Books have been known to inspire strong feelings

And wherever I went, I had the same reaction every time: how fabulous it was to be in a room full of people who were all there because we were excited about books in general and lesbian fiction in particular (especially in contrast to the way I felt not so many years ago when feminist, queer, and other independent bookstores were disappearing right and left, publishers were shutting down, and things seemed very bleak),

All week long, what I heard over and over from participants—presenters and audience members, readers, writers, and publishers—was passion. Delight in the joy that well-told stories can give, gratitude for the effect that books have had on our lives, and dedication to creating the best literature we possibly can and ensuring that it reaches potential readers far and wide.

Books have shaped me, comforted me, instructed me, brought me pleasure and inspiration throughout my life. I am proud and honored that as a writer I am able to contribute to something I love so much. And after spending a week immersed in so many wonderful presentations and discussions, I am excited and hopeful indeed about the future of lesbian literature.

Monday, October 12: Signing at Recovering Hearts (2 pm)

I’ll be joining other Bold Strokes Authors (Radclyffe, Dena Hankins, Missouri Vaun, Franci McMahon, and Laydin Michaels) at Recovering Hearts bookstore at 4 Standish Street.

Wednesday, October 14: Reading at Gabriel’s (1 pm)

I’ll be reading (my first ever!) as part of the BSB panel “It’s a Zoo in Here: Four-Legged Heroes,” moderated by Barbara Ann Wright.  Also on the panel will be D. Jackson Leigh, Franci McMahon, C.A. Popovich, Radclyffe, and Dena Hankins. Gabriel’s is located at 102 Bradford Street.

Wednesday, October 14: (Another) Reading at Gabriel’s (2 pm)

I’ll be doing my second reading ever right after my first reading ever, as part of the BSB panel “Chatty Cathy: Readings with Great Dialogue,” moderated by Kris Bryant. The panel will also feature Missouri Vaun, Justine Saracen, MJ Williamz, C. F. Frizzell, and Sophia Kell Hagin. (Gabriel’s, 102 Bradford Street).

Wednesday, October 14: Signing at Recovering Hearts (3:15 AND 4 pm)

My fellow panelists and I will be signing at Recovering Hearts (4 Standish Street) at 3:15 (Four-Legged Heroes) and 4:00 (Readings with Great Dialogue).

Thursday, October 15: Bold Strokes Books Meet & Greet (5 to 7 pm)

Join me (and lots of other BSB authors) at the Harbor Lounge (359 Commercial Street). Stop by, chat, schmooze, mingle, hang out, do the snack and beverage thing.

Saturday, October 17: Reading at the Library (2 pm)

I’ll be doing a reading as part of the panel “Knock, Knock…Who’s There? Readings That Define the Author’s Voice,” moderated by Dena Hankins, along with Franci McMahon, Ali Vali, Justine Saracen, Melissa Brayden, and Missouri Vaun. We’ll be at the Provincetown Public Library (356 Commercial Street).

Saturday, October 17: Signing at Recovering Hearts (4 pm)

All the panelists from “Readings That Define the Author’s Voice”—me included—will be signing at Recovering Hearts (4 Standish Street).

All Week Long: Lots & Lots of BSB Events

• Author Q & A/Panel discussions
  • Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday @ 10 in the Library
• Readings
  • Wednesday & Thursday @ 1 (Gabriel’s)
  • Wednesday & Thursday @ 2 (Gabriel’s)
  • Friday & Saturday @ 1 (Library)
  • Friday & Saturday @ 2 (Library)
• Signings at Recovering Hearts
  • Monday @ 2
  • Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday @ 3:15
  • Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday @ 4

Plus Everything Else Going on at Women’s Week

• Music, comedy, theater, workshops, films, dances, etc., etc., etc.
• Check the Women’s Week website for the schedule

Y’all Come!

The Secret Rooms lives up to its promises. It is vividly written and allows the mystery to unfold gradually, building suspense as effectively as a work of fiction.

Strange Doings

The book opens in 1940, describing the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of John Manners, the 9th Duke of Rutland (a prominent member of the aristocracy that in those days still had a powerful—though declining—role in English society). Servants whisper in dark passages. The ailing duke shuts himself away, refusing to see a doctor until it is too late. After his burial, someone breaks into the castle in the dead of night. There is talk of curses and hauntings. Much is implied, but little is revealed. Of course, I was hooked.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Belvoir Castle, ancestral home of the Dukes of Rutland

The second part of the book describes the author’s first visit to the castle. She had been granted the rare opportunity to examine historical documents stored in the former duke’s forbidden rooms. Once there, she discovered that the material she needed had vanished—and appeared to have been deliberately removed. Her attempt to uncover the truth about what had happened is the focus of the rest of the book.

