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trennels2014-08-08 07:11 pm
lilliburlero.livejournal.com) wrote in trennels2014-08-08 07:11 pm
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Falconer's Lure readthrough: Chapters 10 and 11
Thank you very much to guest posters ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
highfantastical and sprog_63 for their thoughtful and detailed prompts to discussion; I’m very grateful to both of them for taking over.
Patrick’s behaviour at the beginning of this chapter is quite enjoyably scrubby, I think, but it’s still rather scrubby. The Sprog’s choice of Nicola (who has, after all, been paying him more attention) perhaps shows the Sprog wiser in his choice of friends than Nicola herself. But I think it becomes clearer still here that Patrick’s interactions with the hawks are deflections and proxies for his grief for Jon; Nicola has a more direct affection for them as creatures in themselves. It’s a nice play on ideas of sentimentality: Patrick might seem the less sentimental in recognising that the Sprog is no sport, and letting him go, but the complex of reasons he does so are actually very much tied up with human sentiment; Nicola, though she might seem to be soppy about the Sprog, has a disinterested care for him as a living creature.
Peter’s feelings about his ciné-camera are marvellously knotty and difficult, I think: his sense of shame and alienation from the family since the cliff incident, his loss of confidence in himself are combined with the thrill of secrecy and aloofness in a very psychologically acute passage.
Lawrie reneging on bargains is characteristic throughout the books, but I’m always interested when Forest deliberately exempts Nicola from direct action (I have an affection for The Thuggery Affair which may not be widely shared.)
Anyone else think it odd that claustrophobic Ginty should even think of ‘skulking in a cupboard’ to avoid the Regatta? Just Forest nodding, or actually a nod to Ginty’s odd mixture of real and fabricated phobia and trauma at this point in the narrative?
The officious duo of Colonel Benson and Captain Marlow getting everybody organised is a delight, and surely worth a fic drabble at least.
Nicola’s patent pleasure in Peter’s win of the dinghy race, and Rowan and Ann’s suppression of same, is interesting in the context of the Marlows’ relationship with the community (and indeed of their conspicuous achievements at Kingscote): so is, perhaps, the rough consolation given Lawrie on her coming last in the swimming: ‘Everyone would have thought of us as That Awful Family That Wins Everything.’ Rowan is, perhaps understandably, since she’s got to live with it full time from now on, but a little uncharacteristically (?) particularly concerned to make a good impression.
We get a little more detail about Ginty’s invention of her marine phobia; and about Unity’s modus operandi. ‘It was sort of a game, a competition Unity had with herself--how mich more hurt and misunderstood she could be than anyone else in Upper IV’: it’s not quite clear in context if this is a move into 3rd person omnisicent narration or a realisation from Ginty’s point of view, but it seems to mark a turning point, as Ginty recognises that she might prefer Monica’s less invasive support.
Nicola’s application of her knowledge of Patrick’s shyness to her mother’s refusal of lunch at the clubhouse is a nice touch, I think: showing her growth of emotional perceptiveness across the novels. Mrs Marlow’s dismissal of Mrs Benson as suburban is inflected with class and perhaps some reflected Senior Service snobbery; useful for pinning down the Marlows’ sometimes nebulous class position: ‘explicitly’ is a perfectly delightful adverb there.
Karen is cross this hols, isn’t she? Snapping at Ginty’s lachrymosity might be understandable, but her bark at Lawrie over the wishbone seems grumpy. Guilt over Rowan taking over the farm?
I enjoy the comedy of the suggestions for Geoff’s ‘ship-warming’ present: so very characteristic of each family member. Nicola has retreated from her insight about shyness into the more childish attitude of being disgusted by the suggestion of a family photograph (I do like it that Forest shows emotional growth so realistically, in fits and starts, not as a steady teleological progression); Lawrie’s ‘binnacle’ always makes me giggle, as do Nicola’s Hornblower-inspired musings. I’m afraid I do imagine Geoff sniggering over the dirty bits in Pepys.
