Each Christmas presented an awesome way to annoy my older brother.
That I did so during church on Christmas every year didn’t matter. In my heart, God has a sense of humor and I figured He was laughing along with me.
First off let me say the church I attend now, (Christ Church) rocks. Figuratively and literally. Besides the fountain of Living Water that greets everyone as they come in, we’ve an amazing worship team and Pastor John has a gift of stimulating the mind and the heart. Currently he is teaching us about the history behind famous carols. Being a history geek myself I thought I’d polish up this old blog post and start not being a hermit to my fans as I have been of late.
My brother’s glare of warning every Christmas Eve when it came time to sing “Silent Night” could light brimstone. That glare was my cue, and he knew what was coming the instant the lights dimmed throughout the church. During high school I spoke German, and, being a teen and the annoying younger sister that I was, I thought it hip to sing “Silent Night” in its original language solely to bother my brother.
But that story is not my point, fun as it is to remember.
Christmas brings many creative stories about how this timeless carol was created. One being that a mouse munching the bellows of an organ forced the need for Joseph Mohr, a young priest assigned to a pilgrimage church in Mariapfarr, Austria, to compose something in haste in order to sing at the Midnight Mass. That story has more versions than can be counted at this point! It’s been sensationalized through the years in film and books, but the reality of this hymn is humble in its origins.
“Silent Night” was written by Joseph Mohr in 1816; however it wasn’t until Christmas Eve of 1818, when Mohr visited the home of Franz Gruber, a primary school teacher and church organist, that it came into being as a carol. Mohr showed his friend the poem and simply asked him to write a melody for it for two solo voices, a choir, and guitar accompaniment. Mohr liked what Gruber wrote and later that night, December 24th, the first stanzas of “Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!” were heard. Gruber’s personal account of how the carol was written doesn’t mention Mohr’s specifics for inspiration, but one supposition is that the church organ was no longer working forcing Mohr’s need for it to be written for guitar (some legends claim it was mice eating the organ, other claim rust on the pipes).
However a broken organ does tie into the tale by some accounts, as master organ builder Karl Mauracher worked at Mohr’s church several times over the years. While there, it’s possible Mauracher obtained a copy of the composition and took it away him. As a result the simple carol began its journey around the world in the hands of an organ builder and ultimately ended up into a church songbook prepared by Blasius Wimmer.
Many carols (as learned in church recently) were composed during troubled times. “Do You Hear What I Hear,” during the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis and “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” when Christmas was illegal in the United States. “Silent Night” was no different. It was created and first performed after the Napoleonic Wars. The Congress of Vienna had created new borders and a new order for Europe. Salzburg, Austria suffered greatly during this time having to secularize due to losing its status as an independent country. In 1816, at the time Mohr penned “Silent Night,” its lands were divided between Bavaria and Austria. The local economy in Oberndorf by Salzburg suffered, causing a depression and forcing many into unemployment. Mohr was in Oberndorf at this time. Witnessing these events his wrote “Silent Night” and penned the 4th verse as a plea for peace:
Silent night! Holy night!; Where on this day all power; of fatherly love poured forth; And like a brother lovingly embraced; Jesus the peoples of the world; Jesus the peoples of the world. (translated from the original)
The melody changed over the years. In December of 1822 the Rainer Family Singers performed the song at the Castle of Count Donhoff for Emperor Franz I and Tsar Alexander I of Russia. Several musical notes were changed at this concert and the carol evolved into the melody we now know. By 1839 “Silent Night” was performed for the first time in America at the Alexander Hamilton Monument outside Trinity Church in New York City. The rest, as they say, is history.
Without doubt it will be performed this holiday season in churches across the country and most likely sung in English… unless I happen to be home at the same time as my brother.
Old habits die hard.
Ein frohes Weihnachtsfest und alles Gute zum neuen Jahr!
Many are curious as to Erik’s last name, and therefore his nationality. Leroux doesn’t provide us with a last name to his famous monster however many assume Erik is French because Leroux set his novel in Paris. The truth is nationality plays a big role in Leroux’s Phantom.
