An unintentional review post on Wildthorn

Wildthorn by Jane Eagland

All of my books have arrived in the mail. Woo! I can’t wait to crack into them!

I recently finished reading Wildthorn, by Jane Eagland. It was amazing! But, I will speak (write?) more of that in a minute. I just started Florence and Giles, by John Harding. It was so difficult to choose (from those above), but I wanted to go with something not so terribly close to Wildthorn, in terms of plot or story, as it would possibly all bleed together, and I haven’t had any breaks from reading. So, a different story will have to be the break. It is hard though, as I have obviously chosen a particular type of novel I am after for the comps. I might consider straying away for a wee while, after Florence and Giles — either a break entirely, or temporarily move on to another genre — before my brain implodes.

But firstly, I want to talk about Wildthorn.
I haven’t read a book so remarkably rich in detail, so powerful, and with a plot and story so gut-wrenchingly beautiful yet painful, in a very long time. It was full of twists — some I could see coming, though most I could not — scandals, secret and forbidden loves, betrayal (like, I-want-to-punch-that-person-in-the-face betrayal), as well as I-want-to-punch-that-person-in-the-face-again loss and sadness. I was also very fond of the language, style, and tone of the novel. And, the research that went into this book? The detail of the asylum, the “treatments”, the characterisation of the doctors and patients — just wow!

Wildthorn Jane Eagland

Much like my Eleanor, the heroine of Wildthorn, Louisa Cosgrove, craves a life off the path which has been already laid for her. Her desire to become a doctor is relentlessly and mercilessly crushed by external forces; namely her family, who does nothing but try and rid her of her unfeminine qualities, and her unfeminine dream.

Most of the book explores the consequences of a nineteenth-century woman choosing to defy the societal expectations of her sex. A vindictive plot against her stifles her dream, if only physically, for she is incarcerated in an asylum, Wildthorn Hall, for her crimes against not only her sex, but her family — an unruly woman, seeking a career reserved solely for men, would bring shame to the family.

Louisa is the kickarse heroine we need. She’s not going to go out and start beating up baddies, but her knowledge of the scientific world, for instance, makes me want to be just like her — I think contemporary women would absolutely idolise her. In fact, you could say, she’s just like Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: independent, intelligent, and is possessed by a desire to harness the dark arts. Well, not quite, but in the Victorian period, a woman’s fascination with such unrefined or masculine things, was just as sinful.

Eagland never stopped surprising me. I’d think I had something figured out, but then I’d be blown away with revelation after revelation.

For instance, Louisa was committed under the name Lucy Childs. Of course, I started off believing it to be some conspiracy. It’s absolutely something that could have happened in nineteenth-century England. Women were committed for all manner of absurd reasons, and it wasn’t difficult to make a woman seem crazy — a woman wanting to be anything other than what was expected of her, is enough for her to be deemed mad — so, I believed her to be honest about her identity, but then I was soon convinced that perhaps her incarceration really was done for her benefit. Perhaps whoever was responsible did really care for her well-being. Of course, I quickly dismissed that idea too, for surely they would have at least considered the rest cure to such a horrible alternative. Yet, the asylum is the ideal place to silence a person — a woman.

Once you delve deeper, you start to doubt yourself, and you start to fear that you would have been committed, had you lived in Victorian England.

This should be enough to scare you from ever attempting time travel.

Reasons for admission

Solving the puzzle of who was responsible for Louisa’s imprisonment had me devouring page after page. It was impossible to put this book down, save for sleep. And, I never stopped hoping for her to make it out of there alive. I wanted her to make it out, she had to. I wasn’t going to accept otherwise. Of course, I won’t divulge whether she did or not. You’ll have to find out yourself 😉

My only qualm is with the ending. It wasn’t satisfying for me, but as you know, I’m very particular about endings!

There are a lot of similarities between Wildthorn and Eleanor, which I am happy to see. I think Wildthorn will make a fantastic addition to my comps list for when I submit to agents and publishers.

Be sure to get yourself a copy, and tell your friends. Wildthorn is a must read!

I rate this book a Wuthering Heights.

The scale:
10. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
9. Wormwood: A Drama of Paris – Marie Corelli
8. Tess of the d’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
7. Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier
6. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J.K. Rowling
5. Fox in Socks – Dr. Seuss
4. The Da Vinci Code Dan Brown
3. The Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger
2. Dune – Frank Herbert
1. Fallen – Lauren Kate
0. 50 Shades of Grey – E. L. James

Read more about the scale here

Anyway…
I didn’t actually mean for this post to turn into a review like that, I just had a lot to say about the book. I probably have a lot more to say, but maybe I’ll save that until later.

What was I actually going to talk about? I can’t remember. You know what, fine. This can be a review post, haha!

