Falconer's Lure readthrough: Chapters 7-9
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trennelsThank you, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilliburlero for creating this whole readthrough (not to mention last minute technical help!), and thank you to everyone who contributes too. I can’t decide whether my favourite times are the recognition moments when I read something here and think “yes, that’s it exactly” or when I have to struggle to understand the point of view as it is far removed from mine … together the whole is even more than the sum of the parts.
It has been very interesting to read the first guest post (keeping the standard as nerve-wrackingly high as ever) - thank you highfantastical for prompting another lovely, lively series of conversations. You will see that some of our themes repeat. I had already written some of this post beforehighfantastical posted last week, and I decided not to edit out what I had written already. The use of the phrase “poor Peter” occurred to us both (and surely he’d hate that to be his epithet); and the theme of bereavement, which runs through the book and series, is unsurprisingly represented in both posts.
Hope these stimulate further discussion!
One of the delights of re-reading FL, even though I know the storyline well (plot is perhaps too strong a word for this novel), is the way in which the events touch me as strongly as when I read them for the first time. To some extent, knowing what is coming intensifies my emotions and, as a reader, I approach this chapter with dread. Poor Peter: failing to tread the line between the phobic dread of heights and the fear of showing fear, he falls headfirst into shame. I think he’d rather have fallen off the cliff.
This is the second time we read of Peter getting stuck. The first was unwitnessed. Now there is not only Nicola, but worst of all, Patrick: no longer primarily Peter’s friend; but also someone who actually has fallen (from these very cliffs) been badly injured and is quite happy to come here again. I’d have liked to read Peter’s conversation with himself about going on the cliffs (regularly scheduled fic prompt?) Is he spurred on with some optimism for the whole outing by the knowledge that the second time he was on the gallery of the lighthouse he managed fine?
Forest uses very similar words to describe Peter getting stuck each time, perhaps underlining the inevitability of it. “And he couldn’t move. He simply couldn’t let go the rail and stand up.” (MATT) vs “And in that moment, Peter stuck. … he couldn’t move. He simply went on standing there ...” (FL) There is a difference in the way the passages are written though: on the cliffs, Peter’s fear isn’t reported to us, we listen into the dialogue in his mind. Even if you are a little impatient with his behaviour, this moment by moment sliding into panic must bring with it some empathy for Peter. I relish the literal insights we get in the “stream of consciousness” passages, here’s another one: Patrick thinks through whether he’s been sensible in sending Nicola off that if she and/or Peter are killed it will be all Peter’s fault (my itals). Poor Peter, surely Patrick is the coughing bear here? I’d have liked to hear Nicola’s thoughts when passing Leeper’s Bluff going for help too! And finally, to add insult to injury, Patrick describes Peter as a “lily-livered loon”. Nicola had used these very words with scorn in MATT describe anyone who might be scared of heights. Patrick doesn’t know this, of course, but we do, and Peter does.
Geoff Marlow’s fury is inevitable; fuelled by his aforementioned anger of people who put themselves in unnecessary danger; the knowledge of Patrick’s accident; and the fact that for the second time in a few months Peter and Nicola could have died. In MATT, Peter reflects, “A fine officer he was going to make if he bellowed at his subordinates every time he got in a flap.” But isn’t this exactly what Geoff Marlow does here in the row which “rumbles on and on”. Is Peter a bit hard on himself? I tend to take for granted Peter’s poor opinion of himself: but is it justified? We hear these rows obliquely (perhaps an invitation to fic here from anyone who shares Miranda West’s appreciation of a glorious row? ) but like the characters we are left in no doubt the cliffs are out of bounds “ ... forbidden, finally and forever … on any pretext whatsoever.” And it is in these days between disasters that Patrick and Nicola’s friendship is sealed.
Rowan, hovering between adolescence and adulthood: riding in a gymkhana against Patrick and discussing leaving school to take over the farm. Here, Patrick’s lack of ability to see things from other perspectives is blatant. I enjoy the quiet thread throughout the series, of the way Patrick does not “get” school and school priorities. In these genre books which transcend genre, Patrick demonstrates indifference to the very things which a school story is made of, almost subversive perhaps?
