And now for the professional AU
Jul. 25th, 2012 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
selenakLong, long before "putting the characters of fandom X into a completely different era/setting" AU became such a popular trope in many a fandom, novelist Susan Howatch made a living out of it. She wrote multi generation family sagas that transported the Plantagents into the first half of the 20th century, and did the same thing for the early Julio-Claudians while she was at it. Not all of these novels are equally successful (either in terms of quality or sales), but I like a great many of them, and one I downright love. Surprisingly enough, it's not the one about my favourite Planatagenets. (My problem with that novel, Penmarric (about Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine and kids), is as an AU, I have severe problems with several of the equivalents because she flipped the social standing in a key relationship around and that just doesn't work (you can't make Eleanor a poor barely literate widow, Ms. Howatch! Still-a-measly-duke Henry married majorly up, not down, when he got the richest woman of Europe and just divorced queen of France for a wife), and on its own merits, it still isn't as layered as her other books.) No, it's the one about those fellows recently featured in The Hollow Crown. But one of the great things about The Wheel of Fortune is that it really does work on its own merits. Figuring out who is who in terms of British history is just for additional kicks.
The Wheel of Fortune has all the Susan Howatch trademarks: multiple narrators, witty dialogue, a murder mystery or two hidden in the narrative, and the clashing view points with their sympathy shifts as a big part of the story. Just when you're lulled into agreeing with one of the narrators and their estimation of everyone else, it's time for the next view point/narrator, and lo and behold, things and sympathies can look quite different indeed. Truth is multi-layered, and relationships aren't set in stone. She's also really good with capturing the respective eras, and with letting the characters be believably part of those eras, instead of indulging my pet peevein historical novels, i.e. give all the sympathetic characters completely progressive view points and hand out the period bias and prejudices only to the vile ones. It's never that easy. The main setting is Oxmoon, that (half) island on the silver sea, so to speak, the family heritage in Wales, gorgeously described.
So: we start out with Robert Godwin. (For those who're keeping score with the historical precedents, he's Edward the Black Prince, oldest son of Edward III.) Who is just the type one tends to hate: brilliant career success (as a lawyer and as Llyod George's protegé, groomed for a political career as well), a male chauvinist, hero-worshipping his father, patronizing his mother, and basically his entire life mapped out. Llike, as we'll find out, several of the Godwins, however, Robert also has a surpressed Romantic streak, and when I say Romantic I don't mean the rosy glasses type. Robert in Romantic mode is one track minded, completely obsessive, and he gets that way about two things: mountain climbing (abandoned in order To Be A Success) and his cousin Ginevra, whom he's loved since their childhood. When her husband dies and she returns to Oxmoon, the plot of the novel kicks in, and the first time I read this, I thought I knew where this would go - reunion, Robert reforms from male chauvinism, happy ending. Err, no. The way the Robert and Ginevra relationship unfolds was my first inkling of how twisty the novel would be. Because while they become lovers quite soon (and en route, Robert's perception of his parents is completely flipped around as he discovers the first of the novel's past-mysteries-coming-back-to-bite-characters), their marriage is a complete catastrophe precisely because what happens when an obsessive chauvinist who doesn't magically reform marries a woman with her own issues does happen. It's their childhood friendship that salvages something out of it, and when Robert's multisklerosis kicks in, the reason why Ginevra sticks around is that childhood friendship, with the result that the relationship she and Robert eventually work out is that of arguing siblings (not literally, in case you're wondering about the first of the Godwin family secrets - that's not it) having each other's back's.
