Critiquing

I figured out pretty early on that one of the best ways to pinpoint the strengths and weaknesses in my own writing was to find readers.  And, using the principle of "I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine," I decided that one way to acquire readers would be to sharpen my own skills as a reader. My first inclination, as it must be for a lot of people, was to pull out my red pen and get busy with the line edits.  Target grammatical errors like a heat-sensing missile.  Circle awkward word choices.  Flag lazy sentences and ruthlessly ex out adverbs (ruthlessly, get it?  Har har...).

Not anymore.

The first thing to change my perspective?  I'd handed an early draft of The Orphan Pearl to a reader whose first comment was, "I didn't like your heroine."  Totally blew my mind.  She could have gone through and made dozens of little biddy corrections and she wouldn't have done me half as much good as she did by telling me how she felt.

I've had a few people compare my heroine, Lydia, to Scarlett O'Hara - and she is that type of character, a survivor, which isn't always pretty.  I like her hardness, but I needed to bring out her softness and vulnerability more.  I needed to get readers on her side, rooting for her.  The novel changed a lot as a result of that one little comment.

Meanwhile, I began to realize that all my red pen activity wasn't helping the work I critiqued.

During Jacques Barzun's days as a literary advisor at Scribner, he coined the phrase "creeping creativity" to describe what happens when an editor applies a too-heavy hand to the book he or she is working on.  The editor stops editing and starts acting like a co-creator.  He thought this was a grave error, and I agree.

My line edits weren't improving my critique partner's writing because they fell into the category of creeping creativity.  I wasn't working with my partner's style, I was working against it.

For a while, I stopped with the line edits entirely.  I tried to offer, and refine, the kind of feedback I'd found most useful myself: I started telling my reader how I felt.  I tried to analyze my feelings, to give more useful responses.  I asked questions instead of offering answers.

The results were a lot better.

A couple of days ago, at a critique meeting, discussion about the most recent chapters I'd submitted got sidetracked on a discussion about whether or not my character would have been drinking water.  A couple of people pointed out that before the days of reliable water filtration systems, it could be dangerous to drink water and so people tended to prefer other types of drinks - beer, wine, etc.

I knew this, and had given some consideration to whether or not my character would drink water.  I had a couple of reasons for preferring water to other fluids - one of them being that water can stand in for other fluids metonymically (this is my ten cent word entry!) better than other drinks - and also, a general irritation with what I like to think of as the reification of history.  We like to simplify, so the idea that people avoided water sometimes becomes a hard and fast rule: no water, ever.  I don't buy it, but we all have to pick our battles.

The point?  We spent so long talking about whether or not my character would drink water that we ended up spending none on the scene itself.  Of course I'd like to conclude that the scene was so very perfect that there were no other flaws to discuss, but, honestly, I know better.  We're all easily distracted by little things.

Which is another danger of line edits.  It's very easy, as a reader, to be penny wise and pound foolish.  Go for the big ticket items.

I'll see you at dawn

More legal mumbo jumbo, this time about dueling. Duels were illegal and, at least in theory, if a combatant killed someone in a duel not only he but the appointed seconds were guilty of murder.  However, from early on the law drew a distinction between duels fought in hot blood and duels fought in cold blood.

A duel fought in hot blood took place on the heels of the offense that provoked the fight; two guys trade a couple of insults and then head right out into the field of combat while they're both still mad.  This kind of duel was called a "chance medley" (sounds so pretty, right?  A chance medley?) and were guilty only of manslaughter, with a maximum penalty of branding on the hand, a fine, and a year's imprisonment (the minimum penalty could be as low as a single day in prison).

A duel fought in cold blood is the kind we see in romance novels most often.  Insults are exchanged, seconds are secured, the combatants meet at the appointed place and time, usually at dawn or dusk of the next day.  If someone dies during such a duel, and the victor is brought to trial, he ought to be convicted of murder - in practice, however, this was hardly ever the case.  Lord Byron killed a man in a duel and was brought to trial, but even though hours elapsed between the time of the insult and the duel itself, Byron claimed that he fought in the heat of his passions and he was only convicted of manslaughter.