If FL doesn’t exactly have a plot, it certainly has themes and one of them is bereavement. Death comes quite frequently to children’s books (not least this series ashighfantasticalpointed out last week), but bereavement, grief, and mourning are less often dwelt on: which is yet again where AF’s writing is lifted far above most others. Jon’s death and the uneasy and complicated emotions it arises is echoed in Jael’s death. All three of them are utterly horrified, and for the second time, Peter is on the receiving end of distress-related fury. For Patrick, it is a second bereavement in a couple of weeks and he loses it and becomes foul to Peter because “he felt so hurt and sorry over Jael’s death, he wanted to make sure someone else was hurt too”. But there is no moralising from Forest, just scenes which play themselves vividly before my eyes and I am scared, even re-reading it, that there will be no way back for Peter and Patrick. Again, Poor Peter.
It is with a sigh of relief I come to Chapter 8. In its own way it is exciting, but I am not drawn in emotionally to the same degree. Possibly because I am a non-performer I cannot get fully involved or worked up about Lawrie’s angst over parts and performances. I think she feels things genuinely, but am still sometimes irritated by her. (Perhaps something to return to in EOT and CT?)
The conversation between Nicola and Lawrie on the eve of the Festival is illuminating: Nicola is still cross with Peter. He is usually high on her liking list, she has not put together how dreadful this summer is being for him, and Lawrie can’t really draw her into any sympathy and she doesn’t soften towards Peter for another week. In a prophetic warning, Nicola suggests Lawrie rehearses properly. Reading it now, it shouts out at me: does anyone recall if they noticed it on first reading?
One of the things I enjoy about this large family narrative is the way that the relationships are not wholly fixed or stereotyped. The scene with Ann, Nicola, and Lawrie is a potent combination to illustrate the shifting alliances between the siblings, as well their different beliefs about their talents and the value of a performance. For a moment Nicola and Ann are united in sympathy against an over-confident Lawrie, but very quickly everything returns to the familiar position of Nicola and Lawrie despising Ann.
It’s not until Nicola comes across the other competitors, whose mothers all know one another, that I thought, why on earth did the Marlow parents not bring the girls in in the car? Can someone explain (in either Doylist or Watsonian terms?) However, both Ann and Nicola seem quite happy with the idea that their parents are only coming in to see Lawrie. And at least this way, no-one needs to know that Nicola was overcome by emotion (do you think she ever tells anyone?) I love the way that Nicola is able to laugh at the prospect of herself crying at the sadness of her own song “while everyone waited respectfully for her to go on” (another prophesy). As she goes through the song, Nicola believes she has successfully suppressed her emotions; but an unexpected trigger means she is engulfed in a wave of distress. The emotion is purely for Jael. After the competition, she is “wild with pleasure … galloping through the narrow side streets, with the adjudicator’s words jostling and spinning in a glory in her head.” No suppression of emotion here, where no one she knows can see.
In this chapter, we see Lawrie at times showing unexpected maturity (even Nicola is surprised at the depth of knowledge Lawrie has about the stage) and also at her most baby-ish, being comforted by Nicola as if Nicola were years older. Can someone tell me if Lawrie’s involuntary imitation (parody?) is likely (and/or likely to be so immediately recognisable by everyone) ?
Some of my favourite passages are at the end of the chapter. Meg and Nicola’s conversation about Treasure Island is a jewel, but I enjoy this whole section where we have rare sight of Lawrie not being an ass.
highfantasticalasked last week, “Does Lawrie’s gift convince you?” Yes, it does me, utterly and completely. From both Doylist and Watsonian perspective: yes. In AT it was clear that her performance was as good as she wanted it to be. Ellen Holroyd is impressed (even cynical Meg is) and throughout canon there is no voice suggesting otherwise. And then there’s the prophetic, “In time, Nicola was to learn that theatre people often behaved like this to those outside their charmed circle …” This is a rare authorial voice telling us Lawrie’s future is on the stage. That’s my view anyway - looking forward to seeing the other side!
