Writing By Candlelight - Part 9

It was when sitting at his desk reading dispatches that Joseph had a realisation. Bored by the bland words before him, Joseph’s eyes settled on his candle. Three times, he had sat at night and seen the woman on the streets below as the candle burnt out. It was, of course, mere coincidence that the two events had occurred at the same time; although something within him doubted it. That day Joseph was to see the woman for the forth time. On that day he would meet the woman.


Joseph watched as the sun melted into the horizon. Sitting just a few tables away was the woman he had seen from his window. It seemed odd that such a unique search had come to an end in such a simple way. Joseph had left his lodgings to walk the streets in search of the woman. Mere moments into his search he caught sight of the woman. She had been sitting at a table in the coffee shop in the park. Joseph had felt that the hand of fate had led him here, but like coincidences Joseph dismissed the feeling.

“Katherine” the woman thrust took the other chair on Joseph’s table. “My name is Katherine”

Joseph sat with his mouth wide, unable to comprehend the forward nature of this woman. A few silent moments passed whilst Joseph regained his composure and Katherine looked at him with eyes that seemed to be taking the very measure of his soul.

“You were the one I saw eight nights passed. You gandered at me.” Katherine paused noting Joseph’s countenance. “Are you ill? You are very pale.”

“No, no…I’ m just not used to women being quite so forward.”

“I see” Katherine raised an eyebrow. “Well you don’t get quite as many formal introductions as one such as yourself might be used to”

“Pray, what do you mean by that?” Joseph enquired with a feeling of unease.

“It is rumoured that you come from one of our finest families. You come from Bristol do you not?”

“Why yes, I do indeed come from Bristol. How is it that you have come to know this?”

Katherine smiled and stood.

“I may be persuaded to tell you one day. I must beg to take my leave now; I have some things to attend to.”

Joseph stood and watched as Katherine walked away. The grace with which she walked and the air that seemed to surround her was striking. As she disappeared down the path that led to the river Joseph had more question about this woman than before. Her dress seemed finer than he had come to expect from the women of the area and her bearing was, as he had noted when Joseph first saw Katherine, finer than many of the women of his family’s acquaintance.



Little did he know then, but Katherine held Joseph’s future in her delicate and gentle hands.

Shaking up Shakespeare

Okay, so I've reviewed a good deal of new book in the last two years but as 2009 draws to a close I find that I don't have any books left the review. So I cracked open some of my shakespeare books. The one I haven't read in a while is Romeo and Juliet (or to be a pedant, "The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet"). In the 7 years since I last read the play I have a new perspective on the story and just what it is and I'd like to share them with you.


First things first, Romeo and Juliet is not, let me repeat that, IS NOT a love story. It occurs to me that shakespeare is laughing at the folly of young love (for love read lust).

In the second act we have the following quote "Alike bewitchèd by the charm of looks", which really does sum up the truth of the two young people. They are in love with each other's looks. Shakespeare has his character's rush around (actually it is debatable whether the characters are even shakepeares but I won't digress) and the speed with which they act, coupled with the way in which the couple rail against the established social mores, are what lead to their downfall.

It seems to me that the characters are little more that stupid children. It occurs to me that it is the way in which Romeo and Juliet were written that make them so.

Romeo is a character who is said to 'kiss by the book', which is the only real motivation that is given for Juliet falling in 'love' with him. Whilst Juliet is drawn as a girl on the cusp of maturity and immaturity. To look upon either as anything more than innocent and naive seems to be a stretch.

Shakespeare was, if nothing else, great at painting the flaws of 'the human condition' (urgh did I just write those words?) so why would he tell a story with a main theme that love leads to death. It seems to me it is far more likely that instead he was pointing out the folly of giving over to lust and physical attraction.
 
Regardless, I do wonder why it is that the idea of Romeo and Juliet as a love story has persisted. If nothing else surely the fact that so many die should be the first big sign. Let's face it when you pick up a shakespeare tragedy you know that at least half the cast don't survive!
 
Of course I am no academic (thank goodness!), but when looked at as a tragic love story the play seems like purile drivel; when looked at as a satire of 'young love' (again read lust) it is far more entertaining.
 