Ginevra is our second narrator and her development from confused widow to increasingly pissed off wife to spirited survivor and Welsh-English version of Mae West prone to spout one liners with a cocktail in her hand is one of the novel's delights. The catastrophic marriage is mostly told from her pov, and because she's so compelling and as opposed to Robert not infuriating, as a reader you trust her estimation of the various younger Godwin brothers, of which there are a lot, but the most important one is John (as in "of Gaunt", if we're keeping historical score), whom Ginevra in her narrative section dismisses as a self righteous prig, though she very occasionally wonders how he got that way, given that he was likely and mischievous as a boy. That Ginevra sees events different from Robert isn't a surprise, nor is Robert-as-unreliable narrator. Therefore, the first true "hang on! Really?" sensation comes when we go from Ginevra's pov to John's, and find out a) just what happened to him as a kid to make him so desperate to be respectable and have lines to draw, and b) how complicated he really is. "Eternally torn" is a good way of describing him, in various ways. Not least because a part of him wants Oxmoon for himself but knows this would be a betrayal of his increasingly sick brother, but also because he's the most Welsh of all the Godwins, split between an English identity that feels increasingly artificial to him though his ambition is real enough (American heiress standing in for Castilian princess here) and a Welsh one (that he's the only one of the Godwins fluent in the language is the least of it). We're still in the 20s and 30s, so John ending up openly living with his Welsh mistress shocks his family precisely because of his John-the-prig reputation to no end, and results in him and Ginevra becoming surprising allies. It also creates havoc for his children (legitimate and illegitimate) . When Robert dies, John ends up as guardian (together with Ginevra, since we're not in the middle ages anymore) of Robert's surviving child, Kester, and considering Kester as Least Likely Candidate To Be Any Good At Handling Oxmoon and a nerve-wrecking trial of a child means the temptation to become the evil uncle increases tenfold, but he wins against that one. (Other Godwins won't be so lucky.) When Ginevra later refers to him when talking to Kester as "your heroic uncle John", she's not kidding anymore.
(Footnote: Bronwen, John's Welsh mistress and eventual third wife, has her historical precedent in Katherine Swynford, who was John of Gaunt's mistress (and eventual morganatic wife), and also Chaucer's sister-in-law.)
Kester (aka Richard II.) is of course the next narrator. And does suck at farming and keeping accounts, not least because he actually wants to become a novelist. And does, but unfortunately for Kester and John's son, his cousin Harry (three guesses), this does not mean Kester isn't also obsessed (like all Godwins) with beautiful Oxmoon and wants to keep it. He has his mother's flamboyancy, wit and talent for one liners and his father's capacity for obsession and one track minds, and it's a fatal if charming combination. A writer as a character always puts something of a challenge to the author, especially if you use first person - you have to make it believable this narrator a) isn't your own voice but b) is believably a novelist. And Susan Howatch actually pulls it off for Kester, whose section is the one believably aware of when he creates a dramatic effect (as the other narrators aren't), and as opposed to the other sections written in a way that lets you on the narrator consciously looking back at his younger self, whereas the others are firmly anchored in the present. Kester's section coming to an end when I read it for the first time left me immensely frustrated because I wanted that voice to continue. Not that Kester doesn't have massive blind spots, mind. One of them being, as he invariably refers to him because he knows the formality annoys the man in question, "Cousin Harry".
Harry and Kester start out in arch nemesis fashion - Harry being good at everything Kester isn't, including producing multiple offspring - but Bronwen, who is loved by both as an ideal replacement mother figure, observes once they actually aren't that different, which neither of them - and the reader the first time she says this - believes. But by the time you end Kester's section and startHenry IV Harry's, you start to see her point. Not least because the jealousy and idea of being constantly shown up by the other is mutual; Harry has the Godwin artistic streak (he's a great pianist) but can't imagine living it out and so resents Kester having his cake and eating it (having Oxmoon and being a novelist) on a massive scale. He is good at being a soldier (we're in the 40s now) but it makes him even more neurotic than he already is, especially since he's unable to talk with anyone about it. His marriage is an utter mess, and he can't really cope with being a father, either. (In a scene that's simultanously black comedy and makes you feel sorry for him, WWII era soldier Harry comes home and tries to talk to his eldest, toddler Hal. Who is silent. Upon which Harry's wife informs him that Hal babbles freely away when Kester visits and plays with him. Oh joy.) It's a classic doppelganger situation and escalates when the novel's last but one murder, involving their uncle Thomas, kicks in. This is where you're at an advantage when knowing English history. I didn't, and thus was completely surprised by Thomas' demise, the manner of same, and the eventually revealed motivation.) It puts Harry in a position of blackmailing Kester into signing over Oxmoon to him, but this does not make anyone happier, least of all Kester (and did I mention Kester is an obsessive), and we end on a cliffhanger as the Harry pov ends with Harry preparing for the meeting at which he know Kester intends to demand Oxmoon back.
