In Thunder, Lightning, or in Rain

We are having a November day. Everything outside is grey and dreary, with a lazy rain pitterpattering on the gutters and the stark, silver branches dripping - though the Christmas pig our neighbours erected in their yard kind of ruins the effect. (Seriously? A pig? In a Santa hat? You have to be kidding me.) But all in all, it's a day that represents November and makes you want to curl up with tea and a blanket and a good book. Preferably not a Geometry book.

Weather is a poignant thing, and a few good words concerning it can create atmosphere in a scene like magic. It could be rain, or it could be fog, or it could be full sunshine, or it could be a peek-a-boo pattern of light and clouds, but whatever it is, it is important to the life of a scene and should be treated as such. You can't just arbitrarily decide that the day is sunny or the night is dark and stormy; you've got to know that the day is sunny, and it has to be sunny with a purpose. Otherwise the descriptions will turn out bland, unimportant, and perhaps even invasive.

There are two main things to consider about blending atmosphere and purpose. The first is correspondence. To go back to the example of a dark and stormy night, what is the cliche supposed to signify? Drama, of course. You know - "It was a dark and stormy night. A door banged. The maid shrieked. A ship appeared on the horizon." To be more literary, when A Wrinkle in Time starts out with that sentence, you see Meg Murry in her attic room, scared out of her wits as she thinks about the wind and the rain and the tramp who has been stealing things around town. The weather mirrors her emotions; this is correspondence.

I went for correspondence in the title of my story Sunshine and Gossamer. (Actually, the title came before the plot, but still...) The mood of the novel is light; it's a children's story, of sorts, and I wanted it to be in the style of Daddy-Long-Legs or Dew on the Grass. Therefore, I wanted some whimsy in the title. Other forms of correspondence might be rain at a funeral; sun at a wedding; or fog around a haunted house. Put bluntly they sound cliche, but with the right touches they can be pulled off - just like the beginning of A Wrinkle in Time.

The other option is contrast. This is where you take the cliche and turn it inside out and on its head, making the sadness of a funeral clash with a sunny day, or turning a wedding whimsical or ominous by placing it in the rain. The death of a character can be made even more terrible by contrasting it with a gorgeous summer day and by making the protagonist feel the grossness of that contrast. I wanted this in the scene in The Soldier's Cross when Fiona is informed of her brother's death; I wanted two worlds to clash there - the sunlit world she had always known before and the dark chaos of the life in front of her. A rainy day wouldn't have conveyed the message with the same pathos.

Both methods are useful in any story. It is possible to try too hard to use the principle of contrast when having weather correspond with emotion would do just as well; it is also possible to err on the side of the cliche. As with all things, balance is important. Take time to consider the atmosphere as you write each scene; you may not end up using the weather, but it is good to know things outside the immediate sphere of the written word. After all, what you don't write is quite as important as what you do write.

Scenery

I am not much of a traveler. Sometimes I think I'd like to go to the British Isles, Southern France (briefly), Sicily, somewhere random like the Winter Palace... All those fascinating and beautiful European places that I read and write about. Then I start to think about plane flights, motion sickness, lack of home, lack of kitties, lack of family, lack of church, and my fancy for traveling goes "Meh." Maybe one day I'll do some traveling, but in the meanwhile I find it nicer to confine my trips to the page, read or written.

The other day I was thinking how vastly different the scenery is between my two historical novels, The Soldier's Cross and The White Sail's Shaking, the one set in the 1400s firmly on land (except for a Channel crossing), the other in the early 1800s at sea (except for the frequent pit stops). Many writers tend to stay in a specific comfort zone, like the Wild West or a fictional place nearby where they live, but it is great fun to venture into other places. A great deal of research work is involved, too, I'll grant, but it is also rewarding to try to paint a picture of different lands. There's such a lovely amount of variety to be had in the world.

Fiona, the main character of The Soldier's Cross, has always dreamed of visiting the White Cliffs of Dover; it is the only place she has ever wished to go. She gets her chance when, seeking an audience with the Duke of Gloucester, she travels to Dover. Standing on the cliff top on a clear day, one can see the northern coast of France across the Channel, particularly Calais. An age-old symbol of Albion, the White Isle, the Cliffs have held off many an invasion. Dover was also the site of the Roman fort Dubris and two lighthouses, both called Pharos, the ruins of only one of which still remain.

Most of The Soldier's Cross, however, takes place in northern and eastern France. Fiona follows the coast from north-western France to Agincourt, near Calais in the north-east, visiting such places as Cherbourg and the twin cities of Honfleur and Harfleur. She never gets to visit Mont Saint-Michel, which is a pity, since I would have liked to have written it; her boat lands her a little east of the island. But the photo is pretty and gives a good impression of northern France. I personally would prefer visiting southern France, but Fiona never gets beyond the Marne River.