The teasing over the wishbone leads very believably, I think, into the more serious family dynamics of the conversation about Ann. Karen crunching her siblings again; though it’s Rowan here who’s really caustic. Peter seems to see some humour in Rowan’s put-down of Nicola, though I’m not surprised that Nicola doesn’t; perhaps Peter is just relieved that he seems to have got away without being unflatteringly characterised. And what a nice characterisation of Peter: ‘I can do all mine for myself’. He can, too.
Karen’s reaction to Ginty’s disappearance contrasts neatly with Ann’s concern and Rowan’s anger--which, natch, doesn’t affect Rowan’s swimming and diving performance--even Nicola keeps a cooler head than their eldest sister, in reminding her of the futility of worrying Mrs Marlow in addition to it all.
There is fic about this moment in Falconer’s Lure, incidentally.
I love the passage about Peter and Patrick in the diving competition. Peter’s resentment of Patrick overwhelming his pleasure in his other achievements--the very solicitous and sporting other competitors Nine and Thirteen: do they sense some of the atmosphere surrounding Peter and Patrick, somehow?--the Childe Roland allusion (Selby’s rather well-read, isn’t he? And I adore the flashback to Lieutenant Bethune on the bus and his comment about Hamlet; there are a couple of other references to Peter and Hamlet in the series, aren’t there? Hmm)--the magical thinking which links the poem to Dead Man’s Drop--Patrick’s ‘formal but somehow coaxing’ apology--the final irony of Patrick being the first to hear about the ciné-camera.
And finally in this chapter, the rebukes administered to Ginty and her abandonment of Unity-esque sensitivity. Again, I think this is a great bit of characterisation: Ann exasperated to her limit; Rowan furious and contemptuous (does Rowan feel the least bit remorseful about having bullied Ginty into entering the competition?) I feel for Ginty when Mrs Marlow tells her off, though--’if someone wants you to do something you don’t want to do, just say so’ rather underestimates the various pressures on her.
The brief sketch of Ellen Holroyd’s tea-party, its excitements and disappointments, is tantalising (this has been your regular scheduled &c.)
Ginty trying to ingratiate herself always makes me feel a bit glum, but she does seem to become friendly with Nicola again over the course of this chapter. She’s shed her opposition to blood-sports, we notice, and is looking forward to hunting. Some towny naiveté still in evidence in ‘we wouldn’t have to pay for stables and feed and stuff. It’s all at Trennels anyway’? Whatever about livery stables, feed still has to be paid for! I like Nicola’s ambivalent attitude to riding: it is presumably something she enjoys, in a sense, but it’s vexed with her sense of not being terribly competent or comfortable in horsy company. Her dismissal of ‘Pony Club types’ has an inflexion that reminds me of Mrs Marlow’s dislike of the bridge-and-golf set, and leads neatly on to Ginty’s uncomfortable reminder of Rowan’s rebuke to both of them.
Ginty’s social antennae are very lively, as she picks up information about the Reynoldses; it’s Nicola, typically, perhaps who notices that brother and sister don’t seem affectionate: the groundwork for the episode of Wendy’s cheating is being nicely laid here, I think.
Ginty’s sublime unconcern about the family being ‘stung to death’ echoes and contrasts with Ann’s concern about her at the Regatta very neatly, and also with Ann’s later panic over starting a fire in the attic. I also enjoy Ginty’s capacity to be wickedly amused by imagining Unity moving in on her next victim, though it perhaps reflects rather poorly on her.
Nicola’s silent misery over Wendy’s behaviour contrasts neatly with Patrick’s officious indignation, I think; and I enjoy the Greek chorus of Fred, Len and Syd.
Is Ann’s action so very ridiculous? We’re never given much information about the size of the fire, but it is structural, in a roof beam; I would have thought it was a situation that might be worth risking a false alarm.