The Truth Must Dazzle Gradually

So what does she find out? No spoilers, but I will say that the answers turn out to be both terrible and deeply moving, and the satisfaction of accompanying the author as she tracks down the solution makes it worth the wait. If you enjoy history, detective stories, family drama, or just a well-written, suspenseful book, read The Secret Rooms.

Bottom line: (5 / 5)

[p.s. File this under art imitates life, or deja vu all over again, or something: As I read The Secret Rooms, I found myself feeling inspired as a writer. The idea of a modern scholar searching the nooks and crannies of a historic home and sifting through old papers to solve a mystery involving people from a bygone era fired my imagination. This would be a great basis for a novel, I thought. I should write about it. Then I realized I already had.]

Addendum: I couldn’t resist writing about the secret, so here goes:

When I started reading The Secret Rooms, I thought the book would feature the sort of scandalous goings on that are fun to consider when time has sufficiently distanced us from the human suffering involved—say, the involvement of Mary, Queen of Scots, in her husband’s murder, or who all Byron slept with. I didn’t expect to be infuriated and saddened, but I was.

Spoilers * Spoilers * Spoilers * Spoilers * Spoilers * Spoilers * Spoilers
Proceed at your own risk. Seriously: Read the book first.

I was expecting juicy gossip, but what I found in Bailey’s account of John, the 9th Duke of Rutland, was the lifelong struggle of a well-meaning, flawed human being betrayed by those who should have cared for him the most, the principal villain being his mother, Violet.

Medea About to Kill Her Children (Delacroix, 1862)

Medea has nothing on Violet—at least Medea was motivated by fierce, honest emotions like jealousy, desire, and rage, and she paid her own heavy price even as she savaged those around her. Violet, on the other hand, seems to have been driven primarily by narcissism, selfishness, and a tireless dedication to her own comfort, and she suffered nary a bit from forcing her children to confront appalling moral dilemmas that boggle the mind and curdle the stomach, even a century after the fact.

Consider her first, and arguably greatest, trespass against John. She blamed him—unjustly and mercilessly—for the death of his older brother, her favorite child. The death, which Bailey’s research indicates was accidental, occurred on John’s eighth birthday. Losing a child has to be just about the worst thing any person can experience, and grief can take many forms, including lashing out in an attempt to lessen the pain. Moreover, losing someone you love isn’t something you “get over.” Yet in time most people do manage to move forward with their lives despite their suffering. And most parents are able to love their children, even when they do terrible things.

But that wasn’t Violet’s way, oh no. Whatever John’s responsibility may have been (apparently he encouraged his brother to do some acrobatics, which led to a fatal injury), her response was devastating and unrelenting. She cut him off completely, emotionally and physically, abandoning him at the very moment a scared, grieving little boy most needed love and reassurance.

And she never, ever forgave him. Years later, she complained that the relative she consigned him to as a surrogate parent had been much too kind to him, and Bailey found written evidence that even late in life, Violet still blamed John as fiercely as ever, deeply resenting his inheriting the lands and titles that would have belonged to his brother.

Clearly, it was not just whatever childish role John had in his brother’s accident that merited her implacable enmity; John’s truly unforgivable sin was remaining alive. Even if she never actually said those words to him (and being Violet, she very well might have), John was sensitive and smart enough to have figured it out for himself.

Tomb of Lord Haddon (John’s older brother) (photo by Elliott Brown, Creative Commons license)

Meanwhile, she labored for nearly half a century to sculpt a memorial for her dead favorite, the image of a boy frozen in angelic slumber, never to awaken from it to grow or change, never to discover his mother’s imperfections or question her control. She termed the loss of her eldest son the great tragedy of her life, but her obsessive dedication to maintaining her bitterness shows that it would be better described as her life’s great source of drama, bathing her in an eternal spotlight and doubtless serving as a justification for her self-centered disregard for the feelings of others, particularly her own children.

Her emotional rejection of her surviving son did not prevent her from meddling in his life, of course. When John, a brave and patriotic man, volunteered for military service in 1914, his mother was terribly worried—not about his safety, but about the financial consequences for herself and her husband, who would be left to face enormous debts if the heir to the Rutland properties were to die. She badgered John to quit the army, but he insisted on doing his duty, despite all the horrors of a World War I battlefield.