Historical fiction: Research

I know a lot of people, myself included, who have said that they feel like they belong in another period of time. Yes, I feel that at times. All the time. Absolutely. I think the idea of being, say in 19thC London, away from the thrall of Facebook (and away from the evil trolls who frequent it), could mean me spending more time… focusing on my pox-ridden body.

And that is the reality. We probably couldn’t manage living in those times. We romanticise it because of people like Mr. Darcy, but the truth is that we would likely be those people lying in the streets, struggling to survive because illegal immigrants like Heathcliff have taken our jobs!

Also, let’s not forget how women couldn’t vote, women were property, women couldn’t own property (unless they were lucky enough to be in a family with no males), and so on and so forth. So, if you were a guy, things might be all right for you then. That is, if you weren’t poor!

This brings me to the next subject of focus in my historical fiction blog posts: research.

In my ideal historical fiction, is a realistic (and honest) portrayal of the setting and lifestyle of the period. But even writers like Jane Austen weren’t that honest, and she lived in those times! It was all very pretty, the idea that we could choose who we wanted to marry, but that really wasn’t true. Marriage was for social or financial benefit. And for that reason, Mr. Collins is the most realistic character in Pride and Prejudice. He might be boorish and ugly, but he is realistic.

But really, Mr. Darcy. What a hunk of a man! Or was he?

I imagined Jennifer Ehle (of the BBC’s miniseries Pride and Prejudice) was a more realistic portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet than Keira Knightly (in both physique and acting ability!), but I never questioned whether Colin Firth or Matthew Macfadyen were realistic portrayals of Mr. Darcy.

Keep in mind, it’s never a good idea to challenge the romantic image of Mr. Darcy as he has been conveyed in film and television. Women will come at you with pitchforks! But, I came across a number of articles looking at that very idea, and I’ve come to the single conclusion:

We’ve been lied to!

A study, conducted by Professor John Sutherland of University College, London (where Eleanor attends, by the way), revealed that “the revered Darcy would have had powdered white hair, a pointy chin, a pale complexion, a long nose and sloping shoulders. Not quite the brooding, chiselled chap portrayed on-screen by modern-day actors” (Thompson). Feeling heartbroken yet? Go ahead and read more.

“That’s all well and good, Cadence,” you might say “but that was in the film, not the novel.”

“Well,” I would respond. “please let me explain.”

Mr. Darcy is described by Austen as “handsomer than Mr. Bingley” (8), which is interesting considering the unappetising description given by University College, London’s study. And so, the “brooding, chiselled chap” in Pride and Prejudice is probably just as brooding and chiselled as The Marquis de Sade!

feb15_g01_marquisdesade.jpg__600x0_q85_upscale
Fig. 1 Portrait of Sade (Smithsonian.com)

Geoffrey Rush was aptly chosen to represent Sade, in my opinion. Perhaps then he is the closest to Mr. Darcy? But I may be wrong. What do you think? Would you watch Rush as Darcy in the next Pride and Prejudice film? I know I would!

marquisshag
Fig. 2 Geoffrey Rush as the Marquis de Sade (Rushysgirl)

As readers, we aren’t given much to go with in terms of description — “fine, tall person, [with] handome features” (Austen 7) — and I imagine the BBC series and film have clouded our judgement and given us a biased image of the “handsomer than Mr. Bingley” Mr. Darcy.

But enough of Mr. Darcy, and his lies!

Emily Brontë offered us a much more detailed, and rich description of the brooding and chiselled Heathcliff. Nelly describes Heathcliff, upon his return:

He had grown a tall, athletic, well-formed man; beside whom, my master seemed quite slender and youth-like. His upright carriage suggested the idea of his having been in the army. His countenance was much older in expression and decision of feature than Mr. Linton’s; it looked intelligent, and retained no marks of further degradation. A half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; and his manner was even dignified: quite divested of roughness, though too stern for grace (Brontë 69).

And upon their meeting, Mr. Lockwood describes Heathcliff as:

…a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose (3).

Though, of course, our image of beauty changes with time. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley will always adhere to our image of beauty because the description is lacking. We then see Pride and Prejudice as timeless, in that regard. The reader is able to create their own image of what beauty is, or should be.

So… should I be creating a detailed image of beauty (my own interpretation, or rather the depiction of beauty of 19thC London) or, instead, should I consider the readership’s desire for a timeless beauty?

To accommodate this need of the reader, and like Austen, I too have not given detailed descriptions of characters, such as Eleanor’s love interest, Mr. Ashwood. Yet, part of that stems from Eleanor’s own rebellion from her duty in finding a husband. She is more concerned with content of character, in a friend or confidant (who she sees Mr. Ashwood as). And therefore, does not consider his appearance too deeply.

What other novels do you feel have not been entirely honest with the reader?
Let me know in the comment section below.

