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Wimsey ficlet and ramblings
Oct. 19th, 2009 02:00 pmI will not recount the thought process that started with a genuine fic dilemma, and ended with my mentally composing Lady Peter Wimsey’s letter to Dan Savage in which she recounts the events of this fic, and in the manner of writers to Dan Savage who aren’t following mode (1)*, but mode (2), enquires how how one best gets someone else to do something a bit (or indeed, very) kinky.
* “Arrgh! I did [this], what do I do about it/does it make me [a furry]?”
On further random thoughts related to fic, the signs festooning the farm next to the Roman Villa (I don’t want to steal one of your scrubby little horses, thank you very much) suggested that cowpats weren’t the only way the post self-defence scene might have gone in Gaudy Night:
Domestic Animals
‘Thank you for the testimonial. Cigarette?’
He lit it for her and watched as she curled her arms about her knees and sat quietly. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he was definitely out of practice. He would have to call on Bunter’s services for a massage if he weren’t to be horribly stiff tomorrow. Harriet beside him pressed a thumb against her neck. He winced inwardly, and hoped that she wasn’t going to be visibly black and blue.
‘Cheer up. It’ll – My God!’
From beside the placid cows erupted an appalling below, heralding the appearance of the farmer running as fast as heavy boots and form would allow, brandishing fist and shotgun, and joined by the music of hounds.
‘Peter!’
‘Get off my land!’
***
Re. the BBC’s “Emma”, the Times reviewer has it exactly right: Sandy Welch simply does not seem to have found a way to tell Emma Woodhouse's story.
Ironically, that would explain why we had a slightly better episode this week: it gave up and instead told us Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax’s stories (tangent, it was nice to have an adaptation that finally notices Mrs Weston is pregnant during the course of the year, and – not being a Victorian – not disappearing from all society*). I really didn’t expect to find Miller the series’ saving grace, yet last night, whilst never removing the poker from his bum for a moment, I felt that he brought real pathos to the character, suggesting a man who has realised that he has made a horrible mistake in casting himself as the onlooker and now fears it is Too Late. Also, well done for not playing “Mr Widgery’s Maggot” or whatever that dance tune is that was in the 1995 P&P and is now in every single Austen adaptation.
*Further tangent. When Regency ladies go on outings to Box Hill for most of the day, what do they do for toilets? Does Miss Woodhouse crouch behind a bush?
* “Arrgh! I did [this], what do I do about it/does it make me [a furry]?”
On further random thoughts related to fic, the signs festooning the farm next to the Roman Villa (I don’t want to steal one of your scrubby little horses, thank you very much) suggested that cowpats weren’t the only way the post self-defence scene might have gone in Gaudy Night:
Domestic Animals
‘Thank you for the testimonial. Cigarette?’
He lit it for her and watched as she curled her arms about her knees and sat quietly. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he was definitely out of practice. He would have to call on Bunter’s services for a massage if he weren’t to be horribly stiff tomorrow. Harriet beside him pressed a thumb against her neck. He winced inwardly, and hoped that she wasn’t going to be visibly black and blue.
‘Cheer up. It’ll – My God!’
From beside the placid cows erupted an appalling below, heralding the appearance of the farmer running as fast as heavy boots and form would allow, brandishing fist and shotgun, and joined by the music of hounds.
‘Peter!’
‘Get off my land!’
***
Re. the BBC’s “Emma”, the Times reviewer has it exactly right: Sandy Welch simply does not seem to have found a way to tell Emma Woodhouse's story.
Ironically, that would explain why we had a slightly better episode this week: it gave up and instead told us Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax’s stories (tangent, it was nice to have an adaptation that finally notices Mrs Weston is pregnant during the course of the year, and – not being a Victorian – not disappearing from all society*). I really didn’t expect to find Miller the series’ saving grace, yet last night, whilst never removing the poker from his bum for a moment, I felt that he brought real pathos to the character, suggesting a man who has realised that he has made a horrible mistake in casting himself as the onlooker and now fears it is Too Late. Also, well done for not playing “Mr Widgery’s Maggot” or whatever that dance tune is that was in the 1995 P&P and is now in every single Austen adaptation.
*Further tangent. When Regency ladies go on outings to Box Hill for most of the day, what do they do for toilets? Does Miss Woodhouse crouch behind a bush?