What do you think?

Writing by Candle-light - Part 8

The night on which Joseph wrote his account of the ephemeral woman, he slept soundly and peacefully for the first in many nights. With no spectres to cloud his mind and no stories screaming for release, Joseph felt calm. Not since his time in Berlin, sharing his thoughts and musings with artisans and philosophers had he been so serene. Had it not been for the noise below his window, Joseph might have slept for many hours.




The commotion that woke Joseph caused very little noise, but Joseph had never slept deeply. Quickly, he moved to his window to look out upon the street below. Joseph moved so fast that he did not notice the small flame from the candle on his desk. As he looked out, Joseph noticed a figure that he instantly knew. Enraptured once again, he wished that this unknown woman would turn to him so that he might know her face.



The woman was moving quickly from under Joseph’s window toward the river. Unlike the last time he had seen her, the night was crisp. On this occasion Joseph could more easily make out the woman’s figure. Though shrouded by the shadows the tenement blocks afforded the street, and the disguise of her cloak, the woman was shapely with a fine air about her. She stepped lightly and delicately along the uneven street.



Slowly the figure stopped as though her way was blocked. Turning with a grace that Joseph had seldom seen, the woman moved to face the door of Joseph’s tenement. Slowly her eyes moved upward to the very window, at which Joseph stood. It a moment, the woman was staring deeply into Joseph’s eyes. How many moments that passed whilst the two stared at each other Joseph knew not, however with each passing moment an unease built within him. It was not long before Joseph felt that if this woman below him did not release him from her stare, he would collapse.



As slowly and gracefully as she had turned to look at him, the woman turned so that she once again faced the river. Released from the woman’s stare Joseph felt cold and, as the candle burnt itself out, alone in the dark. The woman’s gaze had been enticing, bewitching and yet had offered a solace and comfort that he had not known before. Still at the window, Joseph stood wondering what power this woman possessed to enrapture him so. She was a gentle, graceful creature of that Joseph was sure, and yet he had not made her acquaintance.



After some time with his thoughts Joseph turned back into his room. A familiar smell hung in the air and yet Joseph could not identify it. Compelled by unknown reason he moved to his desk, to the candle. The candle that had been several inches tall before he had laid to rest was now burnt to naught. How this could have been Joseph knew not, but he was certain that the smell that hung in the air was that of the burnt wick.



For many nights Joseph would keep watch for the woman and wonder about her. It had seemed important for him to make this woman’s acquaintance; moreover Joseph wished to know what power she had possessed.

Writing by Candle-light - Part 7

For days Joseph had floated through the streets of Wirral, venturing over the river only to attend those lectures at the university which he felt the most fulfilling. Instead an obsession had overcome him. Joseph’s mind was filled by the vision he had seen on that night, but as each new day dawned more of the image slipped away. It was not long before he could only see the cascading chestnut locks that had flowed so bewitchingly. In vain Joseph took to his desk to sketch an image, with each attempt more of the vision he had seen slipped through his grasp.



Each night brought with it a fresh torment as he tried to lay to sleep. His mind would not let him forget that shadow in the night. Seventeen days had passed since Joseph had seen the woman and it was on the seventeenth night that Joseph leapt from his bed. Stumbling to his desk Joseph collapsed. Unable to bear the cold and dark night alone Joseph rummaged through the drawer to find a fresh candle. Removing the molten wax and burnt out wick, Joseph replaced them with the one he had retrieved from the drawer. As he lit the candle Joseph’s eyes widened, suddenly he reached for paper and ink. Like some possessed and wild animal his hand flew around the paper with a will of it’s own.


In minutes Joseph collapsed back, sinking into his chair. His desk and hands ink stained Joseph cast his eyes upon the numerous pages strewn before him. After but a moment, Joseph clutched the papers to him. He at last had his image of the woman. On these few scraps of paper was an image that no time could erode. That woman, the way she walked, and the noble flow of her hair he would hold them dear. He knew he may never catch sight of her again, but in these few pages would stay his account. “Goddess in the Mist”.


