Erin O'Riordan writes smart, whimsical erotica. Her erotic romance novel trilogy, Pagan Spirits, is now available. With her husband, she also writes crime novels. Visit her home page at ko-fi.com.
Beatles Trivia July 18, 1995, South Bend: I dropped Mom off at work. When I came home, I turned on the tv to see Yoko Ono and beautiful, 19-year-old Sean Lennon [Ono] on the Today show.
Bummer July 18th
July 18, 1817: Jane Austen dies, aged 41. Her death is speculated to have been from Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
July 18, 1954: 18-year-old Dorothy Poore’s decomposing body is found stuffed inside a dresser drawer inside a room at the Claypool Hotel in downtown Indianapolis. Her killer is apprehended in Missouri and brought back to Indiana, where he is convicted and serves more than 25 years before being released on parole. He claimed to have killed the teenager after failing to recruit her as a sex worker.
July 18, 1966: Rock musician Bobby Fuller, whose band The Bobby Fuller Four has recently scored a hit with “I Fought the Law,” is found dead in his car outside his apartment in Hollywood. Fuller is 23 years old. His body has no signs of injury other than some small spots (indicated broken capillaries under the skin) thought to have been caused by the summer heat. No cause of death is ever determined. Strangely, the boxes for both “accident” and “suicide” are checked on the Los Angeles deputy medical examiner’s report.
July 18, 1969: U.S. Senator Edward (“Ted”) Kennedy leaves a cocktail party in his car with a passenger, Mary Joe Kopechne. The impaired senator drives the vehicle into a lake. He manages to escape, but Kopechne drowns. Kennedy fails to report the deadly accident until the following morning. He later pleads guilty to leaving the scene of an accident.
July 18, 1975: Influential graffiti-style artist Vaughn Bodē, age 33, is found dead of apparent autoerotic asphyxiation.
July 18, 1984: A lone gunman kills 21 people and wounds an additional 19 people at a McDonald’s restaurant in San Ysidro*, California. The gunman is subsequently killed by a police sniper.
In her book Murderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial Killers, Caroline Fraser offers the theory that the perpetrator suffered from severe heavy metal poisoning as a result of exposure to high levels of cadmium at his workplace, where he was a welder. Outbursts of violent behavior are a documented side effect of cadmium poisoning.
July 18, 1988: Christa Päffgen, the model and singer who performed under the mononym Nico, dies in Ibiza at age 49 from a cerebral hemorrhage suffered from a fall off her bicycle.
July 18, 1989: Actress Rebecca Schaeffer, then the star of the popular sitcom My Sister Sam, is shot in the chest at her home by a 19-year-old obsessed fan who has stalked her over the course of three years. He became enraged when she appeared in a film in which her character is seen in bed with a male character. Schaeffer dies at the hospital.
*San Ysidro, in English, is called Saint Isadore, and he's the patron saint of farmers.
It's been 13 years, but I have thoughts. I'll skip the characters I don't know from books I haven't read.
111. Frankenstein’s Monster (Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus). Fair, judging solely by the book. But in Maggie Gyllenhaal's forthcoming The Bride of Frankenstein retelling The Bride (2025), the Monster will be played by Christian Bale. Which bumps him up to #1. I apologize in advance for the feelings I will feel about that movie.
110. Uriah Heep (David Copperfield)
109. Casaubon (Middlemarch). If I remember Middlemarch, the main character's elderly husband looked like the philosopher John Locke, but I pictured him as Lost!John Locke. Not unhot.
108. Bradley Headstone (Our Mutual Friend)
107. Samuel Pickwick (Pickwick Papers)
106. Gussie Fink-Nottle (Right Ho, Jeeves)
105. Keith Talent (London Fields)
104. Jerry Cruncher (Tale of Two Cities). Domestic violence perpetrator; deserves to be at the bottom.
103. Hercule Poirot (The Mysterious Affair at Styles). What's wrong with Poirot? He's smart, he's Belgian, he keeps his moustache neat. In the movies he's Kenneth Branagh. What have we got against Poirot?
102. Ham Peggotty (David Copperfield)
101. Thorin Oakenshield (The Hobbit). This is just anti-dwarfish. In the movies he's Richard Armitage. That gay Brit is pretty hot. Adaptational attractiveness? Sure, but still, I think a lot of Tolkien men are ranked too low on this list.
100. Tracy Tupman (Pickwick Papers)
99. Julian Malory (Excellent Women)
98. C.J. Stryver (A Tale of Two Cities). This one is correct. Sydney Carton is the hot one at this law firm.
97. Charles Arrowby (The Sea, the Sea)
96. Dr. Watson (“A Study In Scarlet”). Wrong. Watson is a catch. He's a Victorian 10.
95. Willy Wonka (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). Ma'am, he has unlimited access to chocolate. That should bump him into the Top 50, at least.
94. Jim Dixon (Lucky Jim)
93. Edward Ferrars (Sense and Sensibility). I'm sorry, but in what universe is Edward Ferrars less bangable than George Wickham? Carrie Frye, did you read these books all the way through to the end?
92. Colonel Brandon (Sense and Sensibility). EXCUSE ME?!?
68. Peter Pan (Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up). MA'AM HE IS A LITERAL CHILD. HE SHOULD NOT BE ON THIS LIST.