One article I read argued that the rules of dueling were designed to prevent injury, and also to make sure that skill didn't give either party to a duel an unfair advantage.  Here's a quote that sums up the reasoning behind this behavior perfectly: "A fair duel was a game of chance that displayed the willingness of both principals to die for their honor, not their skill at inflicting pain or death." (Joanne Freeman, Affairs of Honor: National Politics in the New Republic, quoted in the Allen/Reed article).

Again, for the record, I'm no expert.  Comments, additions, and corrections are welcome.  Below is the standard version of the Code Duello, and after that the sources I found most useful.

Code Duello

(as codified at the Clonmel Summer Assizes of 1777)

Rule 1. The first offense requires the first apology, though the retort may have been more offensive than the insult. Example: A tells B he is impertinent, etc. B retorts that he lies; yet A must make the first apology because he gave the first offense, and then (after one fire) B may explain away the retort by a subsequent apology.

Rule 2. But if the parties would rather fight on, then after two shots each (but in no case before), B may explain first, and A apologize afterward.

N.B. The above rules apply to all cases of offenses in retort not of stronger class than the example.

Rule 3. If a doubt exist who gave the first offense, the decision rests with the seconds; if they won't decide, or can't agree, the matter must proceed to two shots, or to a hit, if the challenger require it.

Rule 4. When the lie direct is the first offense, the aggressor must either beg pardon in express terms; exchange two shots previous to apology; or three shots followed up by explanation; or fire on till a severe hit be received by one party or the other.

Rule 5. As a blow is strictly prohibited under any circumstances among gentlemen, no verbal apology can be received for such an insult. The alternatives, therefore -- the offender handing a cane to the injured party, to be used on his own back, at the same time begging pardon; firing on until one or both are disabled; or exchanging three shots, and then asking pardon without proffer of the cane.

If swords are used, the parties engage until one is well blooded, disabled, or disarmed; or until, after receiving a wound, and blood being drawn, the aggressor begs pardon.

N.B. A disarm is considered the same as a disable. The disarmer may (strictly) break his adversary's sword; but if it be the challenger who is disarmed, it is considered as ungenerous to do so.

In the case the challenged be disarmed and refuses to ask pardon or atone, he must not be killed, as formerly; but the challenger may lay his own sword on the aggressor's shoulder, then break the aggressor's sword and say, "I spare your life!" The challenged can never revive the quarrel -- the challenger may.

Rule 6. If A gives B the lie, and B retorts by a blow (being the two greatest offenses), no reconciliation can take place till after two discharges each, or a severe hit; after which B may beg A's pardon humbly for the blow and then A may explain simply for the lie; because a blow is never allowable, and the offense of the lie, therefore, merges in it. (See preceding rules.)

N.B. Challenges for undivulged causes may be reconciled on the ground, after one shot. An explanation or the slightest hit should be sufficient in such cases, because no personal offense transpired.

Rule 7. But no apology can be received, in any case, after the parties have actually taken ground, without exchange of fires.

Rule 8. In the above case, no challenger is obliged to divulge his cause of challenge (if private) unless required by the challenged so to do before their meeting.

Rule 9. All imputations of cheating at play, races, etc., to be considered equivalent to a blow; but may be reconciled after one shot, on admitting their falsehood and begging pardon publicly.

Rule 10. Any insult to a lady under a gentleman's care or protection to be considered as, by one degree, a greater offense than if given to the gentleman personally, and to be regulated accordingly.

Rule 11. Offenses originating or accruing from the support of ladies' reputations, to be considered as less unjustifiable than any others of the same class, and as admitting of slighter apologies by the aggressor: this to be determined by the circumstances of the case, but always favorable to the lady.

Rule 12. In simple, unpremeditated recontres with the smallsword, or couteau de chasse, the rule is -- first draw, first sheath, unless blood is drawn; then both sheath, and proceed to investigation.

Rule 13. No dumb shooting or firing in the air is admissible in any case. The challenger ought not to have challenged without receiving offense; and the challenged ought, if he gave offense, to have made an apology before he came on the ground; therefore, children's play must be dishonorable on one side or the other, and is accordingly prohibited.

