I came across this article from the Historical Novel Society recently, and just loved it.
In it, Jane Stubbs, presents the case for long skirts, and it has less to do with modesty than it does with toilet habits. My favourite quote:
It is at this moment that a predominantly female audience, even a virtual one, will ask: Did they wear knickers? It is just not possible to give a definitive yes or no answer to the question. No diarist has obligingly written “I do not wear knickers.” Snippets of information come thick and fast. Someone has seen Queen Victoria’s huge drawers. Others wonder about the open crotch design or a panel at the back which unbuttons. Memories of rural privies abound.
Victorian drawers would be fastened with loops, bows, and buttons. If you were lucky, you might have a drawstring. The practicalities of fishing about among the many petticoats for the release button persuades many that knickers were an optional extra, not a daily essential. The realization that all they had to aim at was a chamber pot or a hole in the ground supports this theory. The obvious way for women to deal with their natural functions under such circumstances is to dispense with knickers. Then they can simply arrange their skirts so as to avoid splashes and preserve their modesty.
Fans and writers of historical fiction will love it. Go for it. Read on.
Once upon a time in a house deep in the woods of Northern BC, a strong, thoughtful woman invited all her family and friends to Thanksgiving dinner—her parents and in-laws, convict brother-in-law, divorcing neighbours, and her two children: ten-year-old Tommy and his teenage sister, Charlotte. There were twelve in all, as one couple didn’t appear; at least, not in their human forms. It wasn’t quite “The Last Supper” but close.
Wolf at the Door is a kick-ass tour de force, a brilliantly plotted and masterfully written debut novella that will keep you sitting up in bed with your eyes and ears wide open long after its done. You may never venture out in the dark again.
This enchanting 125-page-story is told in six parts: Before Dinner, Cocktails, The Dinner, Dessert, Second Helpings, and A Late Night Snack. McKay treads the fantasy/horror trail but his psychological deep-dive into the characters of these people-next-door is what impresses most. When I taught English we often gave out an assignment: create a dinner party with several characters. Explain who and why and what transpires during the dinner. In a shorter story, an author must be concise and discriminatory with psychological details, and as I read the carefully selected backstories, personalities, and foibles of Char’s dinner guests, this came to mind.
How will Char and her husband Doug save their family and friends from being the main course for a couple of vicious werewolves equipped with mythic speed, superstrength, razor teeth and claws, and a hinged jaw that opens wide enough to take in Grandma’s whole head? Even the quintessential minivan can’t stand up to this brutality. “The monster’s arms broke through the window next to Owen like a knife through an eggshell. The glass shattered inward, scattering across the seats and floor in tiny square little chunks. Char tried to reach for Owen, but the seat belt locked and held her back” (104). I’ll stop there in case werewolf horror isn’t to your taste.
Joel McKay is a superhero in a suit. Trained as a journalist, McKay made Prince George his home a decade ago when he joined the Northern Development Initiative Trust. He’s now CEO. The Trust works with First Nations, local governments, and businesses to invest in Northern economic development. By day, McKay distributes millions of dollars in grants to create a stronger BC but by night he turns his literary skills to the realm of Sci-Fi, fantasy, and horror. His short story, “Number Hunnerd” was recently published in Tyche Books’ anthology, Water: Selkies, Sirens and Sea Monsters. I honestly cannot wait to read his first novel.
Wolf at the Door is a TV show waiting to happen. McKay’s sensory writing, keen dialogue, relatable characters, and perfect plotting creates a screenwriter’s dream. But don’t wait for that. Read it today, preferably in the daylight hours.
Fans of Thomas King and his serene, sensible, and sly, alter-ego, Thumps DreadfulWater, will be delighted to know his latest DreadfulWater Mystery is out, and it’s one of the best yet—a mischievous, slow-paced, cozy, infused with King’s trademark comedic wittiness, characters who are old friends, and a cup of sugar. Both down-to-earth and defying gravity as an eco-mystery, Deep House follows closely on Obsidian.
The “perhaps” love of his life, Claire, has adopted a young child named Ivory, and Thumps is embracing the idea of fatherhood; the only problem is, Claire doesn’t seem to be embracing Thumps with the same vigor she once did. In fact, she finds his presence “disconcerting.” Oh oh. Add to this, his trepidation around changing his photographic mode from film to digital during a waning pandemic, and Thumps is left facing a true “Thelma and Louise moment.”
King’s always told us his version of the truth, so doesn’t shy away from that “dreadful” subject Covid. As the pandemic “normalizes” people are beginning to gather outside again as they are now. The locals convene at Al’s café for the usual hijinks and witty political philosophizing. King invites us into discussions involving everything from photography to paint shades to prostate problems. And with surprising literary agility, he describes the passing of gas from Pops, the neighbour’s Komondor (big shaggy dog) without ever mentioning the word—“which is when the air on the porch went black … Thumps stumbled backwards, momentarily blinded by the smell that had exploded out of the dog … tried to get his eyes to focus” (100).This takes skill.
Many crime novels are plot driven. This one is not. Yes, Thumps inadvertently photographs a body in the boulders at the bottom of Deep House—a treacherous canyon on the local reserve near Chinook—and unravels a mystery. But what makes this story are the characters. Cooley Small Elk, big-hearted and anything but small, and his grandfather, Moses Blood; Archie Kousoulas, book store owner, who invites everyone to the pre-opening of Pappou’s, his new Greek restaurant; the laconic sheriff Duke Hockney; and the charming “ninja assassin” Cisco Cruz.
But more’s been tossed over the canyon wall into the crater than ancient appliances and a body. Folks have been using it to get rid of their junk for years, and the discovery of several painted panels pushes this eco-mystery into the landscape of corporate conspiracy.
Now the sugar. Fans will remember the disappearance of Thumps’s cat, Freeway. In this story, the cat comes back with a passel of surprises that draw out the man’s sensitive nature, making book six the sweetest installment of the series.
If you’ve never waded into the dry waters of Chinook, this is a great place to start to feel the true genius of the man and his imperturbable crime-fighting personality, Thumps DreadfulWater.
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