67. Long John Silver (Treasure Island)
66. King Lear (King Lear)
65. Reginald Jeeves (“Extricating Young Gussie”)
64. Henry Pulling (Travels with My Aunt)
63. Romeo (Romeo and Juliet). Another literal child from the reader's pov, but pretty bangable to his age-appropriate partner, I guess?
62. Tristram Shandy (The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman)
61. Winston Smith (Nineteen Eighty-Four)
60. Roland Michell (Possession)
59. Crow (Crow)
58. Brigadier Etienne Gerard (The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard)
57. Tertius Lydgate (Middlemarch). I don't remember who this is.
56. Lord Sebastian Flyte (Brideshead Revisited)
55. Henry Crawford (Mansfield Park)
54. Frederick Wentworth (Persuasion)
53. Edward Murdstone (David Copperfield)
52. Desmond Ragwort (Thus Was Adonis Murdered)
51. Captain Hook (Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up). I feel like he should be closer to 111. Unless we're talking about that one adaptation with Jason Isaacs. I like Jason Isaacs.
50. Charles Darnay (A Tale of Two Cities). That's pretty fair. Sure, he looks exactly, weirdly like Sydney Carton, but Charles Darnay has another golden retriever personality. Pleasant, I suppose, but not sexy. Plus he's probably sad about his dead son.
45. Legolas (The Lord of the Rings). Tolkien elves are hot.
44. Robin Hood (Piers Plowman)
43. Inspector Alan Grant (The Man in the Queue)
42. George Emerson (A Room with a View)
41. Alan Breck Stewart (Kidnapped)
40. Rockingham Napier (Excellent Women)
39. Mr. Neville (Hotel du Lac)
38. St. John Rivers (Jane Eyre). Colonialist. Not sexy.
37. Remus Lupin (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban)
36. Lancelot (The Once and Future King)
35. Othello (Othello, The Moor of Venice). He definitely killed his wife. We saw him do it. Therefore, unbangable.
34. Tarzan/Lord Greystoke (Tarzan of the Apes). I know he was on my Disney "would" list, but let's be honest: The real sexiness is Tony Goldwyn's.
33. Severus Snape (Harry Potter and the Philospher’s Stone)
32. Aslan (The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe). Ma'am, he is a literal lion. He shouldn't be on this list. I'm pretty sure he's an asexual untame talking lion.
31. Sydney Carton (A Tale of Two Cities). Should be closer to #1 OBVIOUSLY.
30. John Willoughby (Sense and Sensibility). This much higher than Edward Ferrars? Really?
29. Thomas Cromwell (Wolf Hall)
28. Maxim de Winter (Rebecca). Um, didn't he kill his wife?
27. Simon Bakerloo (The Wolves of Willoughby Chase)
26. Sirius Black (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). Yeah. Or maybe a little higher, even. This is not an endorsement of J.K. Rowling, whose attempt to gaslight the Internet into ignoring Nazi anti-lgbtq+ violence makes me ill. If I were a billionaire writer with a huge platform, I simply would not use my huge platform to target a vulnerable minority.
25. Brian de Bois-Guilbert (Ivanhoe)
24. Adam Dalgliesh (Cover Her Face)
23. James Bond (Casino Royale). James Bond's behavior and personality are offputting. The only thing that ever makes James Bond sexy is when he's played by Daniel Craig.
22. James Steerforth (David Copperfield)
21. Tom Bombadil (The Lord of the Rings). Accurate. Tom Bombadil might not be a permanent keeper, but he does sound fun.
20. Edward Driffield (Cakes And Ale)
19. Sherlock Holmes (“A Study In Scarlet”). I never get very strong sexy vibes from book!Sherlock. Watson does more for me. But the sound of Benedict Cumberbatch's voice is an entirely different story. (Hours spent reading Johnlock fanfic? Who, me?)
18. Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon (These Old Shades)
17. Robert Frobisher (Cloud Atlas). That's about right. Sexy, but sad. Depraved bisexual trope, but sexy.
14. Algernon Moncrieff (The Importance of Being Earnest)
13. Randolph Henry Ash (Possession)
12. Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights). I have normal, proportional feelings about Heathcliff and about Ralph Fiennes playing him. I'm normal about Byronic antiheroes.
11. Maurice Bendrix (The End of the Affair)
10. Beorn (The Hobbit)
9. Orlando (Orlando: A Biography). Strongly agree. Ms. Carrie Frye and I are on the same page here.
8. Oliver Mellors (Lady Chatterley’s Lover). I get it.
7. Lord Peter Wimsey (Strong Poison)
6. Don Juan (Don Juan)
5. The Beast (“The Tiger’s Bride”)
4. Eugene Wrayburn (Our Mutual Friend)
The top three are fine. I feel like there should me more Shakespeare in here somewhere, though. I feel like the unsexy Shakespeare characters are covered better than the actually hot ones. Benedick, anyone? Dom Demetrius, afraid of yet intrigued by Helena's sub tendencies?
My almanac project is on a brief hiatus while I explore more immediately profitable work than a book, but please enjoy these reminiscences of July 13ths past.
July 13, 1890: Ambrose Bierce’s best-known short story, “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,” is published.
July 13, 1999, South Bend: This morning when I read the newspaper I said, “I want to see Shakespeare in Love.”
Kevin responded, “You want him to be in love?”
I said, “Yes, and I know just the English girl to set him up with.”
