
 

I think that, previously, people had to join Vault of Evil to read your comments of Odalisque. (That is Odalisque, the novel, not Odalique the member of this board who wrote Odalisque, the novel. This is confusing even me a bit. :confused: ) It was a thread that the browsing (or should I say surfing -- or in the case of spiders slurping??) public at large couldn't view. :p:o:confused:

Re: Odalisque
 

As the 'Odalisque' novel seems to be in the news (TLO-wise) today, I thought I would remind readers that I have been making my own personal chapter comments (plus hopefully helpful second-eye proof-reading) on behalf of this mighty novel linked from here:

http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html

I am currently up to Chapter 23 (out of 50 chapters plus epilogue).

des

Re: Odalisque
 

'Odalisque' Passage of the Day

The room was poorly lit - a single candle burned low in its holder on a wall - and as they accustomed their eyes to the gloom they saw standing before them an odalisque of royal bearing, bare of midriff, wearing a tight bodice and loose pantaloons, and with her hands clasped in front of her chest.
-- from 'The Enchantress of Florence' (2008) by Salman Rushdie

I have now got up to Chapter 28 in my comments on 'Odalisque' by PF Jeffery:
http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html

Re: Odalisque
 

Many congratulations, my friend. I'll have to read this! I have nothing more intelligent to say, not having read any samples of your fictions as yet. I DO know that you write excellent letters and that you interview nicely, so I have high hopes for this project. Also, I think I can respect Des' recommendation, as he seems to have sort of an idea about this whole writing business.

If I accomplished naught more than congratulating you with this post, then I am content. Hey! I am now one more point towards becoming a Chymist.

Yours,
Jimmy

Re: Odalisque
 

Approaching the end of Jane, now, I'm actively contemplating another re-write of what was Odalisque. I'm planning to chop the old novel in two, make various other changes, and turn it into volumes 2 and 3 of my Warriors of Love series. (Jane will be volume 1.) My current thought is to title each volume of Warriors of Love with the name of a prominent character. What was Odalisque may end up as Tuerqui and Lisa-Louise.

It remains to be seen when the 20+ years of work will end!

The version on my Blogger site is years old. I haven't bothered to change it because I doubt whether anyone reads novels online.

Re: Odalisque
 

Today, I've started work on turning the first half of Odalisque into Volume 2 of The Warriors of Love. If anyone would like to see the draft for the opening chapter, please let me know.

Re: Odalisque
 

Here are the opening pargaraphs of my draft for Tuerqui:

My name is Tuerqui, formerly Princess Margaret of the Blood Victoria. But, to start at the beginning…

A zephyr rustled in the leaves on overhanging branches – the air filled with the songs of birds, the names of which I didn’t yet know. Having recently tripped over what was probably a tree root, my skinned knees still stung. My mother’s musky perfume mingled with the lavender Nanny Spencer always wore. The clear water of a brook teemed with tiny fishes – I poked a stick at them, and instantly they were gone.

Glancing up, I saw a creature in the shadow of the trees – man-like, but exceptionally hairy and uglier than any person or slave has a right to be. My brother started to scream. The beast thing, to which I couldn’t yet put a name, tumbled – falling face-down on the grass. Steeling myself to approach, I saw that the shaggy thing had an arrow in its side, bright red blood spread over the green surface on which it lay.

That is, I think, my earliest coherent memory. It must have been summer, but whether of my first, second or third birthday, I cannot say. The place must have been the forest that covers much of southern Essex – for I was raised there, in the Belle House, my mother’s ancestral home. Possibly I had been born in Lundin, a city my father ruled – claiming the title of Chieftain of the Blood Victoria. But there remain with me no early recollections of the town.


Here's a point at which formerly coarse elided dialogue has been changed:

“Surrey bitch!” one man snarled.

“Ah,” said his companion. “I think she’ll pay for the trouble she’s given us. His Majesty’s going to have her packed off to either Roach Keep or the Grim Tower, you’ll see.”

Three or four handlers minded leashed hounds – presumably employed to track my cousin in the forest. Whether by accident or design, one of the dog-men permitted his charge to mount the leg of a young officer cadet. As the creature started to hump, the young man squealed and shook his leg furiously – a comic dance at which his companions roared with laughter. Winning free after a struggle, the cadet kicked the dog viciously.

“Hoi!” bawled a sergeant. “Cadet Grace – leave that hound alone!”

“Sorry, serge.”