Lawrie’s method of informing Wendy of her mistake (and discombobulating her in the process) is splendidly pointed, I think: it’s hard to sympathise with Wendy, given that’s she’s willing to risk serious injury to people and horses in pursuit of her vendetta, but there’s a cruel streak in what Lawrie does nonetheless.
Nicola’s divided loyalties over Patrick and Rowan in the jumping are very finely done--the reminder of Jon’s remark about Patrick’s guts always gets me, for some reason. And its culmination in Nicola’s horrified guilt at her own motivation for being upset at Rowan’s fall is Forest at her interpersonally complicated best. Nicola’s embarrassment at Oliver’s offer of the money twists the knife beautifully. Squirm.
The management would like to point out that Patrick Merrick has nothing to do with its LJ handle. (Tristram Shandy and the World Service, if you must know.) Patrick is not exactly gracious in victory: though I very much like the touch that he will tease Nicola about her fall to her face, but recount the truth of the matter to his father in private. As it happens, he has the truth of the matter in Nicola not being shaken and upset because of Rowan’s fall or her own, but there’s a cheerful, callous self-centredness there which is faintly reminiscent of Lawrie. I do wonder if that’s an unconscious attraction for Nicola; Patrick of course, rather dislikes Lawrie, and finds her foolish. Finally, Sprog is saved by the sale of the book, though not, as it happens, renamed Horatio. (It wouldn’t suit him.)
Many thanks again to our guest posters, and to everyone who’s participated so far: go for it!
I think there was general agreement that a break at this point might suit us all. Can I propose that we resume discussion on 29th August with End of Term? That should let most people get their summer hols out of the way (and write some fic?) and has a pleasing confluence with the back-to-school mood of the novel.
Before I go, I should just mention that legionseagle has given the hall-stand a happy ending in this fic, which also features a cameo by a teenage Robert Anquetil, already Bristol-fashion, bless his cotton socks. It was a great relief to me to know that the hall-stand did not end its days far from sea.
highfantastical and sprog_63 for their thoughtful and detailed prompts to discussion; I’m very grateful to both of them for taking over.Patrick’s behaviour at the beginning of this chapter is quite enjoyably scrubby, I think, but it’s still rather scrubby. The Sprog’s choice of Nicola (who has, after all, been paying him more attention) perhaps shows the Sprog wiser in his choice of friends than Nicola herself. But I think it becomes clearer still here that Patrick’s interactions with the hawks are deflections and proxies for his grief for Jon; Nicola has a more direct affection for them as creatures in themselves. It’s a nice play on ideas of sentimentality: Patrick might seem the less sentimental in recognising that the Sprog is no sport, and letting him go, but the complex of reasons he does so are actually very much tied up with human sentiment; Nicola, though she might seem to be soppy about the Sprog, has a disinterested care for him as a living creature.
Peter’s feelings about his ciné-camera are marvellously knotty and difficult, I think: his sense of shame and alienation from the family since the cliff incident, his loss of confidence in himself are combined with the thrill of secrecy and aloofness in a very psychologically acute passage.
Lawrie reneging on bargains is characteristic throughout the books, but I’m always interested when Forest deliberately exempts Nicola from direct action (I have an affection for The Thuggery Affair which may not be widely shared.)
Anyone else think it odd that claustrophobic Ginty should even think of ‘skulking in a cupboard’ to avoid the Regatta? Just Forest nodding, or actually a nod to Ginty’s odd mixture of real and fabricated phobia and trauma at this point in the narrative?
The officious duo of Colonel Benson and Captain Marlow getting everybody organised is a delight, and surely worth a fic drabble at least.
Nicola’s patent pleasure in Peter’s win of the dinghy race, and Rowan and Ann’s suppression of same, is interesting in the context of the Marlows’ relationship with the community (and indeed of their conspicuous achievements at Kingscote): so is, perhaps, the rough consolation given Lawrie on her coming last in the swimming: ‘Everyone would have thought of us as That Awful Family That Wins Everything.’ Rowan is, perhaps understandably, since she’s got to live with it full time from now on, but a little uncharacteristically (?) particularly concerned to make a good impression.