Later that day I went to the bargain movie theater at Scotsdale Mall, the theater that only costs $1 during the day, and saw Shakespeare in Love. It had Joseph Fiennes, Gwyneth Paltrow, Dame Judy Densch (as Queen Elizabeth), Geoffrey Rush, and Ben Affleck. Rupert Everett appears briefly as Christopher Marlowe; he suggests the plot of Romeo and Juliet (which Shakespeare wanted to call Romeo and Ethel the Pirate’s Daughter), then gets killed offscreen.
Gwyneth Paltrow was very good at Viola, a lady who loves poetry and the theater. She disguises herself as a man to be an actor and gets the part of Romeo, while at the same time inspiring the role of Juliet. Sadly, their love does not go smoothly, for she has to get married to a local nobleman who wants to make her move to Virginia. (The American colonies were brand spanking new in Shakespeare’s time.)
It’s really a great story. I didn’t know exactly what to expect but was pleased with how the movie unfolded. It’s funny, too.
When I got home I went straight to my bookshelf, pulled down Brush Up Your Poetry (my best source of Brit Lit info), and see what Christopher Marlowe was famous for (other than dying in a bar fight). It seems to be mainly the plays Doctor Faustus and The Jew of Malta. He coined the phrase “love at first sight:”
“Where both deliberate, the love is slight;
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?”
July 13, 2002, Mishawaka: Tit and I got married at the band shell at Battell Park. After a Polish-style dinner at the reception and hours of dancing and socializing, we stayed at the Courtyard Marriott for the night.
I can describe this event in minute detail, but I’m afraid those details won’t be interesting or meaningful to anyone except Tit Elingtin and me.
July 13, 2003: First wedding anniversary! We drove to Navy Pier and went on a cruise on Lake Michigan. Our cruise on the Odyssey II was nothing at all like The Odyssey of Homer. (No, not that minivan that Homer Simpson rented.) We experienced no storms, no shipwrecks.
We had a warm, slightly breezy day. The worst part of it was when we sat on the metal chairs on the observation deck, I got all hot and sweaty and my armpits started to stink. There were no sea monsters. One lady wore a necklace made out of multicolored plastic beads like rosary beads. Not all of the colors were pretty, and they seemed to have been strung in a random order. The resulting mix of colors reminded me of an afghan made with every yarn in the knitting basket. No sea monsters; that necklace was the only aesthetically non-pleasing thing I saw.
No Circe hung around to turn the men into pigs. We all turned ourselves into pigs when presented with the brunch buffet. And then we had a dessert buffet at the end of the cruise. I ate a coconut brownie, a cream-filled pastry, and a slice of raspberry cheese cake. Tit ate all three kinds of cheesecake. He had 2 plates of desserts, actually, washed down with a big glass of chocolate milk. (Mmm, I wish I had one of those chocolate brownies right now.)
One guy sounded a little bit like a pig when his little son showed up with a balloon animal that the ship's magician gave him. “Look daddy, I have a bunny!” he said of a balloon creature with two loops sticking out of the side. “Or a sword!” said the dad. Do you really want to encourage that little boy to prefer weapons to cute, cuddly little creatures, dad? The boy insisted, though, that it was a bunny, not a sword. (I'm not saying I'm against playing games that involve violence or weapons. What I am against is stereotyping children into strict gender roles. More on that follows.) Another boy had a palm tree made out of balloons, and he was pretending it was a gun that shot coconuts.
We encountered no sirens. Thank gods (as Ulysses would say), because I didn't particularly feel like stuffing beeswax in my ears or being tied to the mast. The only music came from the jazz trio. There were some young women in very short skirts whose butts attracted Tit's attention. (I don't mind. He can't help looking, and it's nothing to feel insecure about.) To me, the most tempting (to look at) creature on the ship was a tall, bleached blonde guy in a beige ribbed t-shirt and a pair of khaki pants, and leather loafers with no socks. He was very stylish, and furthermore he spoke with an English accent. He spent the whole time with a shorter, slightly less well-dressed dark-haired man in a light blue polo shirt. They drank coffee out on the hot observation deck and didn't show any signs of sweating. The bleached blonde wasn't exactly a siren, but I could imagine him singing, “You and me and the devil makes three, don't need no other lovin' baby,” like the sirens in O Brother, Where Art Thou?.
We met no Cyclops on this Odyssey. Not even a one-eyed Bible salesman. If we wanted adventure, the most we could have hoped for was a balloon-sword fight. It wasn't the boys this time. It was two girls dressed up in platform shoes and–well, dresses. Both of them had hats made out of twisted-up balloons. It reminded me of the creative headdresses worn by the girls (and later, the women) in The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. The girl in the bright pink dress had her pink hat pulled down over her face, rather like she was in a fencing match. So maybe it wasn't even a “fight.” It might have been more of a good-natured sport.
Earlier I thought I saw the same girls walking poodles made of balloons. Then I heard a pop. It may have been different little girls. My memory was slightly hazed by the combination of Dramamine and Champagne. I was a little sleepy for most of the cruise. I had about four cups of coffee (some of the best coffee I've ever tasted, by the way) and a Vanilla Coke in Chicago, but it didn't help me stay awake.
Other than the balloon poodles, the strangest creature on the ship was a black butterfly. It passed in front of me, then fluttered toward the shore.
I'll have to thank my parents for the cruise. The weather was pleasant, the view was nice, and the food was awesome. The jazz trio wasn't bad, either. I liked their take on the Marvin Gaye song “What's Going On.”