Rule 14. Seconds to be of equal rank in society with the principals they attend, inasmuch as a second may either choose or chance to become a principal, and equality is indispensible.

Rule 15. Challenges are never to be delivered at night, unless the party to be challenged intend leaving the place of offense before morning; for it is desirable to avoid all hot-headed proceedings.

Rule 16. The challenged has the right to choose his own weapon, unless the challenger gives his honor he is no swordsman; after which, however, he can decline any second species of weapon proposed by the challenged.

Rule 17. The challenged chooses his ground; the challenger chooses his distance; the seconds fix the time and terms of firing.

Rule 18. The seconds load in presence of each other, unless they give their mutual honors they have charged smooth and single, which should be held sufficient.

Rule 19. Firing may be regulated -- first by signal; secondly, by word of command; or thirdly, at pleasure -- as may be agreeable to the parties. In the latter case, the parties may fire at their reasonable leisure, but second presents and rests are strictly prohibited.

Rule 20. In all cases a miss-fire is equivalent to a shot, and a snap or non-cock is to be considered as a miss-fire.

Rule 21. Seconds are bound to attempt a reconciliation before the meeting takes place, or after sufficient firing or hits, as specified.

Rule 22. Any wound sufficient to agitate the nerves and necessarily make the hand shake, must end the business for that day.

Rule 23. If the cause of the meeting be of such a nature that no apology or explanation can or will be received, the challenged takes his ground, and calls on the challenger to proceed as he chooses; in such cases, firing at pleasure is the usual practice, but may be varied by agreement.

Rule 24. In slight cases, the second hands his principal but one pistol; but in gross cases, two, holding another case ready charged in reserve.

Rule 25. Where seconds disagree, and resolve to exchange shots themselves, it must be at the same time and at right angles with their principals, thus:

If with swords, side by side, with five paces interval.

My sources:

Allen, Douglas W. and Clyde G. Reed.  "The Duel of Honor: Screening for Unobservable Social Capital," American Law and Economics Review, Spring 2006.

Horder, Jeremy.  "The Duel and the English Law of Homicide," Oxford Journal of Legal Studies (volume 12, no 3), Autumn 1992.

For future reference: didn't get my hands on Simpson's "Dandelions on the Field of Honour: Duelling, the Middle Classes, and the Law in Nineteenth Century England" (1988) 9 Criminal Justice History 99, but I want to.

Crime & Punishment in 1838 England

So for the past couple days I have been scurrying around reading legal journals trying to figure out exactly what would have happened at the scene of a crime in 1838 England.  Maybe there was an easier way, but for my own benefit and to save future googlers a little bit of time and effort, I'm going to summarize my findings here. The public prosecutor's office was first established in 1879.  Before that time, if the victim of a crime (it could be anyone, but was generally the victim) wanted to see the perpetrator punished, they had to lodge a complaint and bear all the costs of the trial.  Some major public institutions, like the Mint, the Bank of England, the Treasury and Post Office retained prosecutors to investigate offenses that affected interests of the state.  For the most part, however, it was up to the injured party to seek restitution.

There's another major exception to the rule of private prosecution, which depends on the distinction between misdemeanors and felonies.  Misdemeanors were subject to summary judgment.  That means no trial, no jury, just a quick jaunt to the nearest Justice of the Peace who'd hear the complaint and pass judgment.

Now, it was very difficult to take someone to trial without a victim - without a complainant.  But a constable could apprehend a thief and take him to the JP for summary judgment and that worked just fine.  So for misdemeanors, a private individual didn't always choose to prosecute.  Increasingly over the course of the nineteenth century, law enforcement officials saw to the task.

Felonies were a different matter.  By their very nature they were indictable offenses, and tried before a jury.  Which means that unless a magistrate or constable were present at the scene of a crime, the victim could choose not to prosecute.  It was against the law to agree not to prosecute (i.e., the victim of a crime seeks out the criminal, confronts him, and reaches a private arrangement for restitution), but very common nonetheless.

Alright.  So.  We're at the scene of a crime now.  What does the JP do?