Clytemnestra leads her daughter Iphigenia to be sacrificed (Detail from Jacques-Louis David’s The Anger of Achilles, 1819)

When emotional blackmail didn’t work, Violet connived and plotted to find a way around John’s scruples. In a tactic that almost beggars belief, she tried to get him assigned away from the front by prostituting her daughter Diana, coercing her to accept the attentions of a man with influence over military commander Sir John French.  Diana, despite her revulsion, felt compelled to sacrifice herself to save her brother’s life. Violet wrote to a confidant about the success of the scheme: “At 3 a.m. I get up and see G Moore in Diana’s bedroom next door. Oh dear.” (p. 305).

That simpering, self-excusing “oh dear” perfectly exemplifies Violet’s moral character. (No thanks to Violet, Diana not only survived but thrived—she extricated herself from her mother’s machinations to marry for love and later enjoyed success as a writer and actress.)

Despite all Violet’s efforts, John wouldn’t budge, rejecting the proposed reassignment and also refusing to go along with attempts to have him declared (without any real basis) medically unfit.

Until that is, he finally gave in. A decent, honorable man, he was tempted beyond his strength by the only thing that could sway him, the one thing denied him all his life—love. Immediately after John’s marriage, a medial board declared him (based on certification from a complicit doctor) too ill for active service, which could have only happened with John’s cooperation.

As he (and his contemporaries, had they known) would have seen it, he had deserted his post, just as if he had run from a battle, leaving his comrades behind to die. He had opened his heart to another human being and, finding himself loved in return, he chose to abandon his duty rather than risk the loss of what for him must have been a miracle. He suffered the guilt and shame of that choice for the rest of his life.

Oedipus and Antigone (Johann Peter Krafft, 1809)

The saddest aspect of his story is that the love for which he sacrificed his honor did not last; his marriage soured early and over the years he was frequently unfaithful. No doubt his inability to hold on to his love was due in large part to the damage that would have been the inevitable legacy of his mother’s emotional cruelty.

However hard he tried, John could not escape his fate, and he died alone, attempting to atone for his past by destroying the evidence of his family’s dishonorable dealings. Yet his effort at concealment itself gave birth to a mystery that ultimately led to those secrets being revealed.

Such deep and painful ironies would find a natural home in Greek tragedy.

Review from smlowry.com

Review from imjustbooking.blogspot.co.uk

The most beautiful place on earth (Provincetown, Massachusetts, of course). Photo by Argos’Dad [Creative Commons Share-Alike, via Wikimedia Commons]

Recovering Hearts is located at 4 Standish Street (just north of the Commercial Street intersection where the police direct traffic to and from MacMillan Wharf).

If you’re in town, stop by and say hi. And maybe buy a book. Heck, buy lots of books.

But definitely say hi.

In the blog I discuss Anne Lister, a real-life Regency lesbian who in part inspired the character of Artemisia in my novel Romance by the Book. However, I’m mainly paying homage to the fabulous, amazing Helena Whitbread, the scholar to whom a lot of people (myself included) owe a huge debt of gratitude for editing and publishing Anne Lister’s diaries.  Over 6,000 pages of teeny-tiny writing intermixed with secret code, and from this morass Ms. Whitbread has crafted engaging, informative books that bring Lister’s words and deeds to vivid life. Apparently she’s now working on a biography of Lister, and I for one can’t wait.

“Jo Victor’s latest novel is great,” said Jo Victor in an exclusive interview with jovictor.com

Romance by the Book is NOW available for purchase from the Bold Strokes Books webstore. You—yes, you!—can now get your (virtual) hands on the ebook or your (actual) hands on the paperback. [Maybe you should get both kinds. Life is so uncertain.] People all over my house are super excited about my brand new novel, and now you can be, too! Don’t delay—supplies are limited. [Actually, they aren’t…yet. Then again, why risk it?]

Somehow or other, 2014 disappeared on me, or I disappeared on it, at least in terms of this website. So what happened? Teaching happened (And my second novel happened; more on that another time.)

When I first started teaching, a colleague told me, “Teaching will eat you alive, if you let it.”

It does, and it did, especially this year.

Not in a “zombies ate my brain” way (although some days it feels exactly like that), but in an “I’ll just finish one more thing and then I’ll definitely [go home/turn off the computer/go to bed/whatever]” way. And then when you look back at the clock it’s absurdly late and you never did stop, did you? But you still have to get up at Oh, my God o’clock and do it all over again.

