Jane Austen Regency Feast

I’m going to have my dinner after which I shan’t be thinner (Jane Austen, Juvenilia)

Last night was my local Jane Austen Society’s eighth annual midwinter feast. We started off small in 2002 as a lunch for members only but, in the last few years, we have expanded it to a night event including members’ partners, resulting in some very convivial nights. We are a small group and not everyone can make the chosen date, so our numbers vary. Last night we were 13.

This year's feasters tuck into dessert

This year's feasters tuck into dessert

Regency Feast Main Courses

Regency Feast Main Courses

Every member brings a dish chosen from the Regency era, though not all dishes are perfectly authentic: some ingredients are hard to get, some cooking techniques are not those we use now, and sometimes we just don’t exactly know how it was done. Our main sources are the Jane Austen Centre’s online magazine and Maggie Black and Deirdre Le Faye’s The Jane Austen cookbook (which presents the recipes used by  Martha Lloyd – Jane’s closest friend and confidante after her sister, Cassandra). This year our main courses were:

  • Beef and roasted vegetable ragout
  • Chicken curry in the Indian manner
  • Vegetable pie
  • Salmagundy/Salamongundy
  • Potatoes
  • Salad of greens with cucumber
Regency Feast Dessert Table

Regency Feast Dessert Table

We are slowly building up quite a repertoire: each year there are some old favourites and some new experiments. Our members enter wonderfully into the spirit and regularly give something new a try, and so each year some very nervous chefs arrive with their dishes – and each year their anxieties are proved unfounded as we dig into their dishes with relish. Past main meal dishes have included Fish in corbullion, Broiled salmon, Roast pork, and Beef-steak pudding. We haven’t yet quite got into goose and partridge but I reckon we will!

Desserts are usually trickier as original recipes often assume a lot that has now been lost – or require highly time consuming processes that most of us can’t quite commit to. However, many Regency enthusiasts have interpreted and translated recipes and we are gradually sussing them out. Past desserts have included Black Caps (aka Baked Apples Miss Bates – from Emma, you know! – style), Whipt Syllabub and Cranberry Jelly (first make your “isinglass jelly”). This year we were tempted by:

We don’t, as you can see, go hungry – and neither are we bored as we spend a few hours talking, eating, laughing and, yes, drinking. As Jane wrote (though I have to admit that these words in this particular character’s mouth have an ironic edge):

Give me but a little cheerful company, let me have only the company of the people I love, let me only be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say I. (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey)

Seen today

As we were shopping at our local mall today, we saw a mum with her young daughter who was about 8 years old. This little girl was wearing a t-shirt that said:

I’m too pretty to do homework.

I’ll say no more … because, well, what can I say?

Too many books?

Gutenberg, Public Domain image from Wikipedia

Gutenberg, Public Domain image from Wikipedia

No, this is not one of those “too many books too little time” posts. This is way more serious! This is about something I read in the July issue of goodreading (why I read this magazine is beyond me really, but I do). What I read was this, from one Ken Duncan who is apparently an Australian panoramic landscape photographer:

Unfortunately, for our generation, books are a dime a dozen [but] in the old days books used to be something very special, where you had artists create them.

It’s unfortunate that books are commonly available? How awfully elitist this sounds. I know where he is coming from – after all it’s in an article on limited edition books – but he chose an unfortunate way to make his point. Beautiful books are lovely to have and to hold but in the end what really counts is that as many people as possible can access them. Gutenberg and Caxton must be rolling in their graves!

Toni Jordan, Addition

Addition Pb cover, Courtesy Text Publishing

Addition Pb cover, Courtesy Text Publishing

(SPOILERS: FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH)

Looks like, feels like, is it? Chick lit, that is. Toni Jordan’s first novel Addition has all the hallmarks of chick lit. The cover design with its line drawing of a female form invokes chick lit – albeit chick lit with an edge as the heels aren’t quite high enough and the colours not quite girly enough. The plot though is pure rom com and pretty much standard chick-lit: girl meets boy, girl loses (kicks out) boy, girl gets boy back. So why has this book garnered more attention and positive critical response than its sisters?

Well, Jordan is no Jane Austen (who is sometimes called the mother of chick lit) but she has produced something a little fresh. Her heroine, Grace, is not quite the standard chick lit heroine. She has had a breakdown, she is not in employment, she is not upwardly mobile and she is not focused on fashion and appearance (though it has to be said that she’s not oblivious to these latter either). Instead, she’s an ex-primary school teacher (not the most fashionable career, anyhow, in the world of chick lit) and she suffers from an obsessive compulsive disorder that results in her need to count, anything and everything, in order to maintain control over her life. And her hero, Seamus, a happy, ordinary dresser in an ordinary go-nowhere job, is “average”. Fortunately, though, with the help of her smart young niece, Grace realises at the end “that average can actually be unique”.