“You don’t sound very sorry lad – but, if you don’t watch it you will be – on the painful end of a whip. That there hound’s valuable. If you need to kick anything make it the prisoner. Another booting for her will make no odds to anyone.”

Re: Odalisque
 

Today, I think that I may have put to bed the title page and first chapter of Tuerqui (Warriors of Love Volume 2). The chapter is a rewrite of Odalisque Chapter 1 and part of Chapter 2. I made more changes, today, than I expected -- especially to what was the early part of Odalisque Chapter 2.

Perhaps the rewrite should have a new thread.

Re: Odalisque
 

Here's the start (still subject to change, of course) of Chapter 2 of the revised book:

With gritty mud inside my boots, I grew increasingly uncomfortable. Beyond the colonnade shadows, the parade ground lay flooded in bright sunshine. A hint of dung in the air suggested the recent passage of a cavalry squadron. Sweeping the flagstones, a guardsman sang discordantly – the missed tune evidently that of a patriotic ditty.

Occasional audible words indicated ribald parody. Where the original had Osrick wished only the fit, he seemed to have substituted Osrick’s sis took off her kit. My father exacted severe penalties for voicing lyrics in praise of his enemies, or critical of his rule. He would certainly have had me punished for singing words linked with sexual activity. Whether the guardsman was transgressing the boundaries set to him was a matter beyond my knowledge, but he seemed to be testing the limits.

Jenna’s and my entrance to the palace grounds had been via the Grand Ceremonial Gateway. As we approached, the guards attempted to repel the muddy objects before them. Then, suddenly recognising us, they snapped stiffly to attention, presenting halberds, exhaling whisky breath. Attempting to copy Jenna’s arrogant glare, I probably looked more foolish than fierce.

Colossal statues formed the pillars of the gateway. The images were of Osrick to the right and Empress Margaret to the left. Thirty or forty feet above our heads, Osrick’s sword joined Margaret’s sceptre to form the lintel. The two figures symbolised the power of the Blood Victoria which my grandfather had usurped.

Osrick, that infamous enemy of Surrey, had been carved as wearing only breech clout and helmet. If the statue were accurate, he must have been a very muscular man, although not a handsome one. Brutal is perhaps the word. His sculpted bare feet were longer than a man is tall.

By contrast, Empress Margaret was carved as being enveloped in flowing robes. She was a supposed foremother of the Blood Victoria – and I had been named after her. According to the stories, her empire stretched from furthest Westland to Scotia Major. Since this would make her conquests greater than those of Her Majesty, the stories must be lies – and, given that my family accorded so little honour to real women, surely no such person as the legendary Margaret ever lived.

Re: Odalisque
 

By contrast, here's the same passage after a bit more work:

In boots containing gritty mud, my feet grew increasingly uncomfortable. Beyond the colonnade shadows, the parade ground lay flooded in bright sunshine. A hint of dung in the air suggested the recent passage of a cavalry squadron. Sweeping the flagstones, a guardsman sang discordantly – the missed tune evidently that of a patriotic ditty.

Occasional audible words indicated ribald parody. Where the original had Osrick wished only the fit, he seemed to have substituted Osrick’s sis took off her kit. My father exacted severe penalties for voicing lyrics in praise of his enemies, or critical of his rule. He would certainly have had me punished for singing words linked with sexual activity. Whether the guardsman transgressed the boundaries set to him was a matter beyond my knowledge, but he seemed to be testing the limits.

Jenna’s and my entrance to the palace grounds had been via the Grand Ceremonial Gateway. As we approached, the guards attempted to repel the muddy objects before them. Then, suddenly recognising us, they snapped stiffly to attention, presenting halberds, exhaling whisky breath. Attempting to copy Jenna’s arrogant glare, I probably looked more foolish than fierce.

Colossal statues formed the pillars of the gateway. The images were of Osrick to the right and Empress Margaret to the left. Thirty or forty feet above our heads, Osrick’s sword joined Margaret’s sceptre to form the lintel. The two figures symbolised the power of the Blood Victoria which my grandfather had usurped.

Osrick, that infamous enemy of Surrey, had been carved as wearing only breech clout and helmet. If the statue were accurate, he must have been a very muscular man, although not a handsome one. Brutal is perhaps the word. His sculpted bare feet were longer than a man is tall.

By contrast, Empress Margaret’s carven form stood enveloped in flowing robes. She was a supposed foremother of the Blood Victoria – and I had been named after her. According to the stories, her empire stretched from furthest Westland to Scotia Major. Since this would make her conquests greater than those of Her Majesty, the stories must be lies – and, given that my family accorded so little honour to real women, surely no such person as the legendary Margaret ever lived.