Leroux writes Erik was born in Rouen, which would make him nationally French, but doesn’t give us a parental bloodline. He makes mention of Erik’s mother and father, but beyond a snippet of information about trades, locations, and attitudes toward their monstrous son, the reader knows nothing. What is obvious is Leroux loved German villains.
Leroux’s most famous villains were German. The Phantom of the Opera is not his most beloved work, nor is Erik his most popular character. That honor belongs to his novel Rouletabille and his character Ballmeyer, a German. Ballmeyer and Erik display frightening similarities: murder, hidden passages, tricks, and an obsession with genius and disguise.
Much in Leroux’s novel echoed the anti-Germanic sentiment that was still prevalent in Paris at the time he wrote Phantom of the Opera. Leroux chose the Opera Garnier which was, for many years, was anti-Germanic. The Paris Opera House didn’t host a German opera until 1890. Leroux’s commentary of the opera manager, M. Richard, as the “sole person who has any comprehension of Wagner” makes him a comical figure in the eyes of Parisian society at the time of its printing and further hints at the anti-Germanic sentiment at the Opera Garnier.
Leroux goes further into rooting Erik as a German/Germanic and portrays France’s anti- German sentiment in the novel as a whole. Leroux’s Phantom was gleaned in part from Svengali, an Austrian Jew who captures the love of an opera singer by transfixing her and molding her into a work of public musical admiration. (This from George Du Maurier’s novel, Trilby.)
During her captivity Christine asks if the “name of Erik does not point to Scandinavian origin.” Erik doesn’t reply other than saying he is a man with no heritage and no country. He took his name “par hazard,” or at great risk. This indicates that “Erik” might not be his actual name at all, or another form of detaching himself from elements of his persona he doesn’t care to acknowledge. Even Leroux’s spelling of the name “Erik” points to German roots. As and aside, the choice of wine used throughout the novel is a Tokay which Leroux writes that Erik “himself brought from the cellars of Koensingburg,” further hinting Leroux’s route toward Germanic elements of his novel.
Overall Leroux wanted to create Erik as the foreigner among Frenchmen, in the same way he wanted a parallel between Raoul as the sexless virgin yet the leading male. Leroux wanted to craft Erik as the nation-less character while still creating a recognizably villainous character for the French: a German.
If anyone wants debate, the novel was also written at a time when Oriental thought was popular—echoed in the Persian, certain décor, even Erik as the Moor of Venice and his “yellow skin.”
Who is to say what nationality Erik was? This element of Leroux, however, is why I chose to make my heroine (or anti-heroine if you will) in my series of Germanic origin.
“Pride when there is a real superiority of mind…. Pride will always be under good regulation.” ~Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
Often there are two themes in romance. A heroine lured into the dangerous world of the underground by the “bad boy” of literature, or she has her eyes set on the life of a titled lady.
Christine Daae, in Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera, was a woman in limbo and trapped between two different classes: the aristocracy and the underground. She had to either choose the hero, Raoul, and his aristocrat life or choose the anti-hero, Erik, and live in the world of deviants and freaks.
In reality, Christine belonged in the bourgeoisie–between the middle class and the nobility–where image was everything. Leroux knew this and built his plot around it beautifully. Christine was a social ladder climber–a heroine interested in furthering her career, but also drawn to the idea of a title. I don’t believe for a moment that Christine didn’t’ realize that marrying a nobleman would bring her social admiration. She desired that popularity, but at the same time, wanted her career. Many readers forget–by marrying into the aristocracy, Christine would have had to leave the opera. Her life on stage would have been over. By resting comfortably in the bourgeoisie world, she could have it all. The career she wanted and the rubbing elbows with the upper classes that made her look desirable.
The bourgeoisie wanted the privilege of the aristocracy but also the freedom from their power and rule. Fashion was as important as outings to salons and the opera. They had to flaunt their status wherever they could. What better place for Christine then as the star of the opera? The bourgeoisie made sure they were noticed by the right people in restaurants, gardens, and boulevards. They mimicked whatever was in style at the time and placed etiquette first in order to mirror the noble image they wanted to obtain.
This is the perfect place for Christine. Here she stayed safe in an upwardly mobile class while desiring Raoul and his title, and at the same time furthered her career with Erik. Image-was paramount in Leroux’s novel and he built much of Christine’s internal conflict off this clash of the class system.