Now, all the other povs flow into each other with no intermittent time, but here, in its last section, the novel makes a time jump, and when the story picks up again we're in the pov of an adult Hal, returning to Oxmoon determined to put his wild years as a 60s rock star behind him and reconcile with his father. Except that there is still that pesky matter of Kester's death, the how, why and wherefore of which is the focus of the last section, which is written as a classic murder mystery with Hal as the detective. The readers know a bit more than Hal initially but by no means everything. If you're in Shakespearean mood, you'll appreciate that our last narrator is torn between two father figures (Kester and Harry), and thinks he has to reject one of them in order to be able to love the other, but finds out this "either/or" attitude is actually the wrong thing to do. Hal also has an obvious resemblance to our first pov character, Robert (several characters remark on their physical resemblance, and Hal, like Robert, fell in love with his cousin as a child), but living a few decades later, having grown up in a very different way and having made the opposite choice of Robert, job wise, initially, is able to keep on making different choices from Robert. The wheel of the title comes full circle here, and we end up with emotional catharsis among the surviving characters and the restorationof the kingdom of Oxmoon which thankfully doesn't happen via invading France but putting the various talents of the Godwin family - the organisational money making skills and the artistic talents - not at odds against but helping each other. You end up putting the book aside with a satisfied sigh, and if like me you read it for the first time as a teenager yet unaware of certain sections of British history, wondering just why that last section has a quote from Henry V about Richard II as its motto. :)
The Wheel of Fortune has all the Susan Howatch trademarks: multiple narrators, witty dialogue, a murder mystery or two hidden in the narrative, and the clashing view points with their sympathy shifts as a big part of the story. Just when you're lulled into agreeing with one of the narrators and their estimation of everyone else, it's time for the next view point/narrator, and lo and behold, things and sympathies can look quite different indeed. Truth is multi-layered, and relationships aren't set in stone. She's also really good with capturing the respective eras, and with letting the characters be believably part of those eras, instead of indulging my pet peevein historical novels, i.e. give all the sympathetic characters completely progressive view points and hand out the period bias and prejudices only to the vile ones. It's never that easy. The main setting is Oxmoon, that (half) island on the silver sea, so to speak, the family heritage in Wales, gorgeously described.
So: we start out with Robert Godwin. (For those who're keeping score with the historical precedents, he's Edward the Black Prince, oldest son of Edward III.) Who is just the type one tends to hate: brilliant career success (as a lawyer and as Llyod George's protegé, groomed for a political career as well), a male chauvinist, hero-worshipping his father, patronizing his mother, and basically his entire life mapped out. Llike, as we'll find out, several of the Godwins, however, Robert also has a surpressed Romantic streak, and when I say Romantic I don't mean the rosy glasses type. Robert in Romantic mode is one track minded, completely obsessive, and he gets that way about two things: mountain climbing (abandoned in order To Be A Success) and his cousin Ginevra, whom he's loved since their childhood. When her husband dies and she returns to Oxmoon, the plot of the novel kicks in, and the first time I read this, I thought I knew where this would go - reunion, Robert reforms from male chauvinism, happy ending. Err, no. The way the Robert and Ginevra relationship unfolds was my first inkling of how twisty the novel would be. Because while they become lovers quite soon (and en route, Robert's perception of his parents is completely flipped around as he discovers the first of the novel's past-mysteries-coming-back-to-bite-characters), their marriage is a complete catastrophe precisely because what happens when an obsessive chauvinist who doesn't magically reform marries a woman with her own issues does happen. It's their childhood friendship that salvages something out of it, and when Robert's multisklerosis kicks in, the reason why Ginevra sticks around is that childhood friendship, with the result that the relationship she and Robert eventually work out is that of arguing siblings (not literally, in case you're wondering about the first of the Godwin family secrets - that's not it) having each other's back's.