Re: Odalisque
 

Looking at my last two posts, I notice that, although the passage has changed somewhat, it has changed less than I supposed. In the first sentence, for example, gritty mud changed to muddy grit and then back to gritty mud. The verb grew was replaced by several alternatives before returning to grew. After posting the current version, I was surprised to see that so many words had reverted to the version of three days earlier. Many changes came and went over that period, notably changes preserved only in my slowly fading memory.

Reworking June 22-23 2009 Part 1
 

This is probably too much for a single post, so I’ll split it into three.

I’m re-working my novel Odalisque into two novels. In this passage from Odalisque, Tuerqui and five other slaves have been purchased by Madame Scurf, a brothel keeper, and are on the way to her establishment, The Laughing Phallus in Dorking.

Madame Scurf was sitting up front with Sam, seemingly taking no notice of her purchases. In spite of the recent shouting and plying of the cane, the two were now, clearly, engaged in friendly conversation. For some time, we the cargo sat in silence, then Wiggli started to tell us of her life with General Slaughter. Soon we were all adding to the conversation – the idea of whoredom thrust to the backs of our minds.

“…but the overseer lifted the whip too high and caught the captain of the guard across her breastplate,” Mussiltarte was saying. “It can’t have hurt, but…”

“There’s another town ahead,” Wiggli broke in.

She was right – just ahead was a straggle of buildings, grey in the early evening, shadowed by cloudbanks. Although never having seen the place before, somehow I knew that this was journey’s end – and the start of my whoredom. It seemed that we all knew it – our conversation came to an abrupt halt. In the sudden quiet, Madame Scurf was audible again.

“…done it. But I’m glad as Fiona’s doin’ fine. She’s a good girl. If she ever wants work at the Laughin’ Phallus you only gotta ask.”

“A daughter o’ mine an ’ore?” Sam replied. “Sarah woon’t stand f’ it – not f’ a minute.”

“Nah, y’ great lummox. Sweepin’ up an’ such. Y’ knows as ’ow…”

Reworking June 22-23 2009 Part 2
 

Yesterday, in re-working the text, I decided not only to remove the elided dialogue at the end, but to include the story Wiggli was telling. I came up with this:

Madame Scurf sat up front with Sam, seemingly taking no notice of her purchases. In spite of the recent shouting and plying of the cane, the two were now, clearly, engaged in friendly conversation. For some time, we the cargo sat in silence, then Wiggli started to tell us of her life with General Slaughter. Soon we were all adding to the conversation – the idea of whoredom thrust to the backs of our minds.

“A couple of weeks after that,” Wiggli began a new story, “while we were still in the old duke’s palace, and they were more jittery than ever about robbers breaking in, the general left the wine store keys on her desk. Juici whispered in my ear: Girl, it’s a while since I had a decent drink.”

“You didn’t…?” Beddibelle said. “I wouldn’t have dared!”

“I wasn’t going to, but the captain of the guard ran in, shouting something about an intruder trying to get in through a back window. The overseer hurried off with the captain. That left just Juici and me – and the keys.”

“So you did!” Beddibelle interrupted.

“Well, we tried, anyway. When we got into the storeroom we reckoned we needed to find something really good – to make up for the risk. Took us a while to search for it.”

“You’d have been better off just grabbing the first bottles to come to hand,” Shugathise said.

“You’re right, Shugathise, but Juici reckoned the overseer and captain would be ages checking for intruders. She was taking even longer than me to make a choice, and eventually I decided to leave her to it.”

“You didn’t go off, leaving her there?” I asked.

“Well, I expected her to follow me.”

“But she didn’t?” I continued.

“I’m coming to that, don’t be too impatient… You see, when I snuck out of the storeroom with a bottle of General Slaughter’s best elderberry in each hand, the overseer and the captain were immediately outside.”

“Of the wine storeroom?” Beddibelle asked. “Maybe they were looking to get drunk as well.”

“Or they may have been checking the whole place for intruders. Either way, I was in trouble.”

“I bet you caught it for that!” Shugathise said. “I’ve pinched a thing or three myself – but not my mistress’ best booze.”

“Yeah, it looked like I was really in for it,” Wiggli replied, “but the overseer lifted the whip too high and caught the captain of the guard across her breastplate. It can’t have hurt, but…”

“There’s another town ahead,” Giggli broke in.