After the cruise (and despite drowsiness), we walked around downtown (we paid $18 to park in that Navy Pier garage, and we wanted our money's worth) and found the free newspaper New City. I love the clip art in this paper, and I sometimes enjoy reading the descriptions of out-of-the-way theater productions, independent films and art exhibits. Not much good in the July 10 issue, though. I think I should read The Effects of Living Backwards by Heidi Julavits, reviewed in the newspaper. [But I never did.]
Okay, now a word on the Ya-Yas. The movie stars Sandra Bullock as a NY-based writer with a very dysfunctional relationship with her Louisiana mother. The mother has three best friends, and the four of them make up the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. They have their own rituals, including drinking “blood” made of chocolate syrup, as well as a fierce loyalty to each other from childhood. They know all of each other's secrets, like the tragic death of Teensy's brother in the war. They know why the mother, Vivian, disappeared when her children were small, only to reappear months later with no explanation. It seems she had a terrible problem with alcoholism, which her doctors mistakenly thought they could cure with pills.
I wish I could have seen the whole thing and paid it more attention, but I had to go take a shower and get ready for a family wedding.
July 13, 2005: Third wedding anniversary! We took the South Shore to Chicago and visited Shedd Aquarium. We saw a giant Amazonian python, a tank with various species of shark, bioluminescent jellyfish, enormous crabs, white belugas, swimming penguins, and dolphins who understood sign language. Animals! Who understood a human language! That’s astounding!
Later we walked through the art gallery district, where we visited:
From there we hopped on the El, got off at the Berwyn stop, and went to Early to Bed, a sex-positive shop on N. Clark St. I’d seen advertised in Venus magazine. [Wikipedia: “Venus Zine was a quarterly internationally circulated magazine covering women in music, film, art, entertainment, literature, fashion, indie culture, and DIY culture. It was published from 1995 through 2010.”]
In the evening, we took a bicycle taxi to the Hancock Building, where there was no wait to ride the elevator to the 96th floor, the observation deck. We looked to the southwest and saw fireworks being launched from a boat off Navy Pier. Chicago has a large enough contingent of French citizens that it has a Bastille Day celebration, and Bastille Day is July 14th.
July 13, 2010, Mishawaka: For our 8th anniversary, Tit and I ate breakfast at Carol’s, had lunch at Granite City, shopped at the mall, visited my parents, then had dinner at Bonefish Grill.
July 13, 2014, South Bend: For our 12th anniversary, Tit and I went rafting on the East Race. We took two trips down the whitewater race in a rubber raft. I fell in once. Later we went for a tandem bike ride and stopped at Smith’s for a beer.
Monday, July 13, 2020, Indianapolis: We didn’t go anywhere for our anniversary due to COVID-19 pandemic restrictions, but we did order Chinese food for delivery. The masked delivery driver left the bag of food on our front steps and insisted on getting back in his car before we opened our storm door to get the food. These are the kinds of precautions we have to take when a highly contagious, potentially deadly virus is going around.
Tuesday, July 13, 2021, Indianapolis: On a recommendation from our friend Hadya, Tit and I went to Union 50 on Mass Ave. for our anniversary dinner. It’s literally an old union hall converted into a fancy restaurant. We sat outside on the patio and ordered such things as a meat and cheese board with pimiento cheese, beet salad, and a braised lamb shank. We got carrot cake to go.
Thursday, July 13, 2023: This is what we're doing today:
ICYMI, this post is the latest in a series highlighting one of my two current books in process,The Almanac of Bad Days(tentative title). Past installments:
July 1, 1996: Model/actress Margaux Hemingway, the granddaughter of Ernest Hemingway, is found dead inside her home in Santa Monica, California. She has died by suicide after overdosing on the barbiturate medication Luminal.
July 2, 1961: Ernest Hemingway dies by suicide at his home in Ketchum, Idaho.
July 7, 1930: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dies of a heart attack at age 71. Reportedly, his last words were to his wife Jean: “You are wonderful.”
July 8, 1822: Poet Percy Shelley drowns while out sailing with a friend. He is 29 years old.
July 8, 1918: Ernest Hemingway is wounded while serving as a volunteer ambulance driver for the Red Cross during World War I.
July 10, 1861: After asking for a cup of coffee, Frances “Fanny” Appleton Longfellow dies of burn injuries she sustained the day before. Fanny’s dress caught on fire when either a spark or hot wax made contact with her dress as she melted sealing wax to seal an envelope containing locks of her children’s hair.
Her husband, poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was napping when he heard her screams and attempted to smother the flames with a rug. Longfellow also sustained burns to his arms and face to the extent that he was too injured to attend Fanny’s funeral. He wore a beard for the rest of his life to conceal his facial scars.
July 10, 1873: French poet Paul Verlaine shoots his inappropriately younger lover/fellow poet Arthur Rimbaud in the wrist, wounding him, although the injury is not serious.
July 11, 1807: Vice President Aaron Burr shoots U.S. Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton in a duel in New Jersey. Hamilton dies the next day.
July 11, 1906: Pregnant, 20-year-old Grace Brown, a worker in the Gillette Skirt Factory, is intentionally drowned and murdered by her boyfriend Chester Gillette, nephew of the factory owner. Gillette is subsequently executed in the electric chair.
The murder inspires Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, which in turn inspires the 1951 film A Place In the Sun. The character based on Brown is played by Shelley Winters.
July 12, 1562: Bishop Diego de Landa orders the burning of Maya codices of the Yucatán, to the utter horror of the Maya people who witness the act. Only three manuscripts are known to have survived into the 21st century.