If a respectable prosecutor (victim or interested party) swears an oath that they witnessed a crime, the JP is obligated to arrest the accused.  Other than that, however, the JP could do pretty much what he liked.  He could have someone arrested, based on a standard of reasonable suspicion.  He could dismiss an accusation if, upon further investigation, he decided it had no merit.  He could have a suspect arrested or he could release him on bail.

This discretionary aspect evolved over time.  Starting in the 16th century a JP was required to take written depositions from the complainants, witnesses, and suspects, and then to bind the suspects over for trial.  This process only gradually transitioned into an inquiry, at which the JP weighed the evidence and then decided whether or not it was worthwhile to send the accused to trial.  These changes were formalized in the Jervis's Acts in 1848.

The accused could, and increasingly did, choose to have an attorney present when the JP questioned him.  The attorney could advise his client during the interrogation, but under no circumstances was the accused ever to obtain a copy of the written transcript.

The next step after the arrest was the actual indictment.  The prosecutor presented his case before a jury and if the jury came back with a "true bill" then the case would proceed to a full trial.

I'm no expert - I read a few articles and browsed a few books and this is what I came up with.  I'm listing the most useful sources I found below, for anyone who wants to double check or go read what the real authorities have to say.  If anyone reading this has  corrections, additions, or improvements please leave a note in the comments section or email me.

- Beattie, J.M.: Crime and the Courts in England, 1660-1800.

- Smith, Bruce P. "English Criminal Justice Administration, 1650-1850: A Historiographic Essay," Law and History Review Fall 2007.

- Smith, Bruce P. "The Presumption of Guilt and the English Law of Theft, 1750-1850," Law and History Review, Spring 2005.

- Smith, Bruce P. "The Emergence of Public Prosecution in London, 1790-1850," Yale Journal of Law and the Humanities, Winter 2006

Hammam (Deleted Scene)

Once upon a time, The Orphan Pearl began in a Turkish bath. I liked this scene so much because I lived it.  Anyone lucky enough to travel to Istanbul should put a visit to the hammam on their itinerary.  The old baths are gorgeous, and (personally) I like the public nudity too.  I always start out nervous and paranoid, afraid that people will stare and think unkind thoughts, and I always leave feeling very calm and body-positive.  Somewhere along the way I stop worrying, chill out, remember that bodies are bodies and we're all odd in some ways and beautiful in others and that's how it ought to be.

Oh, and the detail about the sticky ropes of skin?  That's real too.  You might think I included it just because Lydia and Zohra are so very dirty after fifty days of hard travel (and they are), but I've walked into a hammam a few hours after taking a shower and still seen the skin ropes.  Not just me, either - most people with exemplary bathing habits have the same experience.  They're really gross, but the final result is worth it.

Click through to read the deleted bath scene.

“Will you get my back?” Lydia asked, turning to provide free access to the part in question.

“If you’ll do mine.” Zohra took Lydia's wet bathing cloth and scrubbed like a country girl attacking a load of dirty laundry.

They were both naked, and surrounded by many other naked women: great haunches of hip and belly crowded next to meager shanks of thigh, slow grey-haired ancients side by side with proud-breasted young brides. Children of both sexes scampered between sheltered booths, skidding on the wet marble floor. A mother or older sister occasionally pulled one of the little ones from the fray with a hooked arm, then used the other to apply slick-stinging soap while the child squirmed. Lydia caught a few curious glances directed her way; a woman as pale and blonde as she was always attracted attention.

When she was done, they changed places. Zohra dragged her thick black hair out of the way, and Lydia set to mercilessly. They hadn’t bathed for weeks, and it showed. The dead skin sloughed off in dark, sticky ropes.

When she was done, Zohra’s back glowed bright pink. Lydia handed Zohra her rag and picked up a cake of rose-scented soap. She worked up a thick lather, massaging the foam into her foot and inching on up. Her leg, once slim and shapely, looked stringy. The past two months had been hard on her body, harder on her soul.