She was right – just ahead lay a straggle of buildings, grey in the early evening, shadowed by cloudbanks. Although never having seen the place before, somehow I knew that this was journey’s end – and the start of my whoredom. It seemed that we all knew it – our conversation came to an abrupt halt. In the sudden quiet, Madame Scurf was audible again.

“…done it. But I’m glad as Fiona’s doing fine. She’s a good girl. If she ever wants work at the Laughing Phallus you only got to ask.”

“A daughter of mine a whore?” Sam replied. “Sarah wouldn’t stand for it – not for a minute.”

“No, you great lummox. Sweeping up and such. You knows as how…”

Reworking June 22-23 2009 Part 3
 

A little reflection showed that Wiggli’s story was mere chatter. It needed to be both interesting and to add to the story. It failed in both regards. So, I’ve now reworked it thus:

Madame Scurf sat up front with Sam, seemingly taking no notice of her purchases. In spite of the recent shouting and plying of the cane, the two were now, clearly, engaged in friendly conversation. For some time, we the cargo sat in silence, then Wiggli started to tell us of her life with General Slaughter. Soon we were all adding to the conversation – the idea of whoredom thrust to the backs of our minds.

“The next week,” Wiggli continued, “General Slaughter set off on a campaign, and I felt sure that I’d be left behind. In fact, when we reached Goss Port dock…”

“It wasn’t the invasion of the White Isle?” Beddibelle asked.

“Whatever made you ask that? …But that’s exactly what it was.”

“I’m a White Isle girl. They shipped me through Goss Port dock on my way to Berenice’s camp.”

“They would,” Wiggli confirmed. “Where on the island do you come from?”

“I don’t often mention it, but Cows.”

“Too many people call you silly cows, I expect,” Shugathise said – showing an absence of tact, I thought.

“Something like that.”

“It’s funny,” Wiggli mused, “but Juici came from Cows. Perhaps you knew her.”

“Who’s Juici?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Wiggli replied, “I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ll come to Juici in a bit. Where was I?”

“You’d reached Goss Port dock,” Giggli prompted her.

“That’s right. At Goss Port dock, Berenice said: You’re not taking your body slave on the ship, are you? You’ll have hundreds of slaves tomorrow.”

“That was sure right enough,” Beddibelle agreed. “Thousands more like. There was hardly anyone from Cows who wasn’t enslaved.”

“Berenice isn’t often wrong,” Shugathise said.

“No more she is,” Wiggli continued. “Anyway, General Slaughter slapped my bum – quite hard – and said: I think there’s room for this little on one the boat.”

“What did Berenice say to that?” Giggli asked.

“Whatever, just that. And next day Berenice was proved right. Our soldiers took Cows within an hour or two, and – like Beddibelle said – most of the town was enslaved.”

“An hour or two?” Mussiltarte asked. “Was it well defended?”

“Not so much that, really, as they wanted slaves – rather than corpses.”

“And they certainly got them,” Beddibelle confirmed, "slaves, I mean."

“No profit in corpses,” Shugathise said.

“Anyway, one of the new bondlings was a lovely girl who really caught the general’s eye. They named her Juici, and it was easy to see why.”

“Maybe I knew her,” Beddibelle said.

“She was blonde, lovely heart-shaped face, had a full figure, but not too much… She said her granddad was one of the town elders. Apparently, she’d seen them slit his throat – not a usable bit of slave flesh, maybe…”

“Julia Johnson!” Beddibelle exclaimed. “It’s got to be. She was a right snooty cow. Can’t imagine her settling into slavery without a fight.”

“No more she did. In fact, on her third night as a slave, she managed to sneak away. Seemed to have the idea that she’d be OK if she could reach the enemy army… sorry Beddibelle, I suppose you think of them as your army.”

“I did once, but that’s ancient history. Anyway, did she make it – to the enemy army, that is?”

“Yes, that can’t have been difficult. We were camped at the top of the hill, the enemy were just below. A swift trot downhill, once she was past our sentries – and they were looking for men coming up, not girls going down. Probably took her for a scout.”

“Did you see Juici again?” Mussiltarte asked.

“Yeah, she was back the following night with some lie about being kidnapped. She was in a terrible state, and nobody questioned it.”

“What happened to her?” I asked. “Why did she change her mind?”

“What do you think?” Mussiltarte replied. “Lovely girl, breaking into a camp of soldier boys?”