We get a little more detail about Ginty’s invention of her marine phobia; and about Unity’s modus operandi. ‘It was sort of a game, a competition Unity had with herself--how mich more hurt and misunderstood she could be than anyone else in Upper IV’: it’s not quite clear in context if this is a move into 3rd person omnisicent narration or a realisation from Ginty’s point of view, but it seems to mark a turning point, as Ginty recognises that she might prefer Monica’s less invasive support.
Nicola’s application of her knowledge of Patrick’s shyness to her mother’s refusal of lunch at the clubhouse is a nice touch, I think: showing her growth of emotional perceptiveness across the novels. Mrs Marlow’s dismissal of Mrs Benson as suburban is inflected with class and perhaps some reflected Senior Service snobbery; useful for pinning down the Marlows’ sometimes nebulous class position: ‘explicitly’ is a perfectly delightful adverb there.
Karen is cross this hols, isn’t she? Snapping at Ginty’s lachrymosity might be understandable, but her bark at Lawrie over the wishbone seems grumpy. Guilt over Rowan taking over the farm?
I enjoy the comedy of the suggestions for Geoff’s ‘ship-warming’ present: so very characteristic of each family member. Nicola has retreated from her insight about shyness into the more childish attitude of being disgusted by the suggestion of a family photograph (I do like it that Forest shows emotional growth so realistically, in fits and starts, not as a steady teleological progression); Lawrie’s ‘binnacle’ always makes me giggle, as do Nicola’s Hornblower-inspired musings. I’m afraid I do imagine Geoff sniggering over the dirty bits in Pepys.
The teasing over the wishbone leads very believably, I think, into the more serious family dynamics of the conversation about Ann. Karen crunching her siblings again; though it’s Rowan here who’s really caustic. Peter seems to see some humour in Rowan’s put-down of Nicola, though I’m not surprised that Nicola doesn’t; perhaps Peter is just relieved that he seems to have got away without being unflatteringly characterised. And what a nice characterisation of Peter: ‘I can do all mine for myself’. He can, too.
Karen’s reaction to Ginty’s disappearance contrasts neatly with Ann’s concern and Rowan’s anger--which, natch, doesn’t affect Rowan’s swimming and diving performance--even Nicola keeps a cooler head than their eldest sister, in reminding her of the futility of worrying Mrs Marlow in addition to it all.
There is fic about this moment in Falconer’s Lure, incidentally.
I love the passage about Peter and Patrick in the diving competition. Peter’s resentment of Patrick overwhelming his pleasure in his other achievements--the very solicitous and sporting other competitors Nine and Thirteen: do they sense some of the atmosphere surrounding Peter and Patrick, somehow?--the Childe Roland allusion (Selby’s rather well-read, isn’t he? And I adore the flashback to Lieutenant Bethune on the bus and his comment about Hamlet; there are a couple of other references to Peter and Hamlet in the series, aren’t there? Hmm)--the magical thinking which links the poem to Dead Man’s Drop--Patrick’s ‘formal but somehow coaxing’ apology--the final irony of Patrick being the first to hear about the ciné-camera.
And finally in this chapter, the rebukes administered to Ginty and her abandonment of Unity-esque sensitivity. Again, I think this is a great bit of characterisation: Ann exasperated to her limit; Rowan furious and contemptuous (does Rowan feel the least bit remorseful about having bullied Ginty into entering the competition?) I feel for Ginty when Mrs Marlow tells her off, though--’if someone wants you to do something you don’t want to do, just say so’ rather underestimates the various pressures on her.
The brief sketch of Ellen Holroyd’s tea-party, its excitements and disappointments, is tantalising (this has been your regular scheduled &c.)