Ginevra is our second narrator and her development from confused widow to increasingly pissed off wife to spirited survivor and Welsh-English version of Mae West prone to spout one liners with a cocktail in her hand is one of the novel's delights. The catastrophic marriage is mostly told from her pov, and because she's so compelling and as opposed to Robert not infuriating, as a reader you trust her estimation of the various younger Godwin brothers, of which there are a lot, but the most important one is John (as in "of Gaunt", if we're keeping historical score), whom Ginevra in her narrative section dismisses as a self righteous prig, though she very occasionally wonders how he got that way, given that he was likely and mischievous as a boy. That Ginevra sees events different from Robert isn't a surprise, nor is Robert-as-unreliable narrator. Therefore, the first true "hang on! Really?" sensation comes when we go from Ginevra's pov to John's, and find out a) just what happened to him as a kid to make him so desperate to be respectable and have lines to draw, and b) how complicated he really is. "Eternally torn" is a good way of describing him, in various ways. Not least because a part of him wants Oxmoon for himself but knows this would be a betrayal of his increasingly sick brother, but also because he's the most Welsh of all the Godwins, split between an English identity that feels increasingly artificial to him though his ambition is real enough (American heiress standing in for Castilian princess here) and a Welsh one (that he's the only one of the Godwins fluent in the language is the least of it). We're still in the 20s and 30s, so John ending up openly living with his Welsh mistress shocks his family precisely because of his John-the-prig reputation to no end, and results in him and Ginevra becoming surprising allies. It also creates havoc for his children (legitimate and illegitimate) . When Robert dies, John ends up as guardian (together with Ginevra, since we're not in the middle ages anymore) of Robert's surviving child, Kester, and considering Kester as Least Likely Candidate To Be Any Good At Handling Oxmoon and a nerve-wrecking trial of a child means the temptation to become the evil uncle increases tenfold, but he wins against that one. (Other Godwins won't be so lucky.) When Ginevra later refers to him when talking to Kester as "your heroic uncle John", she's not kidding anymore.
(Footnote: Bronwen, John's Welsh mistress and eventual third wife, has her historical precedent in Katherine Swynford, who was John of Gaunt's mistress (and eventual morganatic wife), and also Chaucer's sister-in-law.)
Kester (aka Richard II.) is of course the next narrator. And does suck at farming and keeping accounts, not least because he actually wants to become a novelist. And does, but unfortunately for Kester and John's son, his cousin Harry (three guesses), this does not mean Kester isn't also obsessed (like all Godwins) with beautiful Oxmoon and wants to keep it. He has his mother's flamboyancy, wit and talent for one liners and his father's capacity for obsession and one track minds, and it's a fatal if charming combination. A writer as a character always puts something of a challenge to the author, especially if you use first person - you have to make it believable this narrator a) isn't your own voice but b) is believably a novelist. And Susan Howatch actually pulls it off for Kester, whose section is the one believably aware of when he creates a dramatic effect (as the other narrators aren't), and as opposed to the other sections written in a way that lets you on the narrator consciously looking back at his younger self, whereas the others are firmly anchored in the present. Kester's section coming to an end when I read it for the first time left me immensely frustrated because I wanted that voice to continue. Not that Kester doesn't have massive blind spots, mind. One of them being, as he invariably refers to him because he knows the formality annoys the man in question, "Cousin Harry".
Harry and Kester start out in arch nemesis fashion - Harry being good at everything Kester isn't, including producing multiple offspring - but Bronwen, who is loved by both as an ideal replacement mother figure, observes once they actually aren't that different, which neither of them - and the reader the first time she says this - believes. But by the time you end Kester's section and start
Now, all the other povs flow into each other with no intermittent time, but here, in its last section, the novel makes a time jump, and when the story picks up again we're in the pov of an adult Hal, returning to Oxmoon determined to put his wild years as a 60s rock star behind him and reconcile with his father. Except that there is still that pesky matter of Kester's death, the how, why and wherefore of which is the focus of the last section, which is written as a classic murder mystery with Hal as the detective. The readers know a bit more than Hal initially but by no means everything. If you're in Shakespearean mood, you'll appreciate that our last narrator is torn between two father figures (Kester and Harry), and thinks he has to reject one of them in order to be able to love the other, but finds out this "either/or" attitude is actually the wrong thing to do. Hal also has an obvious resemblance to our first pov character, Robert (several characters remark on their physical resemblance, and Hal, like Robert, fell in love with his cousin as a child), but living a few decades later, having grown up in a very different way and having made the opposite choice of Robert, job wise, initially, is able to keep on making different choices from Robert. The wheel of the title comes full circle here, and we end up with emotional catharsis among the surviving characters and the restoration
no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-25 06:52 pm (UTC)(I also like her Starbridge series, but that deserves its own post.)