“Rape,” I said glumly.

“That – and the rest,” Wiggli confirmed.

“I’d rather not think about it,” Shugathise said, “especially not seeing as how we’ve been bought by a…” She paused, presumably not caring to say brothel keeper.

“Did nothing funny happen on the campaign?” Mussiltarte asked.

“Oh yes, plenty. Like the set-to between an overseer and the captain of the guard.”

“What was that about? I asked.

“Well, one of the bondlings said something about the cow who cowed Cows. It was a joke, I suppose, but not a wise one for her to make. To be fair, it really did call for a few lashes, but she never got them.”

“How come?” Mussiltarte wondered.

“Well – the overseer lifted the whip too high and caught the captain of the guard across her breastplate. It can’t have hurt, but…”

“There’s another town ahead,” Giggli broke in.

She was right – just ahead lay a straggle of buildings, grey in the early evening, shadowed by cloudbanks. Although never having seen the place before, somehow I knew that this was journey’s end – and the start of my whoredom. It seemed that we all knew it – our conversation came to an abrupt halt. In the sudden quiet, Madame Scurf was audible again.

“…done it. But I’m glad as Fiona’s doing fine. She’s a good girl. If she ever wants work at the Laughing Phallus you only got to ask.”

“A daughter of mine a whore?” Sam replied. “Sarah wouldn’t stand for it – not for a minute.”

“No, you great lummox. Sweeping up and such. You knows as how…”

Re: Odalisque
 

I am loving the re-writes Pet!!! I can't wait to read the finished product. I loved the story as you first wrote it but you seem to be adding more to the story with all the details!!!:D:):):)

Re: Odalisque
 

Thank you, Candy! But, strictly speaking, you haven't read the story as I originally wrote it. That was a serial included in letters written to Des Lewis in the late 1980s. I don't think that all of that original version still survives. Since then, it has been repeated rewritten, although I believe that I'm now doing so for the last time. Occasionally, I come upon passages which I don't believe have ever been changed, and seeing them feels very weird to me.

A number of important characters were not in the original letter serial, including Jenna. Maybe a bit like the original version of Alice's Adventures not including the Mad Hatter.

Re: Odalisque
 

The following passage is quoted from the new version, with elisions removed from the dialogue. But, essentially, the passage has survived through several re-writes.

The context is that Tuerqui has been purchased by Molly Scurf, the owner of The Laughing Phallus (a brothel). Sam, the carter, had been engaged to transport Madame Scurf, and her newly-purchased slaves, back to The Laughing Phallus. Sam has been slow to arrive and Madame Scurf is not best pleased with him.

“Sam! You useless image! What time do you call this?” Madame Scurf shouted.

“Now, now, Molly. How’s about a kiss? You looks lovely when you’re riled.”

“I’ll bloody kiss you with this!” Our mistress brandished her cane. “And don’t you Molly me. I’ll not be back in time to open the Laughing Phallus.”

“Don’t you fret, now. Beryl and Gilly will do it.”

“That pair! They’ll have more of the takings in their purses than in my till.”

“Now, now, Molly, you knows they’re honest workers.”

“Honest workers – I don’t think – thieving hussies more like!”

“An’ Doris and Flo will give them a hand.”

“Ho yes! More idle that me whores are that pair!”

Sam mentions four members of Madame Scurf's staff -- Beryl, Gilly, Doris and Flo. Evidently, Doris and Flo occupy positions lower in the hierarchy of the brothel than those of Beryl and Gilly. From the earliest versions, Doris and Flo are barmaids who are subsequently mentioned several times. But, until now, there was no subsequent mention of Beryl or Gilly. The odd thing is that I've only just (yesterday) realised that Beryl and Gilly are mentioned in this passage, but not subsequently. I have now rectified this by mentioning both Gilly and Beryl in later chapters. But my previous failure to do so seems a strange oversight. :drunk:

Re: Odalisque
 

By way of contrast to the passage quoted in my last post, here's the previous version, with elided dialogue:

“Sam! You useless image! What time d’ y’ call this?” Madame Scurf shouted.

“Now, now, Molly. ’Ow’s abaht a kiss? You looks lovely when y’ riled.”

“I’ll bloody kiss y’ with this!” Our mistress brandished her cane. “And don’t you Molly me. I’ll not be back in time t’ open the Laughin’ Phallus.”

“Don’t you fret, now. Beryl and Gilly’ll do it.”

“That pair! They’ll ’ave more o’ the takin’s in their purses than in me till.”