What do we see in terms of historical fiction, however? In my experience, in my readings of historical fiction, the image of beauty has been altered by the author’s personal bias, and not “limited” to the standards as set by the period. If we can go back to Wuthering Heights, we see this with Heathcliff. Although the character is seen as dangerous, violent, exotic, and sometimes that is attributed to his mysterious origins and colour of his skin, Heathcliff is still considered beautiful when compared to Mr. Linton for example, who is perhaps more aligned to the true standard of beauty for that period.

So, what is beauty? Should we be challenging our own standards, or leaving it open to interpretation?

In my last historical fiction post, I mentioned how I am trying to be more open to the demand for a romanticised history, and I think I have done that in Eleanor, at least I hope so. For example, Eleanor’s young sister, Vivienne, falls in love with a man whom she knows nothing about. He is handsome, yes, but as Eleanor and Vivienne grew up without a mother, they were without that person to arrange marriages or find suitors for them (such as Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice), they’re now going in blind. Vivienne knows that she should find someone to free her from her financial problems, she believes she has found someone to do that, but it was essentially ‘love at first sight’, that compelled her to fall for the mysterious Mr. Winters.

Eleanor rejects the societal expectations of her sex, and embraces the possibility of living life as a spinster. She sees that as the fate of someone of her social standing (particularly after the death of her father, and considering her money woes), therefore she believes it right to accept her future now, and prepare for it. She would rather that fate than to marry without love.

Eleanor edited

And yet, all the while, Eleanor is faced with the question of what love truly is.

Getting sidetracked! The point is, Eleanor is well aware of the consequences of veering off the path meant for her, in search of another.

But, what were/are the biggest research issues in writing Eleanor?

  • Specifics about human anatomy, in terms of surgical procedures [both Henry (Mr. Ashwood) and Eleanor perform surgeries].
  • Language. Trying to make accurate dialogue for 19thC London, which entails looking at other works written of that time. But I also like to write pretentiously, so it’s pretty easy for me! 😉
  • Etiquette.

I recently happened upon a book on etiquette, which will perhaps be of the greatest help for me in terms of staying true to the lifestyle mannerisms of 19thC London. There are specific moments in Eleanor I have been uncertain of, and already this little book, Hints of etiquette: A shield against the vulgar (which contains, Hints on Etiquette and the Usages of Society: with a Glance at Bad Habits, 1842, and Hints for Etiquette; or, Dining out Made Easy, 1849) has answered a number of my questions. For instance, in regards to dancing.

I’m quite fond of this entry (on how not to be an arsehole!):

It has somewhere been observed that, ‘In good society, a tacit understanding exists that whatsoever conversation may take place shall be to a certain degree sacred, and may not honourably be carried out of it, and repeated to the prejudice of the utterer’ (Agogos, 68-69).

But, of course, I refer again to Eleanor and Vivienne’s naivety of such customs. It is a factor that surfaces again and again in the novel, and illustrates their poor decision making in some scenarios.

In regards to my issue with maintaining consistent and dated language… this is something I will delve into further in my historical fiction blog post concerning language. Most of the research was through reading, ultimately. That is probably the best advice out there — read, read, read!

In terms of my research of human anatomy…

Many universities have a program whereby members of the public can take full advantage of their libraries. This has been most beneficial to me, in particular with researching human anatomy. I often borrow books from a local university. And, as a former student with Curtin University, I am privileged enough to be able to continue using their library facilities both on-campus and online. That is just one of the many perks of choosing an education with them!

What is your research process?
Let me know in the comment section below.

I also attempted to research human anatomy and surgical procedures from videos. This is (or, would have been) something helpful for my research and writing process as I describe a particular procedure in Eleanor. Alas! I found it to be quite difficult viewing. Nausea was a problem! Instead, I had to rely on graphic images of the procedure from books and online. A book I found to be incredibly useful was, …. Wait, scratch that! I don’t really want to give it away. The specific surgical procedure is quite a pivotal plot point, so, just ignore this.

However, I will say that the late Dr. Clarendon (Eleanor’s father) was well-versed in human anatomy, as you know (he was a revered anatomist with University College, London), but his field of specialty, or at least his focus, was on the female reproductive system. He considered some theories like the ‘wandering womb’, for example. But, I will not go further. This is simply to illustrate an example of the research I have had to undertake for Eleanor.

I have so much more to say, but sadly this post is getting a little too long. Perhaps I will make a part 2, but for now, I will leave it as is. Feel free to message me, or comment below with your thoughts.

Please join me next time when I look at male characters in historical fiction.

What are your thoughts on historical fiction?
Who are your favourite authors?
Let me know in the comment section below.


Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.: New York and London, 2001. Print.
Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. Wordsworth Editions Ltd: Hertfordshire, 1992. Print.
“Geoffrey Rush as the Marquis de Sade” Image. Rushysgirl. 10 Sep. 2007. Web. Date accessed 5 June 2015.
“Portrait of Sade” Image. Smithsonian.com Feb. 2015. Web. Date accessed 10 Apr. 2017.
Thompson, Rachel. “This is what Mr. Darcy would have actually looked like – and it’s not pretty“. Mashable. 9 Feb. 2017. Web. Date accessed 18 Mar. 2017.

Writing historical fiction – the pros, the cons, the heartaches

I’ve always had a fondness for historical fiction, and I’ve particularly admired the commitment and the lengths writers go to, to create the perfect story in our world.

Over the coming weeks, I will be examining a different element in creating historical fiction. These will include: setting, character development, and research, just to name a few.

Each blog post will be concerning issues I have faced, and how I overcame them (or plan to overcome them).

I am by no means an expert. I merely wish to share my personal experiences with the genre, my likes, dislikes, and the highs and lows of my writing process for my first historical novel, Eleanor.


Is there a formula for creating these worlds? How deep do writers need to go, in their research, to ensure their reader is completely immersed in these worlds?


These are just some of the questions I am trying to answer in my quest in completing Eleanor.

Eleanor editedAfter having fallen in love with a number of historical novels, I knew that I wanted to write my own. I can’t remember where I got the initial idea for Eleanor. It was simply a desire to write the un-romantic Romantic. I wanted ugliness, darkness, and to be as near to the raw, unbridled, reality of nineteenth-century England as possible.

One of my biggest concerns with historical fiction is the tendency for some writers to romanticise the period they are working in. And, yes it is fiction, and though I confess I sometimes have the desire to read the romanticised version of history, it is not real. I prefer the raw, unabridged version, including all the ugly parts of history. I want something as true to life as possible, I suppose. Otherwise I feel like I’m being lied to about what life in those times was truly like.

Perhaps I should stick to non-fiction then?

You know I am a pessimist, and you know that I prefer to read novels with sad endings, because I believe they are more realistic… perhaps that is why I need an historical fiction with that darkness.

That may sound contradictory when last time I talked nonstop about my love for purple prose, but if you remember: anything can be made beautiful with purple prose.

Ugliness, darkness, reality; they can be written beautifully. (Beautiful writing or purple prose does not always imply ‘happy’). We can see it in Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Wuthering Heights, and Adam Bede, as just some examples. In historical fiction, we can see it in Rebel Heiress.

Lady of the Butterflies

I instantly fell in love with Fiona Mountain’s Rebel Heiress (also published as Lady of the Butterflies) when I read it a number of years ago. This is one of my favourite historical novels. There is romance, yes, but there is sadness, rejection, and isolation too, because that is an inevitability of life. You cannot escape the darkness of the world. I loved the ending, and though I confess I would have liked to see something more definitive, or to see the heroine be with her love interest, it was a realistic ending. The fact that it went against my expectations (because I always assume there will be a happy ending), I loved that even more. I highly recommend this book, and… sorry for the spoilers, haha!

It just seems that characters in a lot of our literary worlds have a pretty good spell of luck. I don’t see many heroes dying of the plague, or women dying in childbirth. And that’s where I’ve found a love in Bernard Cornwell. He tells it like it was!


Can you steer me in the right direction? What should I be reading?
What should I be avoiding?

Next book in the queue is The Light Between Oceans by M. L. Stedman. I’ve heard great things, so I’m looking forward to it.

light between oceans


For Eleanor, I am trying to be more accepting of the fact that readers love the romanticisation of history, but I want to add the ugliness of reality too. For instance, I don’t think I’ve come across a book that has described the common difficulty in bathing. A simple act today (for most parts of the world), but as you can imagine, without running water it would have been a pain in the arse. That is something that has come up in Eleanor, in a very minor way. Really, it’s about balancing historical accuracy with an interesting narrative. I don’t need someone to give expert knowledge in the area of Victorian bathing, but it gets hard imagining a world where it seems no one takes the time to use the facilities. Like in The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (apparently I’ll use any excuse to reference my favourite game!). Sometimes I wish Geralt would at least stop fighting monsters for a minute to avail himself toilet-wards. I have video footage of a NPC doing it, but Geralt’s too good to pee on a tree obviously!

Paint me a picture, historical fiction writers! Your characters can’t always be smelling nice when their last bathing was a year ago! It’s hard to imagine the hero or heroine being romanced when they stink. Maybe they wear a lot of perfume as compensation?

For my love of The Marquis de Sade, I am completely free to dabble in the darkness. His life was lavish, decadent, toxic, and miserable. There isn’t much argument for adding romance in there, but… perhaps I could? Why not romanticise a horrible man? We romanticise the abusive Christian Grey. It then stands to reason that Sade could be romanticised too. Forcing women to take aphrodisiacs (Spanish fly), pouring hot wax on their bodies, and whipping them; there is a familiarity there, I’m sure 😉

Though I prefer to be ethical, historical fiction is, well, fiction.