Grace’s voice is chick-lit-sassy and the book is genuinely funny a lot of the time, but there are also times when it is forced and tips over into being smart-alecky, such as her reactions to the psychiatrist and therapist. Her other hero is Nikola Tesla, the not-properly recognised famous inventor of many things electrical, who also had an obsessive compulsive disorder relating to numbers. It is the presence of Nikola in Grace’s life which sustains her at the beginning, helps ground her at the end and gives the book its real hook – that is, that being different is to be cherished and encouraged, as long as it doesn’t drag you down.

Jordan has a nice flair for language too. I liked the change in tone and pace when Grace’s panic rises, and a similar change in Jill’s speech to Grace when they are in hospital discussing their mother’s future. She’s lightly ironic in places and includes the odd bit of wordplay. It will be interesting to see where she goes next.

In addition (excusez-moi!) to its trying sometimes to be a bit too funny and its somewhat preachy ending (“Listen … Life is ..”), the book’s main problem is it’s too close adherence to the formula. You know she is going to lose him and you know she is going to get him back. It’s just a matter of how. Some level this same criticism at that favourite author of mine, Jane Austen, but her books encompass way more than plot to say some fundamental things about the human condition. I can read her again and again and see something new, or take away another perspective. I can’t see anything in Addition, as delightful as it is, that would afford me that pleasure on multiple readings.

So, read it, enjoy it – as I did – but if you want something a little more sustaining, try Jane.

Alice Munro, Dimension

Alice Munro, from Random House Australia

Alice Munro, from Random House Australia

Alice Munro won this year’s Man Booker International Prize. You probably know that she is a Canadian short story writer. I have read many of her short stories over the years, though not as many as I would like.

WARNING: SOME SPOILERS!

Her short story “Dimension” was published in the New Yorker in 2006, and was then included in the 2007 edition of Best American Short Stories. In some ways, particularly in its tone, it reminded me of Lionel Shriver’s We need to talk about Kevin. Like “Kevin” it deals with the build up and fallout after a terrible tragedy caused by a family member, but the details of the tragedy and the focus of the story is different.

Munro clues us in very early that something terrible has happened. In the second para she writes this about the main character through whose point of view we see the story: “She liked the work – it occupied her thoughts to a certain extent and tired her out SO THAT [my emphasis] she could sleep at night”. Ah, we think, why does she have trouble sleeping? And then at the end of that paragraph is: “She didn’t want to have to talk to people”. The next para is more clear that she has been involved in something terrible: she had been “in the paper”. In this paragraph we get the first mention of “he”. “He” is nameless in the first few mentions, conveying to us a sense of mystery and, yes, menace. Not naming him at this point also depersonalises him; it makes him “other” to we named people.

This, then, is a story about one of those terrible family tragedies that we see in the news and wonder about: how did it get to that point, how does the mother (or whoever is left) keep going, etc? Munro explores these questions sensitively, conveying how Doree’s youth and inexperience resulted in her making a poor decision at a vulnerable time in her life which then stunted her further development of self – with devastating consequences. And, she does a good job of building up a picture of a controlling man (the husband Lloyd), but through Doree’s eyes so that we see her growing awareness of his nature. Her awareness though is accompanied by an uncertainty born of someone who does not know enough to judge properly, to know what is “normal” and what isn’t. Munro also makes us believe in Doree’s post-tragedy path – her going-through-the-motions distance from those around her and her tie to the perpetrator who is the only person to offer her a “refuge” peculiar though that refuge is. Munro’s resolution to all this could be seen as a little melodramatic, but it is clever…and, reassuringly, somewhat hopeful.

In other words, like all Munro’s stories, this is well worth a read.

Diva novels

Have YOU heard of diva novels? I haven’t but Mike Ashman, the author of the article “The dawn of the diva” in the July 2009 issue of Limelight magazine, apparentlly has. He writes:

The notion of the singer as victim and seductress moved into literature and, in the next 100 years George Eliot, George Moore, Jules Verne, George du Maurier, James Huneker, Willa Cather and Gaston Leroux all wrote diva novels, often basing their heroines on real-life artists and showing the singers as exploited victims as much as heroines, paying a price for their virtuosity.