“Nah, nah, Molly, you knows they’re honest workers.”

“Honest workers – I don’t fink – fieving ’ussies more like!”

“An’ Doris an’ Flo’ll give ’em an ’and.”

“Ho yuss! More idle that me ’ores are that pair!”


I notice that there is an uncorrected typo in the last line (idle that in place of idle than). Maybe the typo passing unnoticed shows that the dialogue (as originally written) was a little difficult to penetrate.

Here, again, is the new version:

“Sam! You useless image! What time do you call this?” Madame Scurf shouted.

“Now, now, Molly. How’s about a kiss? You looks lovely when you’re riled.”

“I’ll bloody kiss you with this!” Our mistress brandished her cane. “And don’t you Molly me. I’ll not be back in time to open the Laughing Phallus.”

“Don’t you fret, now. Beryl and Gilly will do it.”

“That pair! They’ll have more of the takings in their purses than in my till.”

“Now, now, Molly, you knows they’re honest workers.”

“Honest workers – I don’t think – thieving hussies more like!”

“An’ Doris and Flo will give them a hand.”

“Ho yes! More idle that me whores are that pair!”


I'd be interested to know what people think of the new, as opposed to the old, style of dialogue. I could clean it a little more, and produce something like this:

“Sam! You useless image! What time do you call this?” Madame Scurf shouted.

“Now, now, Molly. How about a kiss? You look lovely when you’re riled.”

“I’ll bloody kiss you with this!” Our mistress brandished her cane. “And don’t you Molly me. I won't be back in time to open the Laughing Phallus.”

“Don’t you fret, now. Beryl and Gilly will do it.”

“That pair! They’ll have more of the takings in their purses than in my till.”

“Now, now, Molly, you know they’re honest workers.”

“Honest workers – I don’t think – thieving hussies more like!”

“And Doris and Flo will give them a hand.”

“Oh yes! More idle that my whores are that pair!”

But I think that removes too much of the character from the dialogue.

Re: Odalisque
 

I'm not just saying this, but the new passage in red seems just about perfect, conveying coarseness without the often problematical elisions

Re: Odalisque
 

I think that elided dialogue was once a lot more commonplace than it is now. For example, the cover of this book:

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=1508

is based on a 1908 London Underground poster publicising the introduction of maps of the system. (Very messy maps -- see over the policeman's left shoulder.)

Anyway, my point is that the caption to the 1908 poster is:

No need to ask a P'liceman!

It seems to me that the elision of p'liceman would not now be made.

Re: Odalisque
 

This may not make much sense to someone who hasn't read any of my fiction, but I'm having a major re-think...

I was planning to make The Warriors of Love a series of 4 or 5 volumes. But having given the matter some thought, I am coming down in favour of making it a much larger (12 volume) project. This would involve a major expansion of what was Odalisque -- inflating it to 4 volumes (rather than the previously projected 2). There would be three narrators, writing at different times. Jane, Tuerqui (chronologically the first of the three) and Daisy (projected name for the gynogenesis daughter of Modesty Clay and Lisa-Louise, she would be writing years after the others). The sequence would be as follows:

1. Jane (my novel Jane, as currently existing).
2. Margaret (Tuerqui's life up to her enslavement).
3. Daisy (Daisy writing perhaps 18 years after volume 1).
4. Nicola(?) (Jane's second narrative set perhaps 8 years after volume 1).
5. Tuerqui (Tuerqui's life from enslavement to being seized by pollygoggers).
6. ? (Daisy's second narrative, set perhaps 30 years after volume 1).
7. ? (Jane's third narrative set perhaps 16 years after volume 1).
8. ? (Tuerqui's life from seized by pollygoggers to the eve of her marriage of convenience).
9. ? (Daisy's third narrative, set perhaps 42 years after volume 1).
10. ? (Jane's fourth narrative set perhaps 24 years after volume 1).
11. ? (Tuerqui's life from her marriage of convenience to carrying her second daughter).
12. ? (Daisy's fourth narrative, set perhaps 64 years after volume 1).

It's all a bit rough, as yet.

? means that I have no projected titles for volumes 6 to 12. The volume 4 title is uncertain. The titles for volumes 1, 2, 3 and 5 would be unlikely to change.

For the moment, I'm carrying on with what I'm doing. The work on which I'm engaged would need to be done to prepare for either the 4 or 5 volume Warriors of Love, or for the 12 volume series.