If you really want to honor your mother today give her a medal.
Today, May 8th is Mother’s Day here in the States, but wait a few weeks and it will be Mother’s Day in France—May 29th.
Just like here, Mother’s Day, la Fête des Mères, is a day to honor your mother with something special. Children often create poems to read to their mothers or make them small gifts in school. Seems those pinch pots are universal. However the French take it one, small, (ahem) step further
France came about their Mother’s Day bit differently than the United States, where the holiday was created in 1915 by An Jarvis of Philadelphia. During the 19th Century France had a real concern—low birth rate. So they created the idea of celebrating large families. In 1908 la Ligue Populaire des Pères et Mères de Familles Nombreuses was created which honored parents of large families. The official holiday was established on May 20, 1920 with the Médaille de la Famille française a decoration by the government to mothers who successfully raised several well-brought up children and became a fixed date, the last Sunday in May in 1950.
The honor had three classes: the bronze medal for mothers raising four or five children, silver for six or seven and gold for those mothers with eight or more. For a mother to have this honor, they must be recommended to the local town hall. Next, an inquiry into the family would occur and, if favorable, a decision would be made as to if they deserved this honor. In 2013 the honor or getting the Médaille de la Famille française, was changed to require a family to have 4 or more children under 16.
It’s no surprise that it is one of France’s most popular holidays. The French have deep connections to their families and truly honor and respect what a gift being a mother is.
Happy Mother’s Day!
To most a gun shot was an ominous sound, but to the family of Gaston Leroux it was reason for celebration.
Gunfire meant a novel was completed and a new legacy born. Every novel he wrote ended with a single shot fired out the bedroom window. It was classic Gaston Leroux: flamboyant, creative, quizzical and a bit…morose.
Gaston Leroux came into the world like any other boy on May 6, 1868. He was born out of wedlock at number 66 on the Rue Faubourg Saint Martin in Paris. His parents married a month later in Rouen and Gaston was eventually joined by his brothers, Joseph and Henri and their youngest sibling, Helene. His father, Dominique Alfred Leroux, was a contractor and his mother was Marie Bidault.
Gaston was schooled in Eu before heading off to study law in Caen. (Ironically meeting a young man there by the name of Philippe–a highly influential French noble whom would later bear the name of a character in one of his most famous novels.) There he graduated with honors at the age of eighteen. Following the death of his mother, Gaston was called upon to aide his father in the rearing of the younger siblings and became head of the Leroux family–much to his chagrin. He studied law to appease his family, but loathed every moment of it. Thankfully fate stepped in the way. When asked to be legal correspondent for the paper Paris, Leroux jumped at the chance. After covering a very high profile case he was approached by the editor of Le Matin and invited to be a regular reporter.
For thirteen years Leroux used cunning, wit, and his highly tuned skills as an observer to secure one fantastic story after another. He traveled at a frenzied pace living off the excitement of chasing a story. Gaston Leroux had a knack for journalistic coups, securing one coveted interview after another. While enjoying the high and exciting life, Leroux met and married Marie LeFranc. But he did not find the same comfort in marriage that he did in journalism. The union did not last long, and the parting was less than ideal. Marie LeFranc refused a divorce.
Undeterred, he continued in his travels meeting the love of his life, Jeanne Cayatte, in 1902. Despite Leroux’s reputation for being a notorious gambler and playboy, Jeanne Cayette was smitten. Gaston found a partner matching him in cunning and wit. It would not be until 1917 that he and Jeanne married, thanks in part to Marie’s death.
Leroux turned away from journalism in 1907, perhaps bored with it or just ticked off at the constant demands placed on him. Having returned to France after dodging lava during the eruption of Vesuvius, his much needed vacation was cut short with orders from his editor. Annoyed, Leroux greeted the bearer of these orders with some of his most famous words in reference to his current employer: “Shit. Go tell Bunau-Varilla, shit!”
Thus ended his journalism career and began his life writing popular fiction.
Thirty-three novels, screenplays and short-stories galore, not to mention countless rounds of ammunition, Leroux devoted his life to writing. When funds for his family ran short (due to a rather fine taste for the fast life and drink) he was known to shrug off the debt.