We come to “Lost Hawk” which gives us a bit of a hint about what’s going to happen next. (Actually, I like Forest’s chapter titles, they have a certain charm about them - and they certainly make it easier to look up incidents I want to refer to!)
In spite of the triumphs of the previous chapter, this is a sad book. This chapter, while superficially an “adventure” story, also adds to the two major psychological themes of the book: fear and loss. Many of the characters in this book have at least one fear (even the Idiot Boy), some amounting to phobias: the difference here, as in life, is how they choose to deal with them. (How would Rowan, Ann or Giles cope with having to deal with a Peter or Ginty level phobia? )
Having lost Jael so traumatically a week or so ago, Nicola and Patrick are now pursuing a lost Regina. Well, we were warned that hawks led to heart break. And to think, Forest meant to write a pony book! Can you imagine a pony book where one child shoots another’s pony? I had a quick look at Jill Badger’s marvellous website and it does indicate that not all pony books of the era were as anodyne as Ruby Ferguson, but even so. But I digress ...
The chapter begins with a hot, tired, and grumpy Nicola who has been accompanying Patrick on the search for Regina. Patrick notices this, but isn’t quite sure what to do about it. Her mixed emotions are detailed for us; boredom, physical discomfort, empathy for her father not wanting to traipse across the country searching for hawks; hint of feeling anxious and out of her depth; awareness of Patrick’s desire to find Regina; and wanting to find Regina herself (not least because then they could go home). Nothing, interestingly, about enjoying being with Patrick (perhaps because this is another example of Nicola coming in below the hawks (thank youoccasionalhope and highfantastical)). Patrick is certainly in the lead here, and for once, Nicola isn’t being being brave and resourceful, I think she just wants to go home. Her contribution to the dialogue is monosyllabic. Forest doesn’t specifically refer to her fear of open dark countryside, but as the evening draws in Nicola has lost her customary sang froid. Instead, the fear we are starkly shown is Patrick’s. And Nicola, who has confronted her fear of riding, is concerned about worrying her mother, and is essentially lost as the evening darkens and preparing to face her own fear, is sympathetic.
For me, here, AF loses her light touch on genre (riding across the country, sleeping in a haystack complete with convenient ladder, all seems more Blyton/Ferguson than Forest to me). However, the prospect of sleeping in a haystack, and fulfilling a dream, seduces Nicola from unwilling consort to eager companion. Then we leave Blyton far behind: the metaphysical conversations between Patrick and Nicola are pure Forest. Thinking about their futures, catapults them back to Jon’s death* (as is the way with sudden death: all conversational paths lead there). Later, their numinous discussion sends Nicola, enchantingly, to sleep. (Though doubtless there will be those who feel Patrick simply bored her to sleep). Do you believe in the Merrick ghost? Is the subsequent fall off Leeper’s Bluff a co-incidence?
Lost hawk ... found hawk ... Nicola fears another dead hawk … then the surprise: Patrick releases Regina. The hawk, which was “sort of Jon’s”, and which Nicola was going to care for is released without discussion - and Nicola seems to accept this completely. She does try harder for Sprog but Patrick is adamant: Sprog must go too. Is this for the practical reasons he gives, or is it more of a dog-in-manger approach: if he can’t have Regina (or Sprog) he cannot bear to let Nicola have them? Or perhaps a way of avoiding reminders of Jon?
After the adventure, the emotional swings, the closeness, the chapter ends flatly and abruptly with Patrick’s dismissal of The Sprog.
************
* This brings us a problem: if Cousin Jon had less than half his time he was presumably younger than 35 when he died, and as I think we generally put Geoff Marlow as 45+ here, that’s quite a gap for the holiday cousin / playmate. We could perhaps stretch it to under 40 (as they also talk about living to 80) but still a five+ year gap is more than is implied in the breakfast chapter. More folds in the timeline or can someone make better sense of this?