Ginty trying to ingratiate herself always makes me feel a bit glum, but she does seem to become friendly with Nicola again over the course of this chapter. She’s shed her opposition to blood-sports, we notice, and is looking forward to hunting. Some towny naiveté still in evidence in ‘we wouldn’t have to pay for stables and feed and stuff. It’s all at Trennels anyway’? Whatever about livery stables, feed still has to be paid for! I like Nicola’s ambivalent attitude to riding: it is presumably something she enjoys, in a sense, but it’s vexed with her sense of not being terribly competent or comfortable in horsy company. Her dismissal of ‘Pony Club types’ has an inflexion that reminds me of Mrs Marlow’s dislike of the bridge-and-golf set, and leads neatly on to Ginty’s uncomfortable reminder of Rowan’s rebuke to both of them.
Ginty’s social antennae are very lively, as she picks up information about the Reynoldses; it’s Nicola, typically, perhaps who notices that brother and sister don’t seem affectionate: the groundwork for the episode of Wendy’s cheating is being nicely laid here, I think.
Ginty’s sublime unconcern about the family being ‘stung to death’ echoes and contrasts with Ann’s concern about her at the Regatta very neatly, and also with Ann’s later panic over starting a fire in the attic. I also enjoy Ginty’s capacity to be wickedly amused by imagining Unity moving in on her next victim, though it perhaps reflects rather poorly on her.
Nicola’s silent misery over Wendy’s behaviour contrasts neatly with Patrick’s officious indignation, I think; and I enjoy the Greek chorus of Fred, Len and Syd.
Is Ann’s action so very ridiculous? We’re never given much information about the size of the fire, but it is structural, in a roof beam; I would have thought it was a situation that might be worth risking a false alarm.
Lawrie’s method of informing Wendy of her mistake (and discombobulating her in the process) is splendidly pointed, I think: it’s hard to sympathise with Wendy, given that’s she’s willing to risk serious injury to people and horses in pursuit of her vendetta, but there’s a cruel streak in what Lawrie does nonetheless.
Nicola’s divided loyalties over Patrick and Rowan in the jumping are very finely done--the reminder of Jon’s remark about Patrick’s guts always gets me, for some reason. And its culmination in Nicola’s horrified guilt at her own motivation for being upset at Rowan’s fall is Forest at her interpersonally complicated best. Nicola’s embarrassment at Oliver’s offer of the money twists the knife beautifully. Squirm.
The management would like to point out that Patrick Merrick has nothing to do with its LJ handle. (Tristram Shandy and the World Service, if you must know.) Patrick is not exactly gracious in victory: though I very much like the touch that he will tease Nicola about her fall to her face, but recount the truth of the matter to his father in private. As it happens, he has the truth of the matter in Nicola not being shaken and upset because of Rowan’s fall or her own, but there’s a cheerful, callous self-centredness there which is faintly reminiscent of Lawrie. I do wonder if that’s an unconscious attraction for Nicola; Patrick of course, rather dislikes Lawrie, and finds her foolish. Finally, Sprog is saved by the sale of the book, though not, as it happens, renamed Horatio. (It wouldn’t suit him.)
Many thanks again to our guest posters, and to everyone who’s participated so far: go for it!
I think there was general agreement that a break at this point might suit us all. Can I propose that we resume discussion on 29th August with End of Term? That should let most people get their summer hols out of the way (and write some fic?) and has a pleasing confluence with the back-to-school mood of the novel.
Before I go, I should just mention that legionseagle has given the hall-stand a happy ending in this fic, which also features a cameo by a teenage Robert Anquetil, already Bristol-fashion, bless his cotton socks. It was a great relief to me to know that the hall-stand did not end its days far from sea.
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Karen
I think I have previously seen these Karen episodes separately rather than as parts of a the whole, and as such didn't pick up an overall crossness. But when I do take them as a whole, as prompted here, I see what is meant by her being irritable this summer.