“I will just write another novel!” he would declare.
And so he would.
While The Phantom of the Opera is probably one of his most famous works, it is more popular with western culture. In France, it was the adventures of detective Joseph Rouletibille that were the most important of his writings. These works launched Leroux as a master of crime fiction. The Mystery of the Yellow Room has been acclaimed as the standard all locked room mysteries try to achieve. The Rouletibille novels were steeped in logic and twists and turns. It was not until the very end that the criminal was reveled and it always stunned the reader to discover it was the one person they least expected–classic Gaston Leroux.
None of these detective novels held his more famous signature–the love of the macabre. That would season his later works in particular, The Phantom of the Opera, notorious for its murderously vengeful and hideously deformed anti-hero, Erik. But Erik was not the only criminally insane and repulsive character Leroux cooked up. Balaoo was an oddly formed cross between man and ape, while Cheri Bibi was master criminal, not terribly attractive, but with a large heart nonetheless. And finally, one would be remiss not to mention Benedict Masson, a bookbinder in love with a beautiful woman. This woman, because of Masson’s visage cannot or will not, return his love. In the course of this novel Masson does suddenly find himself a handsome man, but at the price of lacking the ability to make love and give love. Oh, the irony!
Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera is a masterful piece of fiction, fitting in with the genre of gothic horror while at the same time to today’s reader, historical romance. It has all the elements of a monster novel with the tragic and bittersweet under tones of unrequited love. Leroux pulled together his love of symbolism and used all his tricks of misleading the reader to create this timeless tale.
He died of uriemic poisoning on April 27, 1927 and was laid to rest in Nice. When he died he took the secrets of his Phantom tale to the grave. Written in his classic journalistic style, Leroux opens the book by saying: “The Opera Ghost really existed.” Shortly before his death he was quoted as saying during a speech in Nice: “However fantastical my imagination it as always been anchored in something real. Perhaps that is why so much indulgence has been shown to my work, a work which has no pretences except to distract the reader without overstepping the boundaries of propriety.”
Does that mean Erik was real? Does that indicate that all Leroux’s fiction was based on fact? The reader is challenged to be the judge. What it does mean is that what you read is not always what you should believe.
And that is classic Gaston Leroux.
originallyposted at Unusual Hstorcals by the author.
Subliminal sex in Phantom of the Opera permeated all genres, Leroux, Susan Kay’s novel and Webber’s stage and film. Kay’s novel seems to be the reason so many view Erik and Christine’s relationship as a sexual one. Webber only tipped the iceberg in this aspect, Kay sunk the ship.
Throughout Kay’s novel she birthed a blatant sexual element into Erik and made him attainable by removing three critical details of Leroux: Erik’s criminal insanity, his scent of death, and his appearance of a walking corpse. Eliminating these elements made Erik easy to picture and relate to. She took Leroux’s indication of Erik as a powerful seducer and brought it to life. There’s no doubt in Leroux’s novel that Erik had an odd ability to seduce and there’s are sexual overtones. This was Leroux’s trademark irony shining through. His monsters were alluring.
Erik’s power of sexual seduction is apparent in Kay’s novel from the start. As an infant Erik is able to pull a deep sexual response from his mother with the source of his cry. In response to his cry, his mother says it “brought tears to my eyes softly seducing my body that my breast ached with primitive and overwhelming urge to hold him close.” Mothers worldwide can argue that’s a normal response, but I doubt will argue a seductive quality that alludes to a need for sex. Combine Erik’s powerful voice with Kay’s description of his non-corpse like body as “muscular, almost inhumanly strong” and you get your popular image of a built and sexually seductive Erik with tones that match Webber in that Erik’s deformity was facial only.
Presto…your sexy Phantom.
In Leroux’s novel the Voice is paramount in indicating Erik as a sexual being in its abnormal range and power. Leroux gives him a highly masculine voice, that drips with sexuality and makes those who hear it swoon under its power. While at the same time he confuses the sexuality of the primary character when he indicates that Erik can actually alter the sex of his voice at will. The Siren in Leroux’s novel was Erik, however in the original French text all the nouns in the section where the Persian is describing Erik as the Siren are referred to in the feminine, and with a highly womanly charm. Am I saying Erik was a woman, or had feminine qualities? No. Leroux blurred the sublimation of sex in his novel so one never gets a clear cut idea of how Erik identified with masculinity and femininity.