Sade the coward? Never! He single-handedly broke out of the Bastille to save Marie Antoinette, his long-time admirer, from the guillotine. History won’t tell you that, but it’s true! He then married her, ‘cos, you know… facts.

So there’s the love story! Sade and Antoinette: A Forbidden Love © 2016 (patent pending).

I’m starting right now! Come on, it could work. You’re just jealous because I thought of it first! I’ll even stick a copyright symbol on it, to be sure.

I enjoy studying Sade’s life, and do also enjoy writing academic papers on him and his works, but I would love to write a fictional creative piece. I have started on a few. Feel free to check out my short piece, Letter to the Marquise.

Although his life was incredibly depressing, it was still really interesting. If someone could write a biography of his life in narrative form… that would be amazing! That’s something I want, and maybe something I’ll try myself.

Now, I shall take my leave because once again my thoughts are getting distracted and I don’t know where to end.

Please join me next time when I look at research for historical fiction.


What are your thoughts on historical fiction?
Who are your favourite authors?
Let me know in the comment section below.

In defence of purple prose

I’ve been writing for a number of years now, but it was only recently that I heard the term, “purple prose“. Ever since then, I’ve heard it cop a lot of flak and I didn’t (and still don’t) understand why.

But firstly… what is “purple prose”?
Purple prose is a literary term used to refer to writing that is considered “flowery”, “ornate”, “decadent”, “elaborate” (and other synonyms).
(“Beige prose” falls on the other end of the spectrum, both in nature and in colour.)

purple typewriter2
But, how exactly does purple prose differ from what is considered normal or plain prose? Is the normal, or acceptable, prose a weird combination of the colours then? If you’re a fan of this beigey-purple taupe prose, then that’s great. I’m totally on board. I love a healthy mix of the two as well. I simply want readers (and authors) to give purple prose a chance. Ask yourself why you dislike it. Is it a matter that you prefer plain prose, or is it the reputation purple prose has earned that is the basis for your utter disdain?

I have been told I write purple prose, and I have taken it as nothing else but a compliment. As a big fan of Romantic or Gothic style literature, I love emotive, descriptive, flowery writing. I have never considered it “over the top”, but a lot of people do. So this is where I cannot help but wonder, why is purple prose bad and where is the line drawn?

purple quill image
In my search for answers, I came across a paper entitled, “In Defense of Purple Prose” — a coincidence, I assure you! — and one particular part stood out to me:

“Certain producers of plain prose have conned the reading public into believing that only in prose plain, humdrum or flat can you articulate the mind of inarticulate ordinary Joe … This minimalist vogue depends on the premise that only an almost invisible style can be sincere, honest, moving, sensitive and so forth, whereas prose that draws attention to itself by being revved up, ample, intense, incandescent or flamboyant turns its back on something almost holy – the human bond with ordinariness” (West).

So, does this mean purple prose isn’t actually bad, but simply has earnt a bad reputation?

I find West’s argument very interesting considering there is a theory that “purple prose” is seen as pretentious, or reserved only for a particular audience, and… is simply “wrong”. I hear more arguments of purple prose being elitist, than arguments of plain prose being lazy. As a reader, I want imagery, I want to be challenged, I want to be stimulated, I want to be immersed into the story, and I want to think, “Holy shit! That is amazing writing!” I want more than just a story. I find novels with purple prose able to tick all these and more.

Writing is one of those mediums where you can do no wrong. There may be some things that will make publishing difficult (James Joyce’s 100-word sentence may not take to a modern reader, and almost certainly wouldn’t be published today), or may turn readers off (change of tense/change of P.O.V.), but really, writing is flexible. Novels should have no formulae, especially not in how the prose is written. The most common piece of advice I hear is:

Write what you like.
And… you will find others that like it too.

To simply say that purple prose is “wrong” is kind of narrow-minded, in my opinion. And to completely dismiss a work because of purple prose is unfair. The most wonderful thing about purple prose is that anything can be made beautiful. I’m sure there is a writer out there that can even make doing one’s taxes sound exotic.

The problem is that all forms of purple prose are lumped together, whether they be good, bad, or ugly.

I have no qualm with minimalist writing. It is not my personal preference, but I won’t turn a book down because of it. I am currently reading a novel however that is very minimalist, so much so that there have been times where I couldn’t pin point where the characters were. “Floating heads” is the term, I believe (and I have certainly been guilty of that!). Anyway, this novel, which I won’t name, is really pushing me. I don’t usually give up on a novel, but I’m heading there. As I said, I’m fine with minimalist writing, but I feel like I need to be compensated in some way, for the loss of purple prose. I need a damn good story and plot! And no floating heads!

I need more beigey-purple taupe prose at the very least.