Unfortunately, he does not go on to elaborate on any of these, except George du Maurier (grandfather of Daphne) who apparently originated the notion of  Svengali as a manipulative teacher (or coach) in his 1894 novel Trilby. The things you learn!

Cover image courtesy HarperCollins

Cover image courtesy HarperCollins

Anyhow, I can’t say that I’ve read much in the way of diva novels though I have seen on stage and film what is probably the most famous of them, Gaston Leroux’s Phantom of the opera. And, I have read George Eliot’s wonderful Daniel Deronda. Calling it a diva novel, though, seems a bit of a stretch. Off the top of my head, the only other novel I can recollect that features a diva is Ann Patchett’s pleasant (and Orange Prize Award-winning) Bel canto but it doesn’t follow the genre pattern as described by Ashman.

A simple Google search doesn’t come up with diva novels as a genre. Clearly this is a new topic ripe for the picking!

My mate the AktiMate

I’m late into mp3 players, mainly because I’m not all that keen on walking around with earbuds stuck in my ears. I like to engage with the world – particularly when I walk – rather than cut myself off. After all, isn’t it nice to have some pockets of peace in our otherwise wonderfully connected world? Slowly, though, I started to realise there were other benefits to having an iPod. The car. What a boon it is to be able to plug a player into the car and have immediate access to a large music library (not to mention podcasts and audiobooks) without having to carry around a bunch of CDs. And then there’s home. CDs are on the way out, electronic music is in, and I have in fact been downloading music from iTunes for a while now. BUT, among the plethora of iPod dock options out there, which one to get?

This is where Mr Gums, dare I call him that?, came to the rescue as he always does when it comes to things technological. There are limits, I’m afraid, to my feminism. So, what did I want:

  • a neat system that would not take up a lot of space and would be easy to use;
  • a basic system (as I don’t at this stage need much in the way of fancy functionality);
  • decent sound for a biggish space; and also, hopefully,
  • the ability to plug in my internet radio so I can better listen to great stations like Folk Alley.
AktiMateMini Speaker (1 of 2), with iPod and Internet Radio

AktiMate Mini Speaker (1 of 2), with iPod and Internet Radio

And what, after a search of shops and the internet, did he find to meet these criteria? The AktiMate Mini – two neat little speakers with an iPod dock on one of them, and a remote control. That’s it. It has good sound, particularly for my uncomplicated ears though the experts also review it well, is easy to use, and takes up little space. Looks good too, though I have to admit that, at first, the little iPod did look a bit silly perched on top, but I soon got used to that. And, they do only come in black and white, so you can’t coordinate with all those glorious iPod Nano colours! But that’s probably just as well – lime green chromate speakers might have been a bit of overkill.

In the end, it was all so easy … why did I take so long?

Four time winner: Tim Winton wins 2009 Miles Franklin

Photo by Denise Fitch, Australia Council for the Arts

Photo by Denise Fitch, Australia Council for the Arts

Well, it’s finally happened as I knew it must. Someone has equalled Thea Astley’s record number of four Miles Franklin Award wins as tonight Tim Winton was announced the 2009 winner with Breath. I was seriously considering making Thea Astley my third favourite writers post – I think this means that I will now have to.

Winton has won the award for Shallows (1984), Cloudstreet (1991), Dirt Music (2001) and now Breath (2009); and Astley for The Well Dressed Explorer (1962), The Slow Natives (1965), The Acolyte (1972) and Drylands (1999). Both writers are great stylists who use metaphor well, both tend to explore strong connections between character and landscape, and both are indubitably Australian! I think, however, that Astley’s pen ranged wider than Winton’s and she took more risks. That’s not to say that Winton doesn’t deserve his wins but I do think that Astley (she died in 2004) was and continues to be undervalued.

Breath

Anyhow, here is a brief recap of my thoughts on Breath which I read long before I started writing this blog. I’ll start with a quick plot summary just in case there’s someone out there who doesn’t know it! It is a first person, coming of age story told by Bruce “Pikelet” Pike. It starts with his boyhood friendship with Ivan “Loonie” Loon. As young boys, they dare each other to perform dangerous stunts in the local river, and then as teenagers, they take up surfing where they are encouraged into new levels of recklessness by a former professional surfer named Sando. As time passes, Pikelet’s friendship with Sando and Loonie disintegrates and is replaced by a rather equally scary relationship with Sando’s American wife Eva, an injured and therefore ex-skier.