That night Joseph sat his hands on the paper and his eyes cast toward the flame of his candle. Near it’s end he reached out his fingers. Joseph smothered the flame. Smiling as he rose, Joseph took a few steps to the window to look out before retiring to his bed. His eyes adjusted to the light as he surrendered to the night. Sleep came quickly, and in place of the wild visions he had seen, a peaceful sleep with dreams full of hope.

Writing by Candlelight - Part 6

When Joseph first arrived at his rooms he was appalled by the lack of manners and intellect shown to him by his landlord. He had remembered thinking that the street was little more than an open sewer, home to some of the basest creatures that barely passed for humans. Joseph had strained to understand how such a place could have been a part of God’s creation. Even the most elaborate furnishings could not have made any great difference in the constant struggle against the decay.



On his first night in his simple accommodation, Joseph spent little time sleeping. His mind came alight with all manner of ideas which would not be silenced. That night would be the first of many that he paced back and forth trying to silence the voices that whispered to him in the dark. The voices that spoke nearly drove Joseph to the edge of madness on that first night. Caged like wild beasts he was unable to drive away the many figments and phantoms that his mind conjured.


By the little light a handful of candles offered him, Joseph sat at his desk and began to brood further. Leaning deep into the embrace of his chair Joseph stared at the candle, watching as the flame devoured the wick. In the bright yellow of the flame Joseph would have laid down an oath that he could, if he looked deeply enough, part the veil and peer into the future itself. In those short and peaceful moments Joseph saw a life of wealth and power lain before him. With the inheritance that was due to him Joseph knew that there would be few obligations upon him.


Enraptured by the small flame and the dull light it offered, Joseph did not notice the night pass away and the sun begin to rise through the autumn mists. Using his arm to steady him, Joseph noticed the chill in the air as he rose out of the chair. Reaching out his fingers Joseph smothered the flame. In haste Joseph moved to the small window to take a glimpse of the first morning in his new home.


It was then, on the street below that fate’s guiding hand presented Joseph with a new destiny. At first the figure had been little more than a shadow passing through the mist. As the figure drew closer Joseph could see something about this woman. There, below him, was someone who could not be touched by the decay of the area. Her hair, a deep chestnut waterfall, reached down below her shoulders in thick waves. Her way of walking was far finer than any of the accomplished women that had moved in his father’s society. He knew little about her and yet in that moment Joseph was shown that she was everything he could ever want.


Silently and with an unexpected air she walked below Joseph. For just a moment this unknown woman stopped, frozen below him. His heart paused, stirring a hope within him that she would just glance up at him. Joseph knew then why it was he had chosen such a wild and untamed area in which to lodge during his education. He had longed for something more than the veneer of civilisation that finer quarters would have offered. Something honest lay within the lower echelons, this he had learnt during his time in Berlin. The people of this area, the woman who had passed before him, whilst below his station knew the truths of the world.


As the woman passed out of sight Joseph continued to watch the mist into which she had disappeared. What quality had she, that none before had?

Writing by Candle-light - Part 5

As Joseph walked along the cobbled alleyway, his mind turned to all sorts of things. Though, at that moment he felt plain and boring, Joseph realised how accomplished he really was. His father had been the first born and heir to a great estate, and he as the first born would become heir to the same estate. The rules concerning his destiny had been set down by many generations prior. The first born male would inherit, the second would turn soldier and the third would enter the clergy. It was the way of all great English families, or so he had been taught. For generations beyond memory men were bound to their fate simply by order of their birth. Unlike the brothers that Joseph would never have, he would be given the finest schooling that money could buy.



Before departing for college, Joseph had been well disciplined and given every opportunity to improve himself. Prior to his long journey to Wirral, he had been a skilled musician. Joseph could play the piano and the fiddle with equal dexterity. Having learnt to speak French, German and even Italian Joseph was permitted to spend a short time in Berlin to observe the differences in society. It was his time in Berlin that lay the tiny seed that would soon become a great love of the idealists and romanticists. In a country that had initially seemed to be blunt and crass, Joseph learned of the soft and romantic nature of it’s people.