Well, that’s it from me (and to think, I worried I wouldn’t have enough to say). Thank you, one and all and especiallylilliburlero for the opportunity. Now I look forward to hearing from everyone else …..
lilliburlero for creating this whole readthrough (not to mention last minute technical help!), and thank you to everyone who contributes too. I can’t decide whether my favourite times are the recognition moments when I read something here and think “yes, that’s it exactly” or when I have to struggle to understand the point of view as it is far removed from mine … together the whole is even more than the sum of the parts.It has been very interesting to read the first guest post (keeping the standard as nerve-wrackingly high as ever) - thank you highfantastical for prompting another lovely, lively series of conversations. You will see that some of our themes repeat. I had already written some of this post before
highfantastical posted last week, and I decided not to edit out what I had written already. The use of the phrase “poor Peter” occurred to us both (and surely he’d hate that to be his epithet); and the theme of bereavement, which runs through the book and series, is unsurprisingly represented in both posts. Hope these stimulate further discussion!
One of the delights of re-reading FL, even though I know the storyline well (plot is perhaps too strong a word for this novel), is the way in which the events touch me as strongly as when I read them for the first time. To some extent, knowing what is coming intensifies my emotions and, as a reader, I approach this chapter with dread. Poor Peter: failing to tread the line between the phobic dread of heights and the fear of showing fear, he falls headfirst into shame. I think he’d rather have fallen off the cliff.
This is the second time we read of Peter getting stuck. The first was unwitnessed. Now there is not only Nicola, but worst of all, Patrick: no longer primarily Peter’s friend; but also someone who actually has fallen (from these very cliffs) been badly injured and is quite happy to come here again. I’d have liked to read Peter’s conversation with himself about going on the cliffs (regularly scheduled fic prompt?) Is he spurred on with some optimism for the whole outing by the knowledge that the second time he was on the gallery of the lighthouse he managed fine?
Forest uses very similar words to describe Peter getting stuck each time, perhaps underlining the inevitability of it. “And he couldn’t move. He simply couldn’t let go the rail and stand up.” (MATT) vs “And in that moment, Peter stuck. … he couldn’t move. He simply went on standing there ...” (FL) There is a difference in the way the passages are written though: on the cliffs, Peter’s fear isn’t reported to us, we listen into the dialogue in his mind. Even if you are a little impatient with his behaviour, this moment by moment sliding into panic must bring with it some empathy for Peter. I relish the literal insights we get in the “stream of consciousness” passages, here’s another one: Patrick thinks through whether he’s been sensible in sending Nicola off that if she and/or Peter are killed it will be all Peter’s fault (my itals). Poor Peter, surely Patrick is the coughing bear here? I’d have liked to hear Nicola’s thoughts when passing Leeper’s Bluff going for help too! And finally, to add insult to injury, Patrick describes Peter as a “lily-livered loon”. Nicola had used these very words with scorn in MATT describe anyone who might be scared of heights. Patrick doesn’t know this, of course, but we do, and Peter does.
Geoff Marlow’s fury is inevitable; fuelled by his aforementioned anger of people who put themselves in unnecessary danger; the knowledge of Patrick’s accident; and the fact that for the second time in a few months Peter and Nicola could have died. In MATT, Peter reflects, “A fine officer he was going to make if he bellowed at his subordinates every time he got in a flap.” But isn’t this exactly what Geoff Marlow does here in the row which “rumbles on and on”. Is Peter a bit hard on himself? I tend to take for granted Peter’s poor opinion of himself: but is it justified? We hear these rows obliquely (perhaps an invitation to fic here from anyone who shares Miranda West’s appreciation of a glorious row? ) but like the characters we are left in no doubt the cliffs are out of bounds “ ... forbidden, finally and forever … on any pretext whatsoever.” And it is in these days between disasters that Patrick and Nicola’s friendship is sealed.
Rowan, hovering between adolescence and adulthood: riding in a gymkhana against Patrick and discussing leaving school to take over the farm. Here, Patrick’s lack of ability to see things from other perspectives is blatant. I enjoy the quiet thread throughout the series, of the way Patrick does not “get” school and school priorities. In these genre books which transcend genre, Patrick demonstrates indifference to the very things which a school story is made of, almost subversive perhaps?