It’s a Freud thing.
Webber leans more toward Kay, or I should say vice versa as Kay based her novel not solely off of Leroux. The mannerisms in the 2004 movie, and stage show, depict the Phantom seeped in sexuality. One just needs to study the hand motions during Webber’s Music of the Night, read his lyrics, or look at his imagery of the Phantom. They are all sexual indicators and some what Freudian as well.
Subliminal sex and the Phantom of the Opera go hand in hand, but what of its act? No one can argue that such an event was hinted at in Webber’s stage show and movie, however I again turn toward Kay as the catalyst for the idea that a relationship of such was between Erik and Christine. She took Webber’s indicator, picked up on his plot hole and ran with it.
So let’s look at the role of actual sex in Kay’s novel, not the subtle subliminal elements. In both Kay’s novel and the original it is Christine that is the driving force behind such notions, the instigator if you will. In Kay’s novel she crosses the border between fantasy and gratification while spending her fortnight with Erik in his house. As she is listening to Erik she writes of Christine that his voice was “answering pulses all over my body.” Upon hearing his Don Juan, it arouses Christine in such a way that she explores her body until she finds a place on her she “never knew existed” and she reaches a climax that fills her body “with extraordinary sensation.” This is clearly Christine crossing the line between fantasizing about Erik, to sexually gratifying herself with the thought of him and the sound of his music. Christine crosses barriers even further when she frets over telling Raoul of this experience remarking that “the knowledge I have begun to crave is not yours to give.” This is clearly an indication that her desire for more sexual contact is not with that of Raoul, knowing such would be forbidden. In terms of Christine in the Kay genre, she did have desires for Erik in a sexual way.
In the original it’s not so clear cut, but Christine was again the one with the sexual power. Erik was timid around her in his hesitancy to touch her and in his willingness to lie down like a dog at her feet. While a seducer, he was not a sexual predator. Christine held more sexual power over him in the novel then he did over her, apparent in the final “Pieta” scene when she clutches his face to her breast and kisses him on the forehead. Some may argue that Erik was violent with her so why not be sexually violent? He was a man deprived of a primal need and had tendencies to become violent to get his point across. He does, after all, drag Christine by the hair when she removes his mask and forces her to touch his face in a manner she didn’t wish to do. Erik wouldn’t be a sexual predator based on the fact that his methods for violence were very detached and hands off. This matches his madness. Erik refers to himself in third person, detaching one part of his persona from another. His torture chamber and the Punjab lasso are both weapons that don’t require intimate contact with its victim. (Contrary to popular understanding the Punjab is not a hangman’s noose or a lariat. It can be thrown lasso style, but is usually a max of three feet in length and requires two hands to actually kill.) Rape and sexual violence requires intimate contact with the victim. A contact I don’t believe Erik had the power to understand given the state of his madness.
The movie leads more to the viewer imagination in terms of sexual contact, but the indicators are obvious. You have an overly sexy leading man and a virginal appearing leading woman in a situation that indicates a sexual moment could have occurred. This is in reference to the scene after Music of the Night and Christine’s notorious missing stockings… I believe this was just an editorial mistake, but still it opened the debate. Naturally with how sex and sexuality is viewed in this day and age many assume that Raoul and Christine had sexual contact during the period of time that lapsed before the Masquerade scene. It could have happened given the time period… not every young woman was devote in her religion and held to the belief of being virginal. Raoul, via Leroux’s descriptions in the novel was painted as virginal; however nobles of that time period wouldn’t been so. It would be very unusual for Raoul to have been a virgin at that time.
Was Erik virginal? I will argue that statement should be, was Erik sexually versed? I believe he was. This goes beyond Leroux to the realm of realistic character development in addition to some plot holes Leroux put into his novel.