So, are the works of the 19th century, the Romantic/Gothic literary style, dead? Are modern readers more interested in plain prose or minimalist writing?

I do believe that perhaps the addition of purple prose could have saved some of E.L. James’ descriptive writing. I know she is considered a “God” to some of you, but could you please put your pitchforks down for a minute? James certainly opened up the erotic fiction genre (although I do have some qualms with her methods), absolutely, but it would be great if we could at least agree on one thing: her writing is pretty poor.

“Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms – coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow.”

This is probably one of the most famous “bad” (or “funny”, depending on your perspective) lines of 50 Shades of Grey. This kind of descriptive writing is typical of “beige prose”, and could be saved with some purple. The writer should be more attentive to descriptive language so the reader can visualise everything. The use of “washing machine” is also very “beige”. It is boring, it is mechanical, it is cold. Some more decorative language could win me over.

West continues with a question that I think is truly valid,
“How many prose writers can you identify from their style?”

Just like you can pick up a Smashing Pumpkins song from their style, or a fashion designer, so too should you be able to pick up an author from their style of writing, at least I believe so. When I’m reading Marie Corelli or Lilith Saintcrow, I know I’m reading them. Lilith Saintcrow may be upset that I call her writing purple prose, as many authors find it a terrible thing, but I consider hers to be the definition, or my definition of “purple prose”. The A Tale of Beauty and Madness series is a great example.

nameless  wayfarer2  kin

If not “purple”, then definitely a shade darker from the “beigey-purple taupe”. Corelli and Saintcrow have a very unique style and that’s why I keep coming back to them. Well, not Marie Corelli as she is quite dead, unfortunately. But the book I’m reading now? Anyone could have written it, in my opinion. There is no unique style. And that book is what I would label “beige” or plain prose.


What is your definition of “purple prose”? Where is the line drawn, do you think? Which authors do you consider “purple” and which do you consider “beige”?
What are your thoughts?

Let me know in the comment section below.


I recently came across an argument regarding the use of purple prose. It was said that purple prose is essentially the reader describing the story as if it were a movie. Every minute detail, dramatic action, and so on described. That is certainly an interesting point. I agree that being overly descriptive (ie giving too much unnecessary information) can be an issue, but I see a distinction between that and emotive, flowery writing. I would also like to argue that, to me, it is the minimalist writing or “beige” prose that comes across more as a film or transcript. This, of course, is not meant to be a generalisation. I am speaking from my experience as a reader. I have read novels that have been absent of action, emotive and descriptive writing altogether. It reads like a transcript because it is simply dialogue. (Dialogue-heavy books aren’t my thing, keep in mind.) But I like the idea of a book being so detailed that I can picture it with ease. They say that books are better than their film counterparts. If it is merely dialogue, I can take the film at face value, and I don’t like that.


I like my writing. Not everyone will, I know that. I also know that I can go over the top, but I do my best to rein it in. That doesn’t mean I will give up purple prose to do that though.


It is difficult finding modern books that I love. I essentially want Romantic/Gothic works, complete with 19th-century language and style. There are only so many novels out there that meet my needs. I hate to be so fussy, but I’m running out of Brontë, Corelli, Le Fanu, Radcliffe, and others. If they weren’t so dead, that would be fine, then I could bug them relentlessly.

I’ve bought a lot of anthologies, such as The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories by Women, in the hopes of getting a taste of what I’ve been craving for years. And I do find some, but I want more!

So please, writers out there, I implore you. Give purple prose another chance. I’ll love you for it ❤

ghost stories

Give me beautiful, give me sublime. Give me purple prose!


Know an author I’ll love? Are you one of them? Let me know in the comment section or send me a message. I want to read your works!


James, E.L. Fifty Shades of Grey. London: Arrow Books, 2012. Print.
West, Paul. “In Defense of Purple Prose.” The New York Times. 15 Dec. 1985. Accessed 11 March 2017.
Image credits: NeOld and blogylana

The Treatment – a review (spoilers)

The Treatment by Suzanne Young

This will be a long review (or essay)… but I have so much I want to discuss!

The Treatment, by Suzanne Young, picks up where The Program left off. Being agonisingly left on tenterhooks by the first novel, I made sure I had the sequel in my hands days after finishing the first.

Check out my review of The Program for a quick recap. If you’re way too impatient…

The Program follows Sloane as she fights to avoid the clutches of the Program, which aims to “cure” her of her depression. The cure involves removing all memories the Program believes to be a threat to a person’s well-being. Despite all her efforts, she was eventually flagged after her boyfriend, James, was taken. All her depressing memories were erased, including those of James, who the Program believed to be a critical reason for her depression.

Against the odds, Sloane and James found each other and recovered a few key memories. They proved as a threat to the Program and its success, and have been on the run ever since.