It was his time in a nation of artists and philosophers, which had opened Joseph’s eyes to the wonders to be found around him. The artisans that Joseph had come to know saw such beauty, drew their ideals and comfort from the society around them. Above all they showed Joseph that within everything there was a truth to be found. That artists saw everything and merely tried to understand and interpret, would be the truth that Joseph come to value most. It would not be until the poets and English bohemians came into his acquaintance that all this would reveal itself.


Mere months spent in Berlin had placed within Joseph the desire for far more than even he knew at the time. During the long voyage back to his homeland Joseph had written of a fictional idealist who had come from Germany to London and changed the world. The tale had been a simple one, which allowed him to order his thoughts and to meditate on all he had seen and learnt. Joseph had never thought such a simple story would be enjoyed by other people; however his tutor upon reading the tale encouraged him to continue to write.


With practise and inspiration from his time in Berlin Joseph was able to produce many poems and sagas for his own amusement. When the time came that he tried to sell his stories he was surprised to find that, despite the skill with which he wrote, no press wished to take on his tales and publish them in any way. In the autumn following his journey to Berlin, Joseph travelled to that place that would be his home for many years, Wirral.


At first Joseph had found the place uncouth and savage. With little refinement and pretentions of great stature, the collection of villages seemed far beneath him. Joseph once wrote in his journal about the people of Wirral.

“That the women of the area cheapen themselves by their dress and actions is the fault of men; their lack of respect, manners and honour force good women to see themselves as simple decorative objects rather than respectable, intelligent people.

This place is of little concern, value or decency.”


Fate would soon change his mind about some of the people of Wirral. Joseph would soon enter the under-land that was the world of the Wirral poets.

Writing by Candle-light - Part 4

Joseph walked through the back streets and alleys that, on this day, seemed unusually cold and hard. With every step he saw the women cheapening themselves, men who had given over all responsibility. Each and every face could tell a story, but they were largely the underclass to whom everyone seemed to cater. Joseph despised the way that these people who milled around the streets had forsaken all hope, all sense of pride and moreover good manners. It had often seemed to Joseph that with each new day it became more difficult to reverse the decline of manners and the devaluation of intellect.



It did not take Joseph long to walk from his abode to the park and it’s quaint coffee shop. Even though Joseph knew that he would never set foot in another meeting of poets, Joseph was not about to cut all ties to artistic under-land that existed in the county. Joseph was on his way to meet with two of the most accomplished poets in the area. Their work flowed like great rivers, changing the places they ran to. This meeting was one that would change his life; at least that was the intention of Joseph and his comrades. In the harsh midday sun Joseph, Stephan and Louis sat to discuss the plan that they had waited a year to put into action.

“The cattle-like masses look down upon us, and we get little support from centres of learning.” As often happened Joseph was the first to speak. “We cannot continue to let them forget their manners. They sit in their ivy-covered castles, self elected arbiters of literature.”

“It is true that they have dedicated themselves to controlling what is seen as right and proper with the world of literature. They control all presses and with delicate subterfuge control what the unwashed see, hear and learn to believe.” The considered response from Louis made the trio pause.


Before each man, on the table at which they sat, lay their considered proposals for change. No longer willing to accept the mores of a civilised society, the three men were meeting to discuss their proposals. One way or another the poets were determined to enact change. They would force the uncouth society that surrounded them to regain manners and pride. No longer would people cheapen themselves; the poets would bring about revolution.


The three men sat and discussed with great passion and eloquence the plans lain before them. The men sat until twilight had deepened into night, and the warm rays of the sun had been replaced with the cool evening breeze from the sea. Joseph drew in a breath, trying to comprehend the significance of the task before each man. Over 26 short days these men were going to bring about a change. They were going to do something that many men had tried to do. Something that people had died for, something good, true and right.


All three men stood, as they did so Joseph announced:

“Gentlemen, quicumque est nostri portamus nobis.” Each man nodded and bade their goodbyes. With no words left to be spoken, Joseph watched as Louis and Stephan went their own ways into the black of the night. Waiting until all trace of his comrades was gone; Joseph turned on his heel and headed back to his humble home, his chair and his duties.


In a few short weeks the sun would dawn over a new world, a world that would be changed forever.