July 12, 2014: 30-year-old John Christopher Wallace, who went by Chris, dies after running deliberately into a burning wooden effigy at the Element 11 festival in Utah. The effigy was formed in the shape of one of the monster characters from the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Volunteers attempted to stop Wallace before he got too close to the fire, but were unable to prevent the suicide.
July 14, 2017: Stunt performer John Bernecker dies from injuries he sustained the previous day. While filming stunt footage for the TV show The Walking Dead, Bernecker had fallen 20 feet off a balcony onto a concrete floor.
July 15, 1974: During a live broadcast of the digest news program on which she appeared, 29-year-old journalist Christine Chubbuck pulls a loaded handgun from her purse, places it behind her left ear, and shoots herself in the head. She dies at Sarasota (Florida) Memorial Hospital fourteen hours later. Her family gets a court order to keep the tape of the broadcast from ever being aired again.
July 17, 1935: Cudjoe Lewis dies. The formerly enslaved man’s story of being kidnapped from his home in what is now Benin is the subject of Zora Neale Hurston’s book Barracoon.
July 18, 1817: Jane Austen dies, aged 41. Her death is speculated to have been from Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
July 18, 1988: Christa Päffgen, the model and singer who performed under the mononym Nico, dies in Ibiza at age 49 from a cerebral hemorrhage suffered from a fall off her bicycle.
July 19, 1374: Tuscan poet Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca) dies on the eve of his 70th birthday.
July 19, 1850: Journalist Margaret Fuller returns, with her husband and child, from assignment as the New York Tribune’s European correspondent aboard the merchant ship Elizabeth. The vessel’s captain has died of smallpox during the 5-week voyage. The Elizabeth, being piloted by her less-experienced first mate, strikes a sandbar off of Fire Island and is run aground. Many of the crew abandon ship and are able to swim to shore, but Fuller and her husband are never found and are presumed to have drowned. Their son’s body is found washed up on the shore.
July 21, 1796: The poet Robert Burns dies at the age of 37, leaving behind his wife and five children.
July 22, 1934: Criminal John Dillinger is shot dead by FBI agent Melvin Purvis outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago.
July 23, 1846: Henry David Thoreau is put in jail for refusing to pay a $1 poll tax. He’s protesting the poll tax on the grounds that it supports slavery.
July 23, 2011: English jazz singer Amy Winehouse passes away, having recently completed rehabilitation for a severe alcohol addiction.
July 25, 1966: Poet Frank O’Hara dies from a ruptured liver. The previous night he had been struck by a dune buggy on Fire Island while standing near a beach taxi that had broken down.
July 28, 1841: Either the police or a pair of fisherman (accounts vary) discover the body of Mary Cecilia Rogers floating in the Hudson River near Hoboken, New Jersey. Rogers, who was 20 or 21 years old and worked as a cigar seller in New York City, was last seen by her family on the 25th. Although the case is officially unsolved, it’s suspected she was either murdered by her boyfriend Daniel Payne or perhaps died as a result of an illegal abortion.
Payne killed himself by overdosing on alcohol and laudanum on October 7, 1841. The discover of Rogers’s body inspired Edgar Allan Poe to write “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt.”
July 30, 1918: American author Joyce Kilmer is killed in action, shot by a sniper at the Second Battle of the Marne in the First World War.
July 31, 1703: Daniel Defoe is locked in a pillory as a punishment after being found guilty of seditious libel. He has criticized church officials in a pamphlet.
Sameen now found the difference between
the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may
be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, that in
spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, while Root remained
single, that something would occur to prevent her marrying Leon; that
some resolution of her own, some mediation of friends, or some more
eligible opportunity of establishment for the gentleman, would arise
to assist the happiness of all. But Root was now married; and Sameen
condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much
heightened the pain of the intelligence.
That Root should be married soon,
before (as Sameen imagined) she could be in orders, and consequently
before she could be in possession of the living, surprised her a
little at first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Leon, in his
self-provident care, in his haste to secure Root, should overlook
everything but the risk of delay. They were married, married in town,
and now hastening down to her uncle's. What had Root felt on being
within four miles from the subway station, on seeing Mr. Finch’s
servant, on hearing Leon's message!
They would soon, she supposed, be
settled at Long Island.—Long Island,—that place in which so much
conspired to give her an interest; which she wished to be acquainted
with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their
parsonage-house; saw in Leon, the active, contriving manager, uniting
at once a desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality, and
ashamed to be suspected of half his economical practices;—pursuing
his own interest in every thought, courting the favour of Colonel Reese, of The Machine, and of every wealthy friend. In Root—Sameen
knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;—happy or
unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every
sketch of her.
Sameen flattered herself that some one
of their connections in Brooklyn would write to them to announce the
event, and give farther particulars,—but day after day passed off,
and brought no text, no e-mail. Though uncertain that any one were to
blame, she found fault with every absent friend. They were all
thoughtless or indolent.
"When do you write to Colonel
Reese, Mr. Finch?" was an inquiry which sprung from the
impatience of her mind to have something going on.
"I wrote to him, Miss Shaw, last
week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I
earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to
see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."
This was gaining something, something
to look forward to. Colonel Reese must have some information to give.
Scarcely had she so determined it, when
the figure of a person on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He
or she stopt at their gate. It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Reese
himself. Now she could hear more; and she trembled in expectation of
it. But—it was NOT Colonel Reese—neither his air—nor his
height. Were it possible, she must say it must be Root. She looked
again. She had just dismounted;—Sameen could not be mistaken,—it
WAS Root. Sameen moved away and sat down. "She comes from Mr.