Erik was 50 years old at least. In reality, which all authors need to draw from whether they want to or not, a 50 year old male does at some point in his life become sexually versed. Maybe not through the actual act of sex, but through puberty. It happens and it can’t be prevented. Erik, would have gone through and we already know Leroux created him in part as a sexual being. I believe Erik knew how to gratify himself. This is how you delve into the mind of a character and make them realistic. Erik would have had physical longings for the gratification that comes from sex, however I doubt he would have engaged in the actual act (with Christine) .
Creating a realistic character also means invoking realistic responses. Erik was a corpse-like, stank, was hideously deformed and…mad. These elements in such a time period would have made him unattainable. No woman would want to touch him unless…. (I will explain that later). I can go into my rants about social classes and Christine, but basically Christine was looking for a social realm Erik didn’t exist in. And, while she desired him on one level, she was horrified and repulsed by him.
So was he a virgin? I say yes, but not clueless on how to woo or gratify a woman (or man) for that matter. I turn you toward this past travels and the cultures he was involved in. He was versed in many traditions. He had more than just casual contact with women, but ultimately being able to gratify himself sexually with a woman was out of the question due to his curse. (Kay was the one who created him to be a recluse, using servants to attend to him while he lived in the opera house. Leroux clearly states he took to his own needs.)
Erik could very well have taken the company of a lady prior to Christine in these two plot holes: The first, his famous foot stool in box five. Traditionally only women requested foot stools for opera performances. This request can be viewed numerous ways. Erik could be merely playing with Madame Giry’s mind here and building the illusion of his ghost like status,(remember he liked to manipulate the mind). Or, seeing as he was insane and had elements of two personalities, he could have requested the stool as his own means to believe he wasn’t so alone. (think imaginary friend). Or…seeing as he had a life before Christine who is to say there was never a woman in box five? One will never know. I can safely believe it was not Christine due to time lines in the story and social classes again.
But the most curious plot hole indicating Erik and relationships with women comes from his outburst when Christine unmasks him “Oh you women are inquisitive things.” If he had no contact with women how would he know? Plus his comment of “When a woman has seen me as you have she belongs to me.” Could this mean that he controlled women in the past? Was this just a reference to Don Juan? Did he have close enough contact with them to be so intimate as to reveal, with his will or against it, the most delicate part of himself: his face?
Subliminal sex belongs in the novel and in its progeny. It’s hard to write Gothic and historical romance without it. To what level, and with whom is the question. My reasoning for not believing in a healthy sexual relationship between Erik and Christine stems from the quasi-mother/father relationship they each yearned for in the other.
I believe Erik was a sexual being and sexual relationships were, are, and should be a part of any tale that is continued with him so long as it is handled in a believable way. I may have contradicted myself by saying that, when before I said women wouldn’t touch him. Christine, for me, did not have the backbone in any genre to look beyond what she needed or wanted from the relationship to give to Erik what he needed and desired. That is not to say another woman would do the same.
Creating Erik that is a sexual being is not easy, especially a Leroux based Erik. All these elements belong in Phantom and are a part of its Gothic roots.
You see I cannot take my child into the country. Work forbids it. With a child I could not find a place there…it will not be long before I come back. Will you keep my child for me?” ~ Fantine, Les Misérables
Such was commonplace in 19th century France. Of children born in 1875, 93,000 were abandoned by their parents, and one out of fourteen was illegitimate. There were hospices in every arrondissement in Paris, and the poor often could not afford to work and care for their kin. Among the upper class, one would think life might have been a bit easier in terms of child rearing. But often that wasn’t the case.
Ever wish parenthood came with a manual? Instead of plunging your lower body into the fiery pits of hell to push something the equivalent of alien out of your body, only to be told to to communicate with the mute pile of smiling wrinkles and enjoy it for the next eighteen years…
In 19th century France, apparently parenthood did.
For centuries, children were viewed as second class citizens–property to be dressed like adults and worked like adults. There were strict rules of conduct placed upon them. Upper class children were afforded education, but that did not make their position in the family any higher. Daughters were to learn their place in the family and society from their mothers, and coldness and distance was a characteristic relationship between some fathers and sons in aristocratic families.