In her travels she also goes to the ancient city of Reims, the cathedral of which was the traditional place for crowning the French kings. She never goes inside the building, only looks at the impressive and ominous exterior. It frightens her more than anything else, both because of its great size and because its very greatness seems to judge her.

One of the first exotic places in The White Sail's Shaking is the Rock of Gibraltar, which Tip finds very grand and very foreboding. While it has a certain charm, especially to someone who has neither seen nor imagined anything like it before, he is quite glad that the American squadron is only passing by and will not be stationed there. The region of the Straits is extremely windy, either with levanters or westerlies, and prone to gales; ships sailing in and out of the Mediterranean are at the mercy of the weather. The Rock is dull and bare, although providing an excellent view of the sea and the northern coast of Africa.

After Gibraltar, the American squadron moves its base to Syracuse, Sicily. The region is full of ruins from the Greek and Roman periods - an amphitheater, the fountain of Arethuse, and various destroyed or converted temples provide some of the main sites, for those interested in history. It also has a pretty view of the Mediterranean from the bay. At the time of the Americans' arrival, the King and Queen of Naples, having been expelled from the mainland by Napoleon's forces, are in exile in Palermo, Sicily.

And then, of course, there is Tripoli. Tripoli is finely situated in a bay on the Mediterranean with the protection of reefs, shoals, and batteries. It is perfect for withstanding attacks, especially as any ships (in the Age of Sail) must wait for the right wind to be able to sail in around the reefs. The city has some ancient buildings with Ottoman-influenced architecture, particularly mosques, but also other structures. As in most capital cities at the time, while the Bashaw lives in splendor (apparently Yusuf was a bit obsessed with his gold; had it carried around with him wherever he went), most of the town lives in poverty. Enslavement of Christians was a common practice, and seamen whose nations did not pay tribute to Tripoli and who did not renounce their Christianity for Islam could look forward to a lifetime of servitude.

And there we have my eclectic mix of real-world locations. Looking back over them, however, I must say that I didn't realize that bodies of water show up so often in my stories...

Botany, Miss Spooner?

"What makes you think I would be interested in something so tedious as botany?"

While I wouldn't go so far as to declare myself interested in botany, exactly, I have found that poking through Jenny's book on British flora is a great deal more enjoyable than I might have expected. She started keeping a notebook of common British plants a while back, since most of her stories take place in Britain, but it was not until I reread The Eagle of the Ninth last month that I realized how shockingly little I know about the details of the British landscape. So I started my own notebook, sketching plants and writing down their basic information. I haven't gotten very far (right now ships' rigging, cannon balls, and the names of all the ships in the British Navy around 1803 are more in my line of research), but here are the plants I have completed pages on so far.

Gorse (Ulex europaeus): Also known as "furze" or "whin." An evergreen shrub; grows 7-10 feet tall; covered in long spines. Flowers are yellow and pea-like, clustered on stems 2-6 ft tall; blooms March-May (primarily). Extremely common on heath and grows throughout Britain. Falling into it is not advised.


Purple Heather (Erica cinerea): Also known as "Fine-leaved Heath" and "Bell Heather." Low-growing shrub, leaves growing three-in-a-whorl. Flowers are purple, rarely white, and bell-shaped; blooms July-August. Grows on heath; extremely common. Used as ornamental flower.

Broom (Cytisus scoparius): Also known as "Common Broom," "Scotch Broom," and "English Broom." Deciduous shrub growing 3-9 feet tall, leaves silky. Covered in spring and summer with yellow flowers, sometimes blotched with red; blooms May-June. Seed pods are black and mature in late summer, opening with an audible crack. Grows on heaths in sun and dry, sandy soil. Hardy; withstands temperatures as low as -25 degrees Celsius.

Spear Thistle (Cirsium vulgare): Also known as "Scotch thistle," "Bull thistle," "Plumed thistle," and "Roadside thistle." Biennial/annual plant growing up to 8 feet tall and 6 feet wide; stems have vertical, spiny wings. Thrives in light, well-drained, sandy/stony ground. Flowers are deep pink to lavender, blooming July-September. Uses: receptacles are edible and were once eaten like artichokes; oil from seeds used in cooking; hairs on stem used for stuffing pillows.

Marsh Marigold (Caltha palustris): Also known as "Kingcup," "Mayflower," "May Blobs," "Mollyblobs," "Pollyblobs," "Horse Blob," "Water Blob," "Water Bubbles," "Gollins," and "The Publican." Grows 2-3 feet tall; leaves are kidney-shaped, with waxy texture. Flowers are bright yellow, blooming March-April. Grows in marshes, woodland, fens, and ditches; rare on peat. Thrives in partial shade. Poisonous.