Back to The Treatment

Sloane and James are still on the run from the Program. They are deprived of their memories, however they now have possession of the Treatment, a pill which has the power to restore all memories. But, they only have one.

While on the run, Sloane and James are constantly plagued with the burden of the Treatment. Does Sloane take it, or James? Or do they hold onto it in the hopes of it being replicated?

To me, I thought the answer was pretty obvious: have the pill replicated. But I never could comprehend the mentality behind their decision making. They didn’t want to remember, they wanted to live in the now, and remember only the events since the Program. Why?

The Treatment by Suzanne Young

The first novel ended with a few things I thought would be explored more in the sequel. For example, the epidemic was spreading, affecting adults, not only teens. Such themes, to my disappointment, were not addressed in this novel.

In The Treatment, just as many if not more questions are left unanswered. The reason behind the suicide epidemic starting? An answer is offered, one that sounds more and more like Suicide Club (a girl suffering from depression seemingly convinces her friends to kill themselves together with her), but the answer is dispelled just as quickly as it is offered: “The Program is breeding suicide” (319). The constant fear of being admitted into the Program drives teens to depression. So, was there ever an epidemic?

Forgiving the mother
Sloane seems to forgive her mother, at least after some hesitation and therapy, for admitting her into the Program. I think she had to forgive her mother. If Sloane had taken the Treatment (as she contemplated), then she never would have forgiven her mother, because her mother was the greater evil. Greater than the Program. Not knowing what she lost of herself in the Program makes it easier for her to forgive, because she is of the belief that her old life was full of so much pain, enough at least to warrant treatment. The new Sloane may believe her mother’s choice was for the best. That, and having James’ memories to help, builds the foundation for a closer relationship.

Lobotomies
The one thing that confuses me most about this novel is the lobotomy. Not the why, but the how. Specifically, how did the Program manage to get permission to perform such a treatment on minors? Was that part of the admission stage? Because that itself raises more questions. As I understand the process:
1. You can be admitted to the Program by a parent/legal guardian, or
2. The Program just snatches up at-risk teens.
Concerning 1., so the parents sign a waiver, or give permission for any treatment to be made, including invasive and dangerous procedures like a lobotomy?
Concerning 2., how is permission, of any kind, granted? They are minors. Do they belong to the State? Do they seek parent’s permission? Can a parent refuse? (Both the lobotomy and/or the Program altogether.) Perhaps this was answered in the first novel, to my recollection it wasn’t. I am open to debate.

Perhaps in the world of the narrative, the Program does not need permission?

Roger
How the hell did he get the job as a handler? Why was he offered the Treatment by Dr. Evelyn Valentine? Was he a playful little kitten before he turned evil?

Realm
Bloody coward! Instead of giving Sloane the option of taking the pill (and leaving fate in her hands), along with all his cryptic messages about whether or not she’d forgive him, why not instead just tell her the truth about who he is? I would have kicked him in the boingloings!

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If you’ve experienced betrayal, you’ve experienced the worst feeling in the world — unforgivable — and I completely understand Sloane not wanting to speak to him again.

The ending
Part of me is disappointed the ending was not a sad one. With a story/plot such as this, I couldn’t believe the ending would be anything but sad. I was waiting for a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest-type ending.

I won’t lie though, I wanted those crazy kids to make it out of there, but the realist, the pessimist, in me didn’t believe it to be possible. The orchestration of the escape (right before Sloane’s lobotomy) seemed too smooth.

Enough about the story.

The writing
I was certainly not disappointed by Young’s style. As I mentioned in my review for The Program, I thought her writing was beautiful but unembellished, and complemented by gorgeous imagery. Even when it was macabre it was gorgeous, for instance how Realm talks of his suicide attempt.

One of the most beautiful, yet sad lines in the novel is when Sloane ponders whether she is “just a replacement of the girl [she] used to be” (75). It also sounded like a nod to Young’s other series concerning the Program, The Remedy. But, it’s when Dr. Arthur Pritchard comments on the reality of human nature, that I get a chill down my spine: “Human beings are cruel creatures. And what we don’t understand, we tamper with until we destroy it” (133).

Revelation
A revelation just hit me: the Program seeks to rid sympathy and empathy. Sloane and James (all characters for that matter) try so hard not to let depression conquer them, they forbid themselves from crying, from feeling what is most natural — sympathy; a capacity to understand. When one hears sad news, the other stops themselves from feeling lest they should be considered ‘at-risk’.

It is heartbreaking to imagine that ‘normalcy’ means being deprived of sympathy or empathy.

I rate this book a Fox in Socks.