Southwest Western Australia, by soulsurfer 3 @ flickr

Southwest Western Australia, by soulsurfer 3 @ flickr

I like the book. I like the way he sustains the “breath” metaphor throughout to represent various facets of life and life-giving (or life-taking) forces. Despite not being a surfer, I love his wonderfully visceral descriptions of surfing. I also like his exploration of the imperative to take risks that is so common in young men and that is often accompanied by a drive to “be someone”.

Related I suppose to the coming-of-age issue is the theme of learning to accept being ordinary.  After Sando and Loonie leave the first time, Pikelet goes out and surfs Old Smoky: the first time he does it he’s so successful he feels he’s not ordinary, but then in his overconfidence he does it again and nearly does himself in…this is the beginning of his changing point of view. As he says a little later when he reviews his relationship with Eva, “No, Eva was not ordinary. And neither was the form of consolation she preferred. Given my time over I would not do it all again”. In other words, while he had originally equated not being ordinary with doing big risky things, with courting fear, by the end of the novel he realises that life is “a tough gig” and is about more than courting fear and taking big risks. This doesn’t mean that he can’t do and enjoy a job that provides an andrenalin rush (paramedic/ambulance driver) but it does mean that he no longer seeks to be anything other than himself and that he now goes for an adrenaline rush in “safer” more acceptable ways.

Before he gets to this point, though, he has to come to terms with his Eva experience and with the fact that he spent a big part of his life blaming her for his problems. He eventually comes to the conclusion that “people are fools, not monsters”. This closely resembles my own world-view: that is, that mostly (there are obvious exceptions) when people do the wrong thing they do it, at best, from the best of intentions, or, at worst, for reasons of laziness, selfishness or just plain obliviousness.

There’s no neat ending or pat conclusion: Pikelet recognises that he has been damaged by his life experiences and that he needs to manage himself – but he still loves to surf, that is, to do something “pointless and beautiful”. In this sense it is very much a book of its post-modern age: the lesson almost is that there is no lesson, that each of us has to find our own way. Pikelet says to Sando “maybe ordinary’s not so bad”. As one who is rather ordinary herself, I concur!

Pramoedya Ananta Toer, This earth of mankind

Nationalism, in today’s western world, is pretty much a dirty word – and yet it is the idea of nationalism which underpins Indonesian writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer‘s Buru Quartet, of which I have just read the first book, This earth of mankind. Toer’s concept of nationalism was formed under colonial rule of his country by the Dutch and then under military rule by Indonesians. His notion of nationalism encompasses ideas of individual freedom and dignity, and the right of individuals and, by extension, the nations which they form, to be self-determining. None of these are well supported under colonial or military regimes.

Toer & a translator. Photo: Michael Scott Moore at radiofreemike.com

Toer & a translator. Photo: Michael Scott Moore at radiofreemike.com

Toer (1925-2006) spent quite a bit of his life as a political prisoner and, in fact, this novel was first told orally to co-inmates in 1973 when he was imprisoned on the Buru Island penal settlement. He was first imprisoned (1947-1949) by the Dutch government after an anti British and Dutch revolution, and then later by the Indonesian government, first in 1963 when he supported Chinese minorities, and then after a military coup in 1965.  On this third occasion, he was imprisoned until 1979, though after that was essentially kept under house arrest until 2002. The first two novels were published in 1979/1980, and were translated into English in 1981 by Australian diplomat in Indonesia, Max Lane, who was recalled to Australia that same year as a result. Clearly, the Indonesian government was not amused. Indeed, the books were banned by that government in 1981.

 

From Wikipedia, under GNU Free Documentation License

From Wikipedia, under GNU Free Documentation License

This earth of mankind is set in 1898, and provides a fascinating look at colonial life in Indonesia at that time. It tells the story of a Native, the only one to attend an elite school. Being a Native he has no formal name, and so throughout he is called several names – Sinyo or Nyo, Gus, and most commonly Minke. Early in the novel, he is introduced to a succesful concubine Nyai Ontosoroh and her beautiful daughter, Annelies, and is gradually drawn into their lives. The novel follows his – and their – fortunes as the colonial authority does its best to see that a Native does not rise above his station. Life turns out to be a paradoxical one for Minke – on the one hand his education teaches him to think and argue and believe that all things are possible while on the other hand the colonial structure, within which he lives, works to ensure that little is possible.

The novel is peopled with a wide range of characters of various ethnic backgrounds – primarily Dutch, Indo (people with Dutch and Native parentage), and Natives, but also French and Chinese. This ensures that the strictly enforced layer of colonially-decided rights is set against a wide variety of political and personal opinions and provides the reader with an excellent insight into a complex society. This is perhaps also the cause of its main flaw because it is, at heart, an ideological novel. And, like many ideological novels, characters and plots are simplified and exaggerated to make the point. So, in simple terms the story can be seen as poor clever boy meets rich powerful concubine and falls in love with her beautiful but weak daughter only to be crossed by the wicked brother. The story has a melodramatic edge and there’s not a lot of complexity – of greys – to the characters. They are there to serve a purpose.

