Race and the Victorians

 

The Moonstone, Wilkie Collins

 

I've been trying to come up with a list of nineteenth century (UK only, I'm afraid) novels with black or Asian characters, as I'm taking a class on “Race and the Victorians” next term.

Remarkably, the internet has failed to provide – or I haven't searched effectively!

I've been canvassing friends, and so far we've got:

• The Moonstone
• The first Mrs Rochester in Jane Eyre
• Arguably Heathcliff?
• H Rider Haggard
• Vanity Fair – I think there was a mixed race child at the school, or am I misremembering?
• Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Sign of Four & The Man with the Twisted Lip
• Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
• Ivanhoe
• Rudyard Kipling's "white man's burden"
• Tattycoram in Little Dorrit, and Nipper in Dombey and Sons?
• Conrad's Heart of Darkness
• Robert Louis Stephenson short stories: Beach of Fales and The Isle of Voices.

If you think of any more, please stick them in the comments!

[http://thisbutterflymind.blogspot.com]

Happy Christmas!

...and God bless us, every one, said Tiny Tim ...

In the bleak midwinter

13:365
Originally uploaded by ByBlanca

Because it's Christmas Eve, because it's -2oC outside, and because I have just completed the first draft of my Christina Rossetti essay:




In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, Whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, Whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

Photo is from ByBlanca's lovely Flickr photostream.

[http://www.thisbutterflymind.blogspot.com]

Ceaselessly beginning

stricken
Originally uploaded by verethragma

So, it's been a hectic couple of months and I've been meaning to blog the whys and wherefores. I've resigned my job to do an MA in Victorian Studies, after two years (some of my nearest and dearest would argue longer, I'm sure!) of vacillating and trying to decide if I should stay or I should go.

It's all very exciting and I am looking forward to January very much.

Classes have started and I am currently juggling work and classes and reading which is hard going but it's so much fun and so endlessly rewarding. I gave a seminar talk on Bleak House a few weeks ago, and am in the middle of two essays: one on Tennyson and Christina Rossetti, and the efficacy of the poet's voice in exploring the divine, and one on the moral interpretations of the disordered domestic space in Dickens – and goodness me, I know I've done the right thing!

At work, as I've progressed, I've moved further and further away from the things that motivate me, doing very little creative and lots that requires me to ...well, not really be myself. The gap between 'real' me and 'work' was just getting wider and wider, and that can't be healthy. This is something I've wanted to do for a long, long time: I find academic work so challenging, rewarding, fulfilling, exciting. This is a chance to have a bit of a career sabbatical and think carefully about who I am, what makes me happiest, and what I really want from a career. I'm going to try to keep my hand in, through, by doing part-time/temping/freelance work in digital or publishing (publishing friends: fair warning, I'll be in touch soon, for a little of what they call “leveraging your network”) so I keep my options open. Here's to a portfolio career for the next six months or so.

Who knows what will come next?

As a person who is usually so concerned with the future and doing the “right” thing, I am strangely relaxed about all this ambiguity and uncertainty. Which, I guess, is all part of the process of getting back to where I want to be – wherever that turns out to be!

Hurrah for new starts.

"To be alive is to be ceaselessly beginning." George Eliot – thanks, Jude, for such an apt quote, and from a nineteenth century author too!

(The photo is from my very talented friend Verethragma's Flickr photostream: go and have a look, it's full of beauty)

The kindness of strangers

London bus
Originally uploaded by E01

Yesterday, at the opposite ends of the day, I saw two things that reminded me London is not simply a giant, inhumane metropolis… and shamed me a little too.

In the morning, a youth got on the bus with an invalid pass and a viable explanation that he was waiting for a new one – he also gave the driver plenty of lip and attitude, being all of about 10 years of and “hard as nails,” as we used to say round my way when I was a child. So the driver pulled over and turned off the engine, and refused to move until the boy got off the bus. After five minutes or so, patience wore thin among the passengers and people started shouting at the boy to get off. This made ‘old toughie’ dig in all the more, with a glare of defiance. At this point, in the midst of shouts of “Come on!” and “Get off!”, something happened that really made an impression on me as the right and proper way to go about things – a lady with a strong northern accent began to reason with the boy in a kind and rational way, treating him as an equal and appealing to his better name to “Do us all a favour, we understood, but it wasn’t our fault”. The boy dismounted, with a little more grace. It was so well-handled. She was kind, polite, firm, without being condescending or overbearing. Too often, we look at these tough kids and just see trouble. I guess the kindest thing would have been for the driver to just let him on in the first place, or for someone to stump up the fare, but I was impressed.

In the evening, returning from class on the Central Line, I looked up from my book and at the far end of the carriage, a young woman with a red sequin Stetson was softly weeping to herself. Most people looked away, and I confess, I assumed she was drunk – but some young women near her offered her tissues and a friendly ear. It turned out a song on her iPod had triggered memories of her recently deceased father. I was shamefaced and so impressed with those ladies who saw beyond the sequin Stetson to the fellow human in distress.

I think what I am taking away from this is that I must try to overcome that peculiar London conditioning which says ‘look away for self-preservation’ in favour of seeing human beneath, before I become too hardened by big city life.

Must be nearly Christmas ...

 This weekend’s baking, courtesy of the lovely Kirstie and Phil’s Perfect Christmas show…

Gingerbread

6 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup shortening, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup molasses
1/2 cup water
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Sift the dry ingredients together
Mix the wet ingredients, and gradually add dry.
Chill dough for 3 hours.
Roll out and cut with cookie cutters.
Bake for 10 to 12 minutes at 350F /175C / gas mark four

Very yummy, although I think I’ll up the ginger content next time to make them super-spicy!