The scale:
10. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
9. Wormwood: A Drama of Paris – Marie Corelli
8. Tess of the d’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
7. Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier
6. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J.K. Rowling
5. Fox in Socks – Dr. Seuss
4. The Da Vinci Code Dan Brown
3. The Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger
2. Dune – Frank Herbert
1. Fallen – Lauren Kate
0. 50 Shades of Grey – E. L. James

Read more about the scale here

Review ratings

I’m beginning to write some book reviews — or essays 😉 — nothing serious, nothing fancy, just some musings. I’ve just decided on a rating system. Instead of stars, I’ll rate by a scale I’ve devised; the good, the bad, and the ugly books I’ve read. The lowest possible rating will be a 50 Shades of Grey (or 0), the middle rating will be a Fox in Socks (5), and the highest rating will be a Wuthering Heights (10). For example, I might say: “I rate this book a 50 Shades of Grey”. That’s not to say I am comparing ‘x’ to E. L. James’ infamous novel, rather that ‘x’ rates as a 0 on my scale. Of course, I’ll keep the scale as a guide at the bottom of each review to minimise confusion, of which there will be a lot!

Read my reviews
Wildthorn, by Jane Eagland
The Treatment, by Suzanne Young
The Program, by Suzanne Young

Where does your book stand on the rating scale? In the near future I will be offering to review YOUR books. Keep an eye out for more information.

The scale:
10. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
9. Wormwood: A Drama of Paris – Marie Corelli
8. Tess of the d’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
7. Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier
6. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J.K. Rowling
5. Fox in Socks – Dr. Seuss
4. The Da Vinci Code Dan Brown
3. The Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger
2. Dune – Frank Herbert
1. Fallen – Lauren Kate
0. 50 Shades of Grey – E. L. James

Do you know a book more deserving of a place on this list? Use the contact form below to send me your suggestions.






The Program – a review

The Program by Suzanne Young

Hey all,

I recently finished reading The Program by Suzanne Young, and thought I’d share a review.

Young has created a beautiful, yet haunting dystopian world where suicide is so prevalent among teenagers that it has become an international epidemic, seeing one in three killed. The Program was designed to cure anyone deemed at-risk, the only problem is that although the depression disappears after treatment, the patients come back as empty shells; their memories erased. The protagonist, Sloane, has spent years trying to avoid The Program’s grasp on her, but after the death of her brother, she has become a target. Under constant surveillance, just one tear alone could mean her becoming flagged.

Her boyfriend, James, is the only person who can keep her safe, but even he is falling to the sickness. Depression is slowly taking them both.

When I think of dystopian societies or speculative fiction, I think of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and although I do see a few parallels, I’d say that The Program has more in common with the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (in regards to erasing memories). And of course, the ‘suicide epidemic’ is a trope found in Japanese culture; in books and film. Suicide Club is a notable example; one that I immediately thought of when I started reading The Program.

The Program by Suzanne Young

Young delves into a subject that is both sensitive and taboo, and masters it to give us all a glimpse into a world where most of us fear to tread, or fear to understand. What sets this novel apart from a lot of young adult literature that I have read, is Young’s use of unembellished writing. Although there is beautiful imagery throughout, there is no use of overly flowery language. I see this as complementary to the speculative fiction genre; simple, effective, and to the point. Don’t get me wrong, I am a big fan of the flowery. In fact I use it all the time, being a lover of works from the Romantic period.

Back to the story. It was such aching torment reading Sloane’s story. The suspense of what was to come and the frustrations of seeing Sloane at her limit, emotionally, were enough to not only make me want to scream, but to make me want to keep reading (and hope that she’d be safe). Young was able to lift her and crush her in a matter of minutes; the novel itself becoming like one epic bout of depression, with all the highs and lows attached. Sloane’s losses became my own. It was frightening. I shared tears with her, and shed tears for her.

One thing that I cannot help but ponder is: why do I like The Program? In our own world, there is still a stigma associated with suicide and mental illness. Some people would rather ignore the subject entirely than have a sit down and talk through it with someone affected, and yet in Young’s dystopian world, as soon as someone show signs of depression, they are sent away to be cured. If you could be rid of painful memories, wouldn’t you want that? Of course, in The Program, you don’t get to decide which of your memories are painful, or which ones are threatening to become your downfall. It’s decided for you.

The only negative thing that I have to say of The Program is that there needs to be a warning on the novel. At least, in my opinion. There are a few graphic scenes describing death and suicide, and moments where characters talk of their own worthlessness. To someone suffering from a mental illness, these scenes can be distressing.

I rate this book a Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

The scale:
10. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
9. Wormwood: A Drama of Paris – Marie Corelli
8. Tess of the d’Urbervilles – Thomas Hardy
7. Rebecca – Daphne du Maurier
6. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J.K. Rowling
5. Fox in Socks – Dr. Seuss
4. The Da Vinci Code Dan Brown
3. The Catcher in the Rye J. D. Salinger
2. Dune – Frank Herbert
1. Fallen – Lauren Kate
0. 50 Shades of Grey – E. L. James

Read more about the scale here