Elias's purposely to see us. I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of
myself."
In a moment she perceived that the
others were likewise aware of the mistake. She saw Mr. Finch and
Fusco change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few
sentences to each other. She would have given the world to be able to
speak—and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no
slight, would appear in their behaviour to Root;—but she had no
utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.
Not a syllable passed aloud. They all
waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor. Her footsteps
were heard along the gravel path; in a moment she was in the passage,
and in another she was before them.
Her countenance, as she entered the
room, was not too happy, even for Sameen. Her complexion was white
with agitation, and she looked as if fearful of her reception, and
conscious that she merited no kind one. Mr. Finch, however,
conforming, as he trusted, to the wishes of that asset, by whom he
then meant in the warmth of his heart to be guided in everything, met
with a look of forced complacency, gave Root his hand, and wished her
joy.
Root coloured, and stammered out an
unintelligible reply. Sameen's lips had moved with Mr. Finch's, and,
when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken
hands with Root too. But it was then too late, and with a countenance
meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather.
Fusco had retreated as much as possible
out of sight, to conceal his distress; and Bear, understanding some
part, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent on him to
be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from Root as he could,
and maintained a strict silence.
http://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/belgian-malinois/
When Sameen had ceased to rejoice in
the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put
an end to by Mr. Finch, who felt obliged to hope that Root had left
Mr. Groves very well. In a hurried manner, Root replied in the
affirmative.
Another pause.
Sameen resolving to exert herself,
though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said,
"Is Mr. Groves at the safe house?"
"At the safe house!" Root
replied, with an air of surprise.— "No, my father is in
Texas."
"I meant," said Sameen,
taking up some work from the table, "to inquire for Mr. SAMANTHA
Groves."
She dared not look up;—but Finch and
Fusco both turned their eyes on Root. Root coloured, seemed
perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said,—
"Perhaps you mean—my brother—you
mean Mr.—Mr. Samuel Groves."
"Mr. Samuel Groves!"—was
repeated by Fusco and Mr. Finch in an accent of the utmost
amazement;—and though Sameen could not speak, even HER eyes were
fixed on Root with the same impatient wonder. Root rose from her
seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to
do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling
both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as she
spoke, said, in a hurried voice,
"Perhaps you do not know—you may
not have heard that my brother is lately married to—to the
youngest—to Mr. Leon Tao."
Her words were echoed with unspeakable
astonishment by all but Sameen, who sat with her head leaning over
her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where
she was.
"Yes," said Root, "they
were married last week, and are now at Dallas."
Sameen could sit it no longer. She
almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst
into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease.
Root, who had till then looked anywhere, rather than at her, saw her
hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even heard, her emotion; for
immediately afterwards she fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no
inquiries, no affectionate address of Mr. Finch could penetrate, and
at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out
towards the village—leaving the others in the greatest astonishment
and perplexity on a change in Root’s situation, so wonderful and so
sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by
their own conjectures.
Well, no, but I did finally finish Middlemarch. I've been reading this book since January. I thought I would breeze right through it, but it turned out to be 800 dense pages of characterization of virtually every person in the fictional Midlands English town of Middlemarch. It centers mainly on two marriages: the marriage of young, idealistic Dorothea Brooke to the older, bachelor scholar Edward Casaubon, and the marriage of spoiled "princess" Rosamond Vincy to a newcomer to Middlemarch, the physician-scientist Tertius Lydgate. Rosamond's brother, Fred Vincy, wants to marry the sweet-natured Mary Garth, but encounters many obstacles in the course of that courtship.
Edward Casaubon is described as looking like the philosopher John Locke.
Public domain image
However, when I started reading this, I did not know what the philosopher John Locke looked like, so I imagined Edward as looking like the character John Locke on Lost, as portrayed by actor Terry O'Quinn. Edward's life work is a lengthy philosophical and theological work that compares several ancient mythologies. Part of the reason Dorothea married him is that she wants to be a part of something important, and she thinks helping Edward with his scholarship will help her achieve this goal.
Creative Commons image
While the Casaubons are on their honeymoon in Italy, they run into Will Ladislaw, a young cousin of Edward's. Will is considered somewhat disreputable in Middlemarch because his mother ran off and married a man "below her station," a Polish musician. He has no inheritance, no living, and is out in the world on his own. Dorothy feels an immediate sympathy with him. Edward feels jealousy over his wife's interest in Will, and changes his will to say that Dorothy will not inherit any money if she remarries Will.
I can't exactly say why, but I keep picturing Will Ladislaw as Ben Whishaw.
Creative Commons image by KikeValencia
Will and Dorothea are attracted to one another, but they are proper Victorians and wouldn't dare do anything about it. They can't even admit their attraction to themselves. Rosamond, on the other hand, is an improper Victorian. Because she's such an attractive young lady, she's used to flirting with men and having them give her anything she wants. In her head, she imagines Will is in love with her. She has no intention of acting on her attraction to Will, but she has a romantic fantasy built up in her silly little head. Rosamond's ignorance of practical matters causes her husband great, great distress.
This isn't an exciting classic, like The Count of Monte Cristo or Gone With the Wind, but it is an interesting book. I read it because my copy of Jane Eyre said that if I liked that book I might also like this one. I LOVED Jane Eyre. I must point out, though, that there aren't a lot of obvious similarities. Both deal with class differences and the shifting position of women in society, though.