And no, this isn’t a “Woe is me, teachers have it so tough” rant. Because, as my colleague pointed out, we do this to ourselves. Nobody is making us put in extra time improving our lessons or trying to figure out how best to help a particular student. We pour our time and effort into teaching, despite whatever it may cost in terms of our own well-being, because it’s what we want to do.

Notice how the 2 students in front are too busy texting each other to listen to the teacher? Plus ça change… [School of Athens (detail), Raphael, 1509]

[Full disclosure: I also have lousy time management skills. Lots of dedicated teachers don’t get eaten alive because they figure out how to get and stay organized and how to balance teaching with everything else in their lives. I’m still working on it. And always will be, I suspect.]

Do You Hear the People Snore? 

I was of course a little leery about the whole privacy thing, but my main concern had to do with what to post. After all, the point of being on Facebook is to interact with people by sharing about yourself, and while the details of my life are endlessly fascinating to me, I had a hard time imagining that they would be quite so enthralling to others.

What on earth could I post about? Offering regular “and then I scrubbed the bathtub”-type updates didn’t seem like a good idea. (Or maybe I’m thinking of how to be boring on Twitter. Anyway.)

Even if I managed to ramp things up a bit (“Sitting in the kitchen eating madeleines and trying to remember why I never got around to reading Proust”), I would then be in danger of something much, much worse…the dreaded “Christmas Letter” effect.

Christoalphabetaphobia (Fear of Xmas Letters)

The Heartbreak of Christoalphabetaphobia (The Last of the Spirits, John Leech, 1843)

For those of you lucky enough never to have seen one of these concoctions, here’s a sampling of what you missed:

 Dear Everybody,

                Once again we’ve had a fabulous year. Fifi graduated summa cum laude from obedience school. Pat got another promotion (which makes three in eighteen months). Since I’ve been spending so much time raising all that money for Save the Ferrets, I’ve cut back to only five days a week at my ice sculpting studio.

And so on and relentlessly on for an entire page (or worse, two pages), single spaced (extra points for using a background in a shade of green or red so dark the words can barely be read).

Needless to say, not the sort of thing I’m anxious to inflict on others, even accidentally.

Everything, All the Time (Except Christmas Letters)

Now that I’m actually on Facebook, I can see why people love it. It’s a huge, friendly free-for-all with everybody chatting and posting and commenting all over the place—lots and lots (and lots and lots) of posts that are thought-provoking, silly, informative, funny, intriguing, and—Danger, Will Robinson—fun to read.

Facebook, it turns out, is like a giant newspaper full of human interest stories [and for those who know exactly what I’m talking about, let us pause a moment to sigh over the decline of the daily paper].

In fact, the main problem I’ve discovered is that there’s just too much going on. I bounce around, reading what other people have to say and chiming in with my own ideas, and suddenly hours have gone by and I haven’t done any actual work (like, say, writing a few more pages of my new novel). Oops.

People on Facebook have been very welcoming—“Come on in, splash around, the water’s fine.” I’m looking forward to finding out what I have to contribute to the conversation.

I’m so happy I could just about bust. Today my novel, Revenge of the Parson’s Daughter Or The Lass that Loved a Pirate, makes its official worldwide debut. I can hardly believe it. This time last year I hadn’t even finished the manuscript, and now the book is out there just waiting for you to fall in love with it and take it home.

On Virtual Bookshelves Everywhere

My book is now available at all finer online literary emporiums (emporia?) [Barnes and Noble, Amazon, etc.]—and always from Bold Strokes Books (in all e-book formats).

A Sneak Peek Inside

You can check out two different excerpts from Revenge of the Parson’s Daughter:

Another Satisfied Customer [YMMV] (Young Woman Reading, Jean Raoux)

• Bold Strokes has posted the first chapter of all their August releases. My selection (Kate’s first meeting with Lady Isabella) is the very last one in the file (p. 64). In other words, you’ll be reading the beginning of four other great lesbian-themed novels (Dirty Power, Exit Wounds, Forsaking All Others, and Trusting Tomorrow) before you get to mine. Gosh, that’s too bad. {You can also sample the other two August releases [Deadly Cult—a gay mystery—and Lake Thirteen—an LGBT YA ghost story (say that three times fast)].}
• Also available for preview is a short excerpt describing Kate and Stevie’s first meeting.

Enjoy!