Re: Odalisque
 

Wow. This sounds like a rather ambitious project, Pet. Best of luck with the work!

Would this be called a dodecatralogy?

Re: Odalisque
 

Dodecatralogy looks right to me. Perhaps a Greek poster could confirm it. :)

Re: Odalisque
 

Most Greek posters are on Greek walls.

I googled Dodecatralogy, however, and found this TLO thread to be the only hit!

Re: Odalisque
 

BTW, Lawrence Durrell called his five novel Avignon set a Quincunx.


I don't think there is a ready-made word for a set of twelve connected novels: a Dodeckery?

Re: Odalisque
 

By my calculations, if the 12 volumes are around 150,000 words each, the total would be around 1,800,000 words, which is a lot. I suspect that more than 400,000 of those words may already be written. Even so, there are a lot of words to go! :eek:

Re: Odalisque
 

Oh -- and whatever the word for a series of 12 novels -- Arthur Ransome's Swallows & Amazons books form an example of such a thing. :)

Re: Odalisque
 

Having set out to remove non-standard elisions, I changed to and the two instances of an' in the final sentence of this paragraph:

Prescription against speaking did nothing to reduce my understanding of what I heard. Their conversations made it clear that Sarah and Sam also had two older sons – Bob and Bert – and an elder daughter – Maude. The last named had married someone called Algy to become, in Sarah’s words, too stuck up by half. Algy, in her opinion, would end up on the slave block – an’ it’s where he belongs an’ all.

Then, when I polished the chapter, I decided that it read very badly unless one pronounced them as an'. That being so, I restored the elisions. One needs to be flexible. In any case, I find, the elision an' for and is near enough to standard English to be listed in Chambers Dictionary.

Re: Odalisque
 

I've started work, now, on my four novel revision of Odalisque. Today, I completed writing Chapter 1 of the first of the four. (Although I have yet to polish it, so it's subject to change.) It is entitled:

In which Nanny Spenser tells me stories, but is also known to spank me.

Most of the chapter is entirely new material, including much story-telling. There follows the end of the chapter, in which Nanny Spenser tells Princess Margaret a bedtime story. I'd be very interested to know what people make of this.

Sent to bed as the adults were broaching the wine, I thought it unwise to protest. Other than the candied flower petals, I’d managed to eat a pleasing proportion of the seasonal treats. More than one spanking had been narrowly averted that day. It was well not to chance my luck too far.

“Thank you, nanny.” I said “for not telling mother too much about my Lifenbud embroidery.”

“That’s all right, my treasure.”

“Will you tell me a bedtime story, please, nanny?”

“Of course I will, preciousness. Just you hop under the covers, now.”

With a little leap, I mounted the bed and wriggled inside. The sheet, on which I nestled my chin, was crisp and smelt of lavender. Under my head and back, the feather pillows and mattress were soft. Pale light flickered from a solitary candle.

“Once upon a time, oh best beloved,” nanny began, “in a high and distant land, there lived an old widow and her granddaughter. They were poor, but honest. The woman took in washing, working far into the night.”

“What about the little girl, nanny?”

“Ah you would ask about her, my darling. She was bonny as a springtime meadow, and happy as a songbird. She was the life of the neighbourhood, and you can imagine how she looked forward to Lifenbud.”

“Bunny cakes, nanny.”

“That’s right, sweetheart, and all the other treats. Only her grandmother was very poor, and had no money for sugar. Can you think of a Lifenbud treat with no sugar?”

“No, nanny, I can’t.”

“Nor could the poor old widow, my love. She went far and wide, asking or extra washing, just so that she could buy a bit of rootpulp. She’d hoped for honeycake, but might as well have dreamed of gold.”

“Ooh nanny! Please say that she got some sugar!”

“Wait and attend, my love! The widow came at last to a great palace. Usually, she wouldn’t have dared to knock there, but the idea of her sweet granddaughter with no bunny cakes for Lifenbud…”

“So she knocked?” I asked, hoping to move the story a little more quickly.

“That she did, Margaret. And an under-chamberlain answered the door – a lean man with a long nose and cruel eyes. He made the widow shiver, but she told him what she wanted. The queen may have a piece of washing for you, he said, in a nasty kind of voice that made her more afraid than ever.” Nanny Spencer’s impression of the under-chamberlain’s voice made me giggle.

“That’s a funny voice, nanny,” I said.