It had been fifty days since her world collapsed. Fifty days since a swarm of Russian soldiers converged on Rustem’s compound. Outnumbered and outgunned, Rustem stayed to fight while Lydia and Zohra slipped away in the dark. She’d lingered long enough to see him die, crumpling to the earth in front of the villa, the plaster walls behind him cratered by the spray of bullets.

They ran from the raiders that night, and they’d been running ever since. It had been a long, hard journey.

“Are you thinner, too?” Lydia asked Zohra.

“Not like you.” Zohra answered, assessing her friend’s body openly.

Lydia reached for an empty bucket and carried it to the nearest spigot. The water came out burning hot, so she blended it with cold from a separate faucet. Finding just the right temperature was part of the ritual. She tested the mixture with two fingers, sloshed some of the water over the rim of the bucket and added more cold. Satisfied, Lydia balanced on one leg so she could take one foot, and then the other, into her hand, thread her fingers through her toes and rinse out the soap that collected between them.

Star-shaped windows in the dome overhead let in the afternoon sun. Thick steam trapped the light, preventing it from spreading evenly throughout the room – instead, spears of white pierced the opaque mist. The extravagant marble floor and copper fixtures were only found in city baths, built by kings and princes. Lydia knew she might never enter another Turkish bathhouse again, and she was glad her last excursion was such a special one.

Lydia returned to her mat and picked up the soap again. This time she slid the lather between her thighs, over the flat surface of her belly, and up the shallow curve of her waist.

“What if nobody recognizes you?” Zohra asked, casting another frank glance at Lydia's hardened figure. While she spoke, Zohra slicked one hand along the rounded contours of the opposite arm. Zohra always started from the top and worked her way down.

As they inched closer to Constantinople, Lydia had begun to consider the possibility that they might actually make it to England. There were so many things she missed about her homeland – strawberries and willow trees and rain, just to name a few.

And yet she dreaded her homecoming. Only fear for her life sent Lydia back to her father’s doorstep. Nothing else was worth the humiliation.

“They’ll recognize me,” Lydia answered calmly.

“But your family will find your marriage to a Muslim shameful,” Zohra said.

Lydia nodded. They’d had this conversation before.

“What will we do if they abjure you?”

It would be a disaster. They needed her father’s protection. What would they do if he wouldn’t give it? Die probably. Or…Lydia shrugged, “There’s always America.”

“Yes, that’s right, why don’t we just run for the rest of our lives?” Zohra snapped, then stood and grabbed the bucket with a violent swipe of her hand.

In the changing room, Lydia put on a clean set of underclothes. A silk tunic that reached to her knees and a pair of loose trousers made up the first layer. After that, she had to make do with dirty outer garments – a heavy wool tunic, embroidered around the collar and cuffs, followed by a heavy satchel she carefully positioned against her belly. The sack disappeared under the loose black robe that came next. Finished, Lydia glided over to the mirror to stand behind Zohra, who was using a fingernail to tug a ribbon of glossy black hair out from under her veil to sweep in a gentle curve across her forehead. Kohl rimmed her slanted almond-shaped eyes.

“A veil masks a woman’s face, but like all masks, it communicates as much as it hides,” Luke Benton wrote in In the Footsteps of the Crusaders. She’d read those words long before she set foot in the Orient, and Zohra was living proof. It didn’t matter how much fabric she draped over her body, Zohra was a walking challenge to all mankind.

Lydia could see herself in the mirror too. She looked, as she always did when she was troubled, serene as a porcelain doll. Her face remained frivolous and innocent, no matter how dire the circumstances.

Satisfied with her appearance, Zohra turned away from the mirror. She took Lydia's tightly clasped hands in her own and gently pulled them apart.

“I won’t follow you forever, Mihrimah.” Zohra said, her first words since the outburst.

“What would you rather do?” Lydia met her friend’s gaze without flinching. “Do you want to stay in Constantinople? We could make it happen.”

“I can’t stay here any more than you can.” Zohra dropped Lydia's hands. “Put on your headscarf. We should go, it’s humid in the bath.”

Lydia focused on her veil, tugging the silk into loose folds that covered her hair completely and cast her face into light shadow. Unlike Zohra, she didn’t want to attract attention.