Middlemarch isn't nearly as romantic as Jane Eyre, nor is it as witty as anything Jane Austen ever wrote. I said before (in this post) that I thought George Eliot was a contemporary of Austen and the Bronte sisters, but this wasn't accurate. George Eliot was born (as Mary Anne Evans) in 1819, and Middlemarch was published in installments between 1871 and 1872. Jane Austen died in 1817, two years before Evans was born. Emily Bronte's short life spanned 1818-1848, and her sister Charlotte lived 1816-1855. Jane Eyre was published in 1847. Charlotte Bronte came the closest to being Evans' contemporary, but she died relatively young and published her most famous work long before Middlemarch debuted.
George Eliot is more cerebral and philosophical than her Regency-era predecessor Jane Austen, and the pleasure of reading her is a more subtle one than the emotional Romantic-era drama of the Brontes. However, I was not unsatisfied with the ending, and I'm glad I had the patience to finish all 800+ pages.
Apparently, HarperCollins is embarking on a project of bringing some of the best-loved Jane Austen classics into the 21st century with modernized retellings. Joanna Trollope's is to be the first of three by three different writers.
I found this updated version of Sense and Sensibility to be charming and delightful. Trollope's retelling is true to the characters of Elinor and Marianne Dashwood as Austen wrote them, even if Elinor is in her last year of architecture school and Marianne is a talented, if unambitious, guitar player.
Okay, so it doesn't make as much since in the 21st century that three grown women can't support themselves than it did in Austen's time, but I was willing to overlook the plot holes because the Dashwoods are such likable women - yes, even little Margaret, who's a bit more of a bratty teen in this version than in previous incarnations.
One caveat, though: if you simply cannot abide the use of such terms as "amazeballs" and "totes amazeballs" in dialogue, steer clear of this novel. It's not that the entire novel is written in that style, it's just that a few characters talk that way when they're among other young people (and some of them are the more obnoxious characters you love to hate anyway, so it's obviously intended to be annoying). Joanna of the illustrious Trollope family tree is perhaps a little too good at capturing 2010s textspeak and slang.
Disclosure: I received this book at no cost through the Amazon Vine program in exchange for an honest review. I was not compensated for this review in any other way.
Further disclosure: I've never actually read the original Sense and Sensibility. I read Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, which uses a lot of Austen's original text, and I've also seen the movie adaptation that stars Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet as Elinor and Marianne. I still love Alan Rickman's portrayal of Colonel Brandon in that movie.
Happy after-Christmas, everyone! I hope Santa Claus brought everyone lots of new books to read. I didn't get any books per se, but I did get a $25 Barnes and Noble gift card. I think I'll probably use it to preorder This Star Won't Go Out, but I'm not 100% sure yet.
If you're thrilled to death with a book you got as a holiday gift, be sure to tell me in the comments.
A magical and enchanting tale of a 10-year-old whisked away to a magical world full of unforgettable new friends and grave dangers. "A darkened fairy tale" certainly describes this adventure. Some parts of it could be disturbing for children younger than the target audience of 11- to 13-year-olds, but for mature youngsters, this is ideal for independent reading or for a family read-along. Fans of C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia or of Lauren Oliver's The Spindlers will enjoy this otherworldly fantasy.
When I finish that (probably later today), I'm most likely to start Sense and Sensibility by Joanna Trollope, which I ordered from Amazon Vine's "Last Harvest." Vine is having problems this month, and I wasn't able to have my usual pick of free swag. That's okay, though. At least I picked up a contemporary adaptation of a Jane Austen classic. I like to read the Vine books close to when they arrive, because I have a limited amount of time to review those.
I haven't read any of Joanna Trollope's other books, but I think it's cool she's related to Anthony Trollope. According to the New York Public Library Literature Companion, Anthony Trollope (1815-1882):
"...was among the the most popular writers of his day, appreciated for his depictions of clerical, political, and everyday life in Victorian England and his portrayals of memorable characters in richly imagined settings. The son of a failed gentleman farmer and the writer Frances Trollope, he grew up in relative poverty....His output included 47 novels as well as travel books, biographies, and prose collections. He is best known for two novel sequences, a form he introduced to English literature: the Barsetshire novels...and, after running unsuccessfully for Parliament, the politically steeped Pallister novels...His two-volume Autobiography appeared posthumously, in 1883."
Frances Milton Trollope, apparently, is not important enough to merit her own entry, but Wikipedia says she was a prolific novelist who lived 1779-1863. She wrote the anti-slavery novel Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw, which is said to have been an influence on Harriet Beecher Stowe when Beecher Stowe wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin. Anthony's older brother Thomas was also a writer - mostly of histories - and Thomas Trollope was married to Frances Eleanor (Ternan) Trollope, who was also a novelist and published 12 books between 1866 and 1892. The Wikipedia entry suggests it was Frances Milton, not her son Anthony, who introduced the novel sequence into English-language literature. (Patriarchy, stop trying to simultaneously erase and take credit for women's artistic accomplishments.)
If you recognize the family name Ternan, you may be a Dickens addict - Frances Eleanor's sister Ellen Ternan was a notoriously scandalous mistress of Charles Dickens. I'm not a Charles Dickens fan myself - I did not enjoy reading Great Expectations in tenth grade, although I seem to enjoy the Alec Guinness movie version - you might like to read another book I had the option of choosing from Vine's Last Harvest, which is Havisham: A Novel by Ronald Frame. I didn't choose it, but I could have.