Red Campion (Silene dioica): Grows ~3 feet tall; hairy, sticky leaves and stalks. Flowers are dark pink to red and bloom May-October. Grows in woodlands and rocky slopes, particularly damp soil. The crushed seeds have been used to cure snake bites.

White Campion (Silene latifolia): Hairy plant growing 2.5-3 feet tall. Flowers are white, blooming May-September. Grows in open habitats such as fields and wastelands. Also called "Grave Flower," because it grows in cemeteries.


Cichory (Cichorium intybus): Also called "Succory," "Blue Sailors," "Coffeeweed." Grows ~3 feet tall; stems tough and branched. Flowers are blue, lavender, and occasionally white, blooming July-October. Grows in fields and by roadsides in chalky, sandy soil. Uses: Leaves are edible, cultivated for livestock.

Black Horehound (Ballota nigra, sp. foetida): Hairy/fuzzy plant with strong smell, grows up to 3 feet. Grows in hedge banks, wasteground - England, Wales, local in Scotland and Ireland. Flowers are pale purple, blooming June-September. Uses: medicinal - expectorant and astringent; used to cure motion sickness, prevent spasms, and as a sedative to prevent hysteria.

Scarlet Pimpernel (Anagallis arvensis): Also called "Red Pimpernel," "Red Chickweed," "Poorman's Barometer," "Poor Man's Weather-glass," "Shepherd's Weather-glass," "Shepherd's Clock." Ground plant, stems grow up to 50 cm. Flowers are usually scarlet and sometimes orange; rarely blue. Blooms June-September. Grows in cultivated- and waste-land, prefers sandy soil.

Lesser Wintergreen (Pyrola minor): Most common species of Wintergreen in Britain. Also called "Common Wintergreen," "Snowline Wintergreen." Low-growing, but with tall stalks; grows in woods, moors, dunes, mostly in Northern Britain. Flowers are pink and bloom June-August.

Jane Eyre vs. The Secret Garden

At first glance, two books like Jane Eyre and The Secret Garden seem to have nothing in common. Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre is the prototype of a Gothic romance - dark, brooding, and suspenseful - while Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden is a children's story, full of light and vivid colours. And it is true: they have almost nothing in common. The only feature they share is the setting, the haunting, beautiful wilderness of Britain, and yet it could easily be said that that very landscape is a major factor in making the two books such polar opposites.

In the black-and-grey story of Jane Eyre, many of the scenes take place in some level of darkness, either at night or on stormy days. Since the story is set in a secluded part of England where it rains a good part of every season, the wilderness enhances the Gothic feel of the novel and lends it an eerie atmosphere; the dark stone walls and passages of Thornfield Hall would not have been half as sinister without the added effect of the weather and landscape outside. Bronte emphasized in her novel the haunting allure of Britain's moorlands, which set the perfect backdrop for Jane Eyre's story.

"I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a hidden angle, I sat down under it. High banks of moor were about me; the crag protected my head: the sky was over that." (Jane Eyre - Chapter 28.)

The Secret Garden, on the other hand, displays the opposite feature of the moors. While the frequent storms and rains do give the landscape a shadowy feel, they also mean that when the sun does shine, the scenery is turned into an amazingly beautiful, otherworldly place. Whereas Charlotte Bronte depicts black moors with stormy grey skies above, Frances Hodgson Burnett shows a rolling landscape of greens, yellows, purples, and whites beneath a clear blue sky. It is this sort of loveliness that characterizes her story and makes it magical, providing not only a background, but a vital part of the story as the beauty of the Yorkshire moors changes the main character altogether.

"'Look at the moor! Look at the moor!'
"The rainstorm had ended and the grey mist and clouds had been swept away in the night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant, deep blue sky arched high over the moorland. Never, never had Mary dreamed of a sky so blue. In India skies were hot a blazing; this was a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake, and here and there, high, high in the arched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white fleece. The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of gloomy purple-black or awful dreary grey." (The Secret Garden - The Key of the Garden.)

While the moors are perhaps one of the most vivid examples of the powers of a landscape, there are few places that do not display this sort of change from one day to another, or from one season to the next. Deserts, for instance, are seen as flat stretches of sand, sand, sand, and more sand, but on that rare day when rain does fall, the entire landscape changes as plants burst into momentary flower. The endless terrain, rock formations, and blue skies of the Badlands of the Midwestern United States have a lonely appeal that goes beyond the dry, monotonous way they are generally seen. (Or so they say; I fail to see it, myself...) These sorts of stereotype-reversals can be interesting to see used in writing, and to use in our own; the depiction of a single landscape can alter drastically, depending merely on whether the story is a Jane Eyre or a Secret Garden.