If FL doesn’t exactly have a plot, it certainly has themes and one of them is bereavement. Death comes quite frequently to children’s books (not least this series as
highfantasticalpointed out last week), but bereavement, grief, and mourning are less often dwelt on: which is yet again where AF’s writing is lifted far above most others. Jon’s death and the uneasy and complicated emotions it arises is echoed in Jael’s death. All three of them are utterly horrified, and for the second time, Peter is on the receiving end of distress-related fury. For Patrick, it is a second bereavement in a couple of weeks and he loses it and becomes foul to Peter because “he felt so hurt and sorry over Jael’s death, he wanted to make sure someone else was hurt too”. But there is no moralising from Forest, just scenes which play themselves vividly before my eyes and I am scared, even re-reading it, that there will be no way back for Peter and Patrick. Again, Poor Peter.It is with a sigh of relief I come to Chapter 8. In its own way it is exciting, but I am not drawn in emotionally to the same degree. Possibly because I am a non-performer I cannot get fully involved or worked up about Lawrie’s angst over parts and performances. I think she feels things genuinely, but am still sometimes irritated by her. (Perhaps something to return to in EOT and CT?)
The conversation between Nicola and Lawrie on the eve of the Festival is illuminating: Nicola is still cross with Peter. He is usually high on her liking list, she has not put together how dreadful this summer is being for him, and Lawrie can’t really draw her into any sympathy and she doesn’t soften towards Peter for another week. In a prophetic warning, Nicola suggests Lawrie rehearses properly. Reading it now, it shouts out at me: does anyone recall if they noticed it on first reading?
One of the things I enjoy about this large family narrative is the way that the relationships are not wholly fixed or stereotyped. The scene with Ann, Nicola, and Lawrie is a potent combination to illustrate the shifting alliances between the siblings, as well their different beliefs about their talents and the value of a performance. For a moment Nicola and Ann are united in sympathy against an over-confident Lawrie, but very quickly everything returns to the familiar position of Nicola and Lawrie despising Ann.
It’s not until Nicola comes across the other competitors, whose mothers all know one another, that I thought, why on earth did the Marlow parents not bring the girls in in the car? Can someone explain (in either Doylist or Watsonian terms?) However, both Ann and Nicola seem quite happy with the idea that their parents are only coming in to see Lawrie. And at least this way, no-one needs to know that Nicola was overcome by emotion (do you think she ever tells anyone?) I love the way that Nicola is able to laugh at the prospect of herself crying at the sadness of her own song “while everyone waited respectfully for her to go on” (another prophesy). As she goes through the song, Nicola believes she has successfully suppressed her emotions; but an unexpected trigger means she is engulfed in a wave of distress. The emotion is purely for Jael. After the competition, she is “wild with pleasure … galloping through the narrow side streets, with the adjudicator’s words jostling and spinning in a glory in her head.” No suppression of emotion here, where no one she knows can see.
In this chapter, we see Lawrie at times showing unexpected maturity (even Nicola is surprised at the depth of knowledge Lawrie has about the stage) and also at her most baby-ish, being comforted by Nicola as if Nicola were years older. Can someone tell me if Lawrie’s involuntary imitation (parody?) is likely (and/or likely to be so immediately recognisable by everyone) ?
Some of my favourite passages are at the end of the chapter. Meg and Nicola’s conversation about Treasure Island is a jewel, but I enjoy this whole section where we have rare sight of Lawrie not being an ass.
highfantasticalasked last week, “Does Lawrie’s gift convince you?” Yes, it does me, utterly and completely. From both Doylist and Watsonian perspective: yes. In AT it was clear that her performance was as good as she wanted it to be. Ellen Holroyd is impressed (even cynical Meg is) and throughout canon there is no voice suggesting otherwise. And then there’s the prophetic, “In time, Nicola was to learn that theatre people often behaved like this to those outside their charmed circle …” This is a rare authorial voice telling us Lawrie’s future is on the stage. That’s my view anyway - looking forward to seeing the other side!We come to “Lost Hawk” which gives us a bit of a hint about what’s going to happen next. (Actually, I like Forest’s chapter titles, they have a certain charm about them - and they certainly make it easier to look up incidents I want to refer to!)