A manual in 1886 titled Well Brought Up Children instructed children thusly:
When you have the honour to be admitted into the salons of your mothers, you must behave yourself in such a manner that they do not regret having accorded you this favour… You will, rightly, not dare present yourself in a salon without your gloves. Provincials are even more rigid observers of the etiquette than we.
Its counterpart, a study of Badly Brought Up Children, instructed the way to be successful in child rearing was to be an authoritarian. “By the exercise of authority, one makes one’s sons respectful and men of duty.” This book argued that children had one instinct–a fear of being left to suffer.
On the opposite side of such literature was Paul Janet who, in 1861, praised intimacy in the family unit. He insisted this did not ruin the strength of a family but reinforced it. In years past children were neglected, respected only as far as roles of primogeniture. By following Janet’s work, parents sought to win respect by love not discipline. But like the above manual by Comtesse de Ferry, children still remained an instrument for parental aspiration and social gain for years to come.
The transformation of the family began when children rose to a position of central importance in the home, after years of neglect, and were accorded a basic right of a life different from that of their parents–when children were allowed to be seen as children and not business tools. Before this shift, there was no social gain to being a good parent or a mar to being a bad one. The family wasn’t a sentimental unit. (Yet those manuals still were being published…)
The increase families slowly took in their children didn’t mean overnight liberation from strict rules or preoccupied parents. Neglect was replaced with obsessive love (many of these manual had opposing views), often resulting in increased demands on the children to act and behave as their parents desired. These manuals seemed counterproductive. According to Ryerson’s Medical Advice on Rearing Children 1550-1900, it was preached that newborns should be purged, scheduled feedings were not needed, wet-nurses were preferred and cold baths were a good thing. Then came the manual that said warmth was better, sex play, masturbation, and discovering their young bodies was bad and thumb-sucking was a horrible thing. Heaven forbid you bite on anything whilst teething! Despite all this, a parent needed to show the child affection–but not too much! It would be wrong to over stimulate them.
This author and mom admits to buying in to the modern manuals. I had the What to Expect books, the Happiest Baby books, the millions of pamphlets provided by various doctors, teachers, and organizations. I think there’s a reason children don’t come with manuals.
They will only eat the paper and demand a cookie chaser.
originally posted by the author on Unusual Historicalsimage Bonhams:John Singer Sargent Portrait of a Child
I recently saw this video and felt it should be shared–and heeded. One of the top things that get under my skin is when people casually throw around the term “OCD.” If they are obsessed with something they are “so OCD” about it. If they have a quirk that makes them funny or unique, they are “OCD” It’s a designer term used so frequently it has lessened the mental illness.
You can’t “be” OCD. Just because you like your cookies arranged in pretty jars, have to pull and all-nighter for a report, or like your socks to match your shirt does not mean you have OCD. If you love Christmas you do not have “Obsessive Christmas Disorder,” you just like Christmas. If you love coffee you do not have “Obessive Coffee Disorder”, you just like coffee. If you love sweets are you “so diabetes” about it? If you cry at sad movies and then can go out partying with your friends, is that “so bi-polar of you?” The mental illness is real. OCD is used too often as an adjective… and it shouldn’t be.
Please cease telling those of us with OCD to stop being so sensitive to this. To… get a sense of humor. I have Pure O, a type of OCD that involves intrusive thoughts, not necessarily compulsions. Let me tell you, it’s hell. Kissing my daughter good-bye today I thought: “This is the last time I will ever see her because I am going to die in 5 minutes.” Tell me, was that funny to you? It wasn’t to me. So I will never have a sense of humor over OCD being used causally to sell t-shirts or describe quirks. I would rather people educate themselves to what it really means for those of us that have this disease.
Walk 3 minutes in my brain and get back to me on if you are so “OCD.” Or watch this video and educate yourself….
Our black-masked Phantom is a rather dark character, physically and mentally. Various colors are used in different ways throughout The Phantom of the Opera. What’s the symbolism behind them? The primary colors in various versions are black, white, pink, red and yellow.
People associate color with two things, natural and psychological reactions.