The book I have waiting for me to pick up at the library is After Dead by Charlaine Harris.
A lot of people hate this collection of snippets about the characters in the Sookie Stackhouse universe, as evidenced by its 2 1/2-star rating on Goodreads. It's 50% off at Barnes and Noble for their after-Christmas sale, but based on the lousiness of the ratings, I have no intention of paying money for it. I'll give it a free read, though, simply because of my loyalty to this series.
Happy birthday to my literary foremother Jane Austen, born December 16, 1775! If you are ever eager to read more about the brilliant English novelist, here are some Pagan Spirits blog posts you might enjoy:
It's another thing, too: Joss Carter Appreciation Week. This event is to be held December 15-22 in honor of the emotionally-devastating loss of one of TV's greatest female characters from Person of Interest. Since two great things can sometimes taste great together, I now present a short mash-up I like to call "Pride and Prejudice and Person of Interest:"
Josselyn was suddenly roused
by the sound of the doorbell; and her spirits were a little fluttered by the
idea of its being Colonel Finch himself, who had once before called late in the
evening, and might now come to enquire particularly after her. But this idea
was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her
utter amazement, she saw Mr. Reese walk into the room. In a hurried manner he
immediately began an enquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of
hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down
for a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Josselyn was
surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came
towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:--
"In vain have
I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow
me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. Also, you look kind of
badass in that uniform.”
Josselyn's
astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, doubted, and was silent. This
he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt and
had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings
besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the
subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her being an officer of the
law, of its being a detriment to his continuing illegal activities, were dwelt
on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was
very unlikely to recommend his suit.
In spite of her
deeply-rooted sense of justice, she could not be insensible to the compliment
of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an
instant, she was at first very sorry for the pain he was to receive; till,
roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in
anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience, when
he should have done. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that
attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to
conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her
acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no
doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his
countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only exasperate
farther; and when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said,--
“In
such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense
of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be
returned. It is natural that obligation should be felt, and if I could feel
gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot--I have never desired your good
opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to
have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most unconsciously done, however,
and I hope will be of short duration. The feelings which you tell me have long
prevented the acknowledgement of your regard can have little difficulty in
overcoming it after this explanation.”
Mr. Reese, who was
leaning on the mantel-piece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch
her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and
the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for
the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed
himself to have attained it. The pause was to Josselyn's feelings dreadful. At
length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:
"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of
expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so littleendeavourat civility, I am thus rejected. But
it is of small importance."
"I might as well inquire," replied she, "why with
so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that
you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your
training as an assassin? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if Iwasuncivil? But I have other
provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they
been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any
consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of
ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of my most beloved partner, Detective
Fusco?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Reese changed colour; but the
emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while
she continued:
"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No
motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you actedthere. You dare not, you cannot
deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing my
partner from your partner Miss Shaw—of exposing one to the censure of the world
for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed
hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was
listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of
remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied: "I have no wish of
denying that I did everything in my power to separate my partner from your
partner, or that I rejoice in my success. TowardsShawI have been kinder than towards
myself."
Josselyn disdained the appearance of noticing this civil
reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate
her.
"But it is not merely this affair," she continued,
"on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion
of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received
many months ago from Leon Tao. On this subject, what can you have to say? In
what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what
misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"
"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's
concerns," said Reese, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened
colour.
"Who that knows what Mr. Tao’s misfortunes have been, can
help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Reese contemptuously;
"yes, Leon’s misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried Josselyn with energy.
"You have reduced Mr. Tao to his present state of poverty—comparative
poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been
designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that
independence which was no less his due than his desert. You have done all this!
and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and
ridicule."
"And this," cried Reese, as he walked with quick steps
across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which
you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to
this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps," added he, stopping in
his walk, and turning towards her, "these offenses might have been
overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the desire
to continue my criminal kneecapping activities that had long prevented my
forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been
suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered
you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination;
by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my
abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and
just. Could you expect me to rejoice in your connections to the NYPD?—to
congratulate myself on the hope of friendship with Fusco, whose condition in
life is so decidedly beneath my own?"
Josselyn felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she
tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said:
"You are mistaken, Mr. Reese, if you suppose that the mode of
your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern
which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more
gentlemanlike manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:
"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any
possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an
expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:
"From the very beginning—from the first moment, I may almost
say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest
belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the
feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on
which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known
you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could
ever be prevailed on to marry."
"You have said quite enough, Detective. I perfectly
comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have
been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best
wishes for your health and happiness."
And with these words he hastily left the room, and Josselyn heard
him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.
The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how
to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for
half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was
increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of marriage
from Mr. Reese! That he should have been in love with her for so many months!
So much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which
had made him prevent his friend's marrying her partner, and which must appear
at least with equal force in his own case—was almost incredible!
It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an
affection. But his pride, his abominable pride—his shameless avowal of what he
had done with respect to Fusco—his unpardonable assurance in acknowledging,
though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had
mentioned Mr. Tao, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon
overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment
excited. She continued in very agitated reflections till the sound of Lady Stanton's carriage made her feel how unequal she was to encounter Kara's
observation, and hurried her away to her room.
***
You can read the entire text of Pride and Prejudice, free, at Project Gutenberg.