In spite of the triumphs of the previous chapter, this is a sad book. This chapter, while superficially an “adventure” story, also adds to the two major psychological themes of the book: fear and loss. Many of the characters in this book have at least one fear (even the Idiot Boy), some amounting to phobias: the difference here, as in life, is how they choose to deal with them. (How would Rowan, Ann or Giles cope with having to deal with a Peter or Ginty level phobia? )
Having lost Jael so traumatically a week or so ago, Nicola and Patrick are now pursuing a lost Regina. Well, we were warned that hawks led to heart break. And to think, Forest meant to write a pony book! Can you imagine a pony book where one child shoots another’s pony? I had a quick look at Jill Badger’s marvellous website and it does indicate that not all pony books of the era were as anodyne as Ruby Ferguson, but even so. But I digress ...
The chapter begins with a hot, tired, and grumpy Nicola who has been accompanying Patrick on the search for Regina. Patrick notices this, but isn’t quite sure what to do about it. Her mixed emotions are detailed for us; boredom, physical discomfort, empathy for her father not wanting to traipse across the country searching for hawks; hint of feeling anxious and out of her depth; awareness of Patrick’s desire to find Regina; and wanting to find Regina herself (not least because then they could go home). Nothing, interestingly, about enjoying being with Patrick (perhaps because this is another example of Nicola coming in below the hawks (thank you
occasionalhope and highfantastical)). Patrick is certainly in the lead here, and for once, Nicola isn’t being being brave and resourceful, I think she just wants to go home. Her contribution to the dialogue is monosyllabic. Forest doesn’t specifically refer to her fear of open dark countryside, but as the evening draws in Nicola has lost her customary sang froid. Instead, the fear we are starkly shown is Patrick’s. And Nicola, who has confronted her fear of riding, is concerned about worrying her mother, and is essentially lost as the evening darkens and preparing to face her own fear, is sympathetic. For me, here, AF loses her light touch on genre (riding across the country, sleeping in a haystack complete with convenient ladder, all seems more Blyton/Ferguson than Forest to me). However, the prospect of sleeping in a haystack, and fulfilling a dream, seduces Nicola from unwilling consort to eager companion. Then we leave Blyton far behind: the metaphysical conversations between Patrick and Nicola are pure Forest. Thinking about their futures, catapults them back to Jon’s death* (as is the way with sudden death: all conversational paths lead there). Later, their numinous discussion sends Nicola, enchantingly, to sleep. (Though doubtless there will be those who feel Patrick simply bored her to sleep). Do you believe in the Merrick ghost? Is the subsequent fall off Leeper’s Bluff a co-incidence?
Lost hawk ... found hawk ... Nicola fears another dead hawk … then the surprise: Patrick releases Regina. The hawk, which was “sort of Jon’s”, and which Nicola was going to care for is released without discussion - and Nicola seems to accept this completely. She does try harder for Sprog but Patrick is adamant: Sprog must go too. Is this for the practical reasons he gives, or is it more of a dog-in-manger approach: if he can’t have Regina (or Sprog) he cannot bear to let Nicola have them? Or perhaps a way of avoiding reminders of Jon?
After the adventure, the emotional swings, the closeness, the chapter ends flatly and abruptly with Patrick’s dismissal of The Sprog.
************
* This brings us a problem: if Cousin Jon had less than half his time he was presumably younger than 35 when he died, and as I think we generally put Geoff Marlow as 45+ here, that’s quite a gap for the holiday cousin / playmate. We could perhaps stretch it to under 40 (as they also talk about living to 80) but still a five+ year gap is more than is implied in the breakfast chapter. More folds in the timeline or can someone make better sense of this?
Well, that’s it from me (and to think, I worried I wouldn’t have enough to say). Thank you, one and all and especially
lilliburlero for the opportunity. Now I look forward to hearing from everyone else …..
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Date: 2014-08-03 11:52 am (UTC)Tim/Lawrie
Date: 2014-08-03 03:12 pm (UTC)Re: Tim/Lawrie
Date: 2014-08-03 03:20 pm (UTC)Re: Tim/Lawrie
Date: 2014-08-13 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-08-06 12:24 pm (UTC)