“Well, darling, the real under-chamberlain’s voice wasn’t at all funny. He took the widow through to see the queen. And the queen showed the widow a sheet with blood stains. Clean this, she said, and you’ll be richly rewarded – fail and you’ll have your head chopped off!”

“Why didn’t the queen just give the sheet to the laundry slaves, nanny?”

“She had done, my dear, but they could do nothing with it. For she was a wicked queen who had murdered her husband, the king.”

“Was it the king’s blood, nanny?”

“It was, sweetheart. Every day, the slaves washed away the blood – and every night the king’s ghost put it back. Well, the widow scrubbed at the sheet with soda ash, and the blood came out. She took the sheet back to the queen, who was delighted. Give her fifty pounds in gold, she commanded the under-chamberlain. Then the ghost laid his hand on the sheet.”

“His bloody hand, nanny?” I asked, thrilled with this idea.

“Yes, my love, his bloody hand, leaving his bloody handprint. Off with her head! the queen screamed, meaning the widow. But, before the executioner could strike, a little mouse ran up his trouser leg and made him drop the axe.”

“Nanny, that’s funny! It makes me think of mother… about to punish me… and a mouse running up inside her skirt… making her drop the cane.”

“Margaret! That’s not funny at all! I’m sure you’ve deserved every spanking you’ve ever had – and a few extra, into the bargain. But the widow didn’t deserve to have her head chopped off.”

“No, nanny, she didn’t,” I agreed, leaving the justice of my punishments an open question.

“Now, Margaret, the mouse wasn’t an ordinary mouse – he was the steed of a faerie knight. You see the king had been a friend to the faeries, and the knight had come to avenge the murder. But how was he to do that? The faerie knight was only two inches tall.”

“Faerie magic, nanny. It has to be faerie magic.”

“The faerie knight had a sword the size of a needle, but he didn’t have any magic, my sweet.”

“What, then, nanny?”

“While everyone flapped about the mouse, sugar, the widow managed to leave the room with the sheet. She washed it again, and it was clean. When the king’s ghost came back with his bloody hands, the faerie knight galloped in on his trusty mouse roaring, in a very tiny voice, No! Don’t bloody the sheet! Not yet!” Her attempt to roar in a tiny voice was one of the funnier things I’d heard.

“Did the ghost hear that, nanny?”

“Of course he did, my sunshine. Ghosts have very sharp ears. They can hear a child breathing a mile away. That’s one of the things that make them so terrible.”

“Ooh, nanny!” This idea frightened me.

“What? the ghost said,” she adopted a deep booming voice for this, before shifting to a squeaky one. Fetch me a hundred faerie men at arms, the knight replied, all mounted on dragonflies, and I’ll soon show you what.”

“Did he, nanny?”

“That he did, beautiful child. In the meantime, the widow took the clean sheet back to the queen. Just as the queen was inspecting the work, the faerie men at arms flew through the window, all mounted on dragonflies – and using their swords as needles – sewed that wicked, wicked queen into the sheet. Then the ghost soaked it in blood, and the queen died of horror, while her under-chamberlain fled in terror.”

“But did the widow get any sugar for the bunny cakes?” I asked, in a businesslike way.

“The faeries released the crown prince – who was now really the king – from the dungeon where the wicked queen had locked him. He gave the widow enough gold to buy a mountain of honeycake.”

“Did she buy a mountain of honeycake, nanny?”

“No, sweetness, she didn’t, but she bought enough to make as many bunny cakes as her granddaughter deserved – which was a great many. And the new king gave her slaves, too, so that she would never have to do the washing again, and could live in idleness for evermore.”

“Except, nanny, that she probably needed to whip the slaves, sometimes.”

“Well, Margaret, we all have at least a little work to do. And yours, for tonight, is to go to sleep like a good girl.”

“And did the widow and her granddaughter live happily ever after, nanny?”

“Of course they did, my love.”

“And what about the ghost, nanny?”

“Mortalia took him to the world to come, sweetheart, where he was happy – and never again bothered the living. She took the wicked queen to the Dark Place where vengeful souls cut off her toes, and made her dance in red hot iron boots… and that’s all… Nighty night, my precious treasure – and sweet dreams for the last night of Lifenbud.”

“Nighty night, nanny. And happy last night of Lifenbud.”

The candle still burnt, shadows flickered on the wall. A waxy smell mingled with the lavender that scented my sheets. From downstairs, adults laughed loudly – closer to hand, a cat purred. Bunny cake sweetness lingered in my mouth as I sank into the soft feather mattress, fast approaching the land of dreams.