Downton Abbey–sadistic in its treatment of women?

“Downton Abbey Continues Its Sadistic Streak Against Women” is the title of an article in Slate Magazine by June Thomas, and I’m afraid it annoyed me. Perhaps I’m not qualified to comment, as I haven’t seen the latest episodes of that TV series. In fact, I stopped watching about halfway through the second season. 

But I wonder if the reason for the trauma of Downton Abbey women is perhaps this: 

Almost every culture throughout history has been stacked against women. One could argue that the writer of Downton Abbey, Julian Fellowes, is just telling it as it was (taking into consideration that any drama is going to up the trauma beyond the norms of most normal lives, for both men and women). 

 Life was often particularly nasty to those women who didn’t conform, and to women who were the first to step away from cultural restrictions. If they were backed
by money, or possessed power in their own right, or were protected by
the power of the men in their life, they could get away with it.
Otherwise? There were unpleasant consequences. 

Portraying women in fiction as perpetual victims is annoying, especially if they are always being saved by a man–but we can also go too far if we are critical because fictional women have a tough time. I don’t want to see writers making women too powerful and confident to fit their culture and upbringing and influences. I don’t want to see writers making the repercussions of rebellion too mild for their historical or cultural setting. I don’t want to see writers glossing over how tough it was to be female, how careful you had to be, and how painful if you were unlucky. 

June Thomas ends with these words:
A woman loses a baby, sister, daughter, or husband, or is humiliated in
front of her family and friends, and we get to watch them recover.
Raping a beloved character is just latest of the show’s experiments in
sadism. 

 Er, what? When a woman loses a loved one, isn’t someone else usually just as traumatised by the death, like…a husband or a father by the death of a child? And when a husband dies…um, isn’t he a man? He just lost his life …and nothing bad happened to that character? And if a woman is raped–well, you know what? It still happens! 

It seems to me that when we underplay the traumatic events in the lives of women, we are ignoring historical (or present day) truths. Where we as writers can excel is in showing how strong women can be when confronted with trauma. We can portray our fictional women characters as survivors and heroes. But if we downplay the kind of horrors that happen to fictional women simply because they are women, then we are pretending something that’s not true in the real world. 

Historically women do have it harder. In many, many parts of the world, even in our own societies, they still do. Let’s not gloss over it.

Decorations of the other half…?

 

This is where we had dinner last night:

Fish and chips, while we looked across at million $ yachts…

Mandurah, the area where we live, is a mixed sort of place. People live here because property is cheaper to buy and rent than closer to Perth (which is 50 minutes away by train, and some 70-80 kms by road).

People live here because it’a a lovely place to retire to: cooler in summer, warmer in winter, lovely places to walk, boat, bike, paddle, fish…and there are a load of retirement homes, villages, lifestyle villages for 45+, etc etc.

And some people live here because if you have the $$ you can live on a canal with your million dollar boat on your own personal jetty…


And if you are one of the latter, you can decorate your palatial home for Christmas and then people pay to come and see them on canal boat trips–which is what we did last night.

Which is, I will admit, all rather lovely. I particularly appreciated the folk who took a whimsical approach to their decoration. And thanks to all who took the trouble to decorate