Naturally we associate black with night and darkness. Psychologically black is the evil color, the color of villains in old westerns, the color of Death and bad omens. Black expresses the unknown and the underworld where daylight does not reach… just like in Leroux and Erik’s lair. Black can represent bad luck or misfortune. Across the various versions, black is prevalent in Phantom. Leroux lets the reader know how steeped in death Erik is and at one point writes that people shouted at Erik: “There goes the Grim Reaper.” We see Erik in his black mask and funeral clothing depicting him as a shadowy figure and the anti-hero. Black, in conjunction with Erik, is a color to instill suspicion, fear and mistrust.
White is naturally seen as light. Psychologically it evokes purity, cleanliness and a soul passing to heaven. White becomes our hero-unscathed and perfect. In Webber’s 2004 movie version of Phantom, Raoul dashes off in a white shirt upon a white horse to save Christine– a blatant cliché if I ever saw one. In Leroux, Raoul wears the white domino, showing the reader not his heroism, but his innocence and sexual naivety. Erik and Christine are the ones wearing the manipulative and menacing black.
Red draws our mind toward many things, love, passion, blood, infatuation. Red symbolizes strong emotions such as excitement, strength, danger, and aggression. I love the use of infatuation here in terms of Leroux as Erik was driven by this emotion-not love. We lean toward passion as it relates to death in the original novel. Think of Erik as the Red Death and the red brocade fabric surrounding his coffin and the stave of the Dies Irae. These things connected to death make us discontent and passionate. In Webber we see it mostly in terms love. Think of all those red roses Erik leaves…
Yellow we naturally associate with heat, sun, etc. Psychologically, like with green, we lean toward gold and wealth. It can symbolize optimism and idealism verses dishonesty, cowardice, deceit, illness, and hazard. In Phantom, yellow can be seen as the ‘other’ color; the color that represents the outside world of Erik and one that makes him an outcast among nobles. His yellow skin is associated with oriental themes prevalent during Leroux’s time making Erik and outcast among a ‘normal’ population.
Pink… Webber shoved that down our throats! (The flowers in the dressing room, all of Christine’s pink dresses, etc) Pink is automatically associated with girls, though it was used for boys for centuries. Pink is the color of innocence, good health and good life. Think of the term ‘tickled pink’ and the hue brought to faces when we laugh or blush. It is symbolic of sexual innocence, something Webber wanted to drive forth in the theme of Christine v. Erik, as well as ‘pure love’.
Opening chapter rule number one: Grab your reader’s attention.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single blog in possession of a good author, must be in want of an audience.”
Rule number two: Ground the reader in your setting.She picked her way across the drawing room. The fluttering of her fan drown out the ball as she tried to extinguish the fire on her cheeks yet to burn out from his kiss. The satin skirts of her ball gown rumpled in her hand as she crept about the room, not so as not to trip over her too-swollen feet, but because she didn’t want to wake the snoring loaf of bread on the settee.
Rule number three: Intrigue the reader with an interesting character.
Why couldn’t the duchess have a cat? Cats don’t care who crept into rooms after forbidden kisses. They wouldn’t give a fig if her aching feet made her trip over the rug and fall on her nose. They’d purr and yawn then expect a better performance next time around. But the pug… the pug was always there, stubby legs tucked under his fat body, his already smashed in face rammed down into a pillow. That dog was a sentry of enormous proportions, ready to wake at the sound of a clementine being unpeeled, let alone her attempts at fanning away the evidence of a tryst on her face.
Rule number four: Give the reader a puzzle to solve.
Don’t wake up the dog. Don’t wake up the dog. Don’t wake up the dog. Don’t wake up… Eventually she’d stop repeating that, but eventually wasn’t good enough with Lord Delaford on her heels.
There was nothing to do but ride the sequence out. Anxiety wrapped tight bands around her chest, making it difficult to breathe. Well, who needed air, really? Lord Delaford would only steal her breath anyway…
Rule number five: Always keep them reading.
Welcome to the first blog post on my new website. My old site was redesigned in anticipation of my new releases, so I am glad you found your way here. Sorry, this is not a blog about creating a compelling opening chapter, although the four steps above pretty much cover how you do it. I’ll be blogging from time to time about anything that strikes my fancy be it the writing process, the stranger sides of the Regency and Victoria eras, or life as a romance writing single mom.* I love hearing from my readers and eager new writers! I hope you’ll keep coming back.