I do wonder if Karen, being that bit older, had begun to know Jon better than the others, and therefore her grief when he died had a more personal element to it ? Her outburst at Ginty over Ginty's pseudo grief about Fear No More is uncharacteristic. She has made plain her views about Unity already, but given she's not one to harp on about things already said, I think perhaps she is more honestly grieved over Jon’s death than the younger ones. This might well make her more irritable than normal. I could go with a qualm about the farm, though in the only conversation we hear about it, Rowan’s dismissal of the possibility of Karen doing that successfully is quietly accepted by Karen and the others as patently obvious. On the other hand, second thoughts about Oxford is a non-starter (for me, that is) as a reason for general snappiness this summer. On a subjective level Karen = Oxford, for me as for Nicola; and as Forest clearly didn’t plan ahead in the sequence of novels it is out of the question in a Doylist sense. We may well come back to Karen and Oxford later in the year.
Perhaps the day of the Regatta she was "cursed" and/or had not wanted to spend the day watching the others compete: she had hoped she could stay at home quietly reading. Captain Marlow had vetoed this with, "Everyone is going to the beach," and rather than argue, she came?
Whenever Karen intervenes in the lives of the younger ones at home there is a reason, and it is often helpful or protective (so she chooses Lawrie's poem for her and she lends Nick the entry money). If not specifically helpful in the this way she is peacekeeping (she does not like conflict) - I even see her entering a salad in that light (coming after Rowan and Ginty's first discussion about what/whether Ginty would be entering).
On the picnic she is her usual gentle self to start with, giving Lawrie the wishbone possibly because she wants it and she (Karen) really doesn't mind and possibly to shut her up. But Lawrie doesn't shut up. (And last time Lawrie started on a rant about it not being fair at a meal it ended them up with the realisation that the day had been the day of Jon's death and perhaps Karen wants to make sure they don’t go there again.) I see her intervention around Ann as protective - so the remark to Peter and Nicola is not about them, it's about Ann. And as you say, it is Rowan who picks it up and is more scathing.
I still can’t quite decide whether I see these as separate incidents or as part of a whole, though, but remain reluctant to cast Karen as “cross” this summer overall, even though I’ve just written some Watsonian possibilities!
Re: Karen
Re: Karen
Re: Karen/Rowan/Ann
I think Ann would have become the lower deck baby. Without the younger ones to look after, she would have been one of those earnest little girls who have a name for every single cuddly toy, which, together with the toy's food preferences and birthdays would be remembered and possibly recorded in neat handwriting in a pretty notebook with matching pencil. She would also like her pencils neatly sharpened and always, always in the same colour order in their box (though stopping short of full blown OCD). All of that nurturing energy would have gone on her dolls and toys (who might have better deserved it than her ungrateful younger sisters!). Generally, Karen and Rowan would be the "big girls" to her baby with Older Brother Giles in a category of his own (and spared housework duties etc.) To some extent Karen and Rowan might have similar approach to Ann to the one they do to the lower deck. But just occasionally, to Rowan's indignation, something would happen which would elevate Karen to being "big" with Giles and relegate her to be one the younger two with Ann. The other occasional shift would be a pairing of Giles and Rowan (particularly over some physical activity) and/or Karen and Ann over ballet classes.
More generally, I wonder if without the lower deck the older girls would bicker amongst themselves more? It seems as the younger ones grow up, so do the older ones lose their images of good-girl role models (in all their different ways) so perhaps without them (or with only Ann) they would feel less pressure in this direction?
Re: Karen/Rowan/Ann
Re: Karen/Rowan/Ann
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This works with the beginning of Autumn Term, where she is in a (reasonable, imo) flap about being in charge of the Family At School (she always has been, of course, but this is the first time the 'delicate twins' are going away. And her misgivings are justified when Nicola pulls the communication cord and Karen is crunched so humiliatingly by Miss Cromwell).
Going back to the 'filling in forms' scene, I think her snappiness at Ginty was a way of AF showing readers again that Ginty was being precious a la Unity Logan. (Although I do thoroughly agree with earlier comments that Rowan, one of my favourite characters, was a complete Bossy Type here and that if I were a younger sister I might well dig my heels in too.)