That said, it is a rivetting read. Told, first person, in Minke’s voice, the novel immediately engages us with him and his situation. He is, in fact, a little more rounded than the others: we get a sense of his uncertainty as he makes his various decisions throughout the book. This is largely because it is also a coming-of-age novel: paralleling the ideological issues underpinning the novel is the story of Minke’s emotional, social and intellectual development. A major thread is that of education and what can (should) be expected of an educated person. Early in the novel his “mentor”, the French artist, Jean Marais, tells him:

You’re educated Minke. An educated person must learn to act justly, beginning first of all with his thoughts, then later in his deeds. That is what it means to be educated.

This advice underpins Minke’s thought and actions from that point on: at each test or decision point he tries to apply his education.  There’s bitter irony here though because it is the source of that education – Europe – that causes his major problems at the end. As Minke is fast learning, you have to be strong to survive.

There’s a lot more that can be teased out in this book – including the role played by language in controlling and enforcing power and status – but rather than ramble on, I will end with the words of Minke’s favourite teacher, Magda Peters. She says:

…without a love of literature, you’ll remain just a lot of clever animals

It is not surprising then that Minke, Toer’s alter ego in this book, becomes a writer!

(Translated by Max Lane)

Favourite writers: 2, Elizabeth Jolley

Not , unfortunately, being a time-traveller, I haven’t managed to see or hear Jane Austen in person. I am, however, far more fortunate in this regard when it comes to the subject of my next favourite writers post – Elizabeth Jolley. I did get to see and hear her at a literary lunch at the height of her career. My reaction was the same as many others – her “little old lady” appearance and voice belied her sharp wit and earthy worldliness.

Elizabeth Jolley (Photo: Courtesy Fremantle Arts Centre Press)

Elizabeth Jolley (Photo: Courtesy Fremantle Press)

It’s not surprising that she is one of my favourite writers: I call her my antipodean Jane Austen. She is witty and ironic, she is wicked (though blacker than Austen), and she tends to write about a small number of people in a confined, often domestic, situation. But here the similarity ends. While the “character” of Austen’s characters play a role in what happens to them – there’s a reason why Elizabeth not someone like Lydia “gets” Mr Darcy – Austen’s main interest is in the social and economic constraints on her characters. Jolley on the other hand focuses more on the interior. She explores loneliness and alienation. She looks at the disturbing or unsettling sides of relationships, the ‘feelings’ people have but often don’t admit to such as those for a person of the same sex or for a person for whom they should not have feelings for (due, for example, to age differences, power differences, or infidelity). She shows how difficult it is to maintain a long-term intimate or deep relationship that is equal on all levels (physical, intellectual, social, material, etc).

In the Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry (Vol. 25, No. 1, 1991), Jolley writes:

In my own writing I have been interested in the exploration of survival (perhaps emotional survival), resilience and responsibility. (I only know this now after several books are written).

How very Jolleyesque that aside is – humble but a bit sly at the same time. She continues a little later to say:

…for the most part my characters are perplexed, anxious, often frightened with perhaps one redeeming aspect in their personalities – that of optimism which might for a time, until it gets out of hand, keep them from the specialist’s doorstep.

Photo: Courtesy Fremantle Press

Photo: Courtesy Fremantle Press

The first Jolley I read was the short story, “Night runner”, in an anthology titled Room to move. It introduced me to her concept of alienation and rather black notion of survival, her particular brand of irony, her portrayal of characters who more often than not suffer from some level of self-delusion, and her dark humour. I went on to read Miss Peabody’s inheritance, The newspaper of Claremont Street, The well, The sugar mother, and An innocent gentleman, among others, and have never really been disappointed. I enjoy her use of repetition and self-referencing, the motifs and the characters, even, that reappear in different works.  She gets me in the pit of my stomach with her vulnerable but often unkind or downright cruel characters, but makes me laugh at the same time with her depictions of their attempts at survival. You just have to see Ruth Cracknell playing The woman in a lampshade to know what I mean!

I have not yet read all of Jolley’s works. Just as for a long time I kept back one Jane Austen novel because once I’d read it I’d have read them all, I am now doing the same with Jolley. Her books are so delicious they need to be savoured. I’m sure this is not the last post I’ll be writing about her.