Victorian

Storytelling Insight from Victorian England

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I was watching a British period drama — I haven’t met one yet that I’d pass up —  when it struck me that in Victorian times, according to literature written in that time and about that time, people used to die of anything. Even, simply, the loss of desire to keep living.

It is really quite remarkable. They decided they were too upset to go on, and then they didn’t.

It’s a convention found in the work of many, many authors of the era. There was no real need for a cause for death, for  a catalyst; the desire not to live was enough.

It’s one thing you can count on in Victorian novels. If a character doesn’t want to keep living, he or she won’t.

Is that an aspect of Victorian storytelling itself, or was it a sign of the times? In the time-frame of the show, somewhere in the late 1860s, a great deal of medicine was a mystery. In fact, it was only around that time that Louis Pasteur was drawing the connection between germs and disease. Without the science, a lot of life and death could look like mind over matter.

On the other hand, it does make for a convenient plot device, especially since it relies on the audience’s familiarity with the idea to do part of the work. Once someone seems to give up on life, any reader knew the clock was ticking.

It’s probably easier to see these kinds of shortcuts from a distance, especially when they are based on common assumptions that are later proven wrong. But it makes for a good question for any writer to ask him or herself while writing:

Is this here because it’s real? Or is it here because it’s easy?

Check out  my full-length novels,  Her Cousin Much Removed,  The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management and Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only), and the sequel, Aunty Ida’s Holey Amazing Sleeping Preparation (Not Doctor Recommended) which is now available!

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Grappling with Word Choice

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I am not one who wants to live in the past. I love the future and all of the toys that it’s given us, but today, for just a minute or two, I was jealous of the Victorians. Yes, the Victorians.

Not because of their clothing, and certainly not because of the corsets, which seem like they would act as portable prisons, but because of the language. Sure, to us it sounds pompous and overly-flowery, but there was a freedom for precision in Victorian writing we don’t really have. So much so, I often find myself making up words just to convey exactly what I mean (and it’s fun. Really fun).

Lets say, for example, you wanted to describe Chicago’s lakefront on a distractingly beautiful day. With Victorian English, you could say, “The trees, verdant in late summer, frame themselves against the undulating sheet of unceasing water.”

I think that paints a pretty clear picture, though one that’s a bit overwrought for modern prose. Still, it’s precise. I’d pare that down to: “The August trees, still deep green, frame themselves against the vast, changing water.”

Is the image the same? I’m not sure, the more formal, more stuffy Victorian language covers everything in a coat of sepia in my mind. It seems grander somehow. Then again, I’d probably lose the interest of most modern readers at “verdant,” even though it’s a fabulous word that means exactly what it should.

Word choice can shift the entire tone of a piece, pulling a reader in, or pushing one out. If a sentence always sticks when you read it through, try changing out a word and see if that puts you back in the era in which you belong.

Need something to read? Check out  Her Cousin Much Removed,  The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management and Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only) .

 Sign up for my spamless newsletter. And download Better Living Through GRAVY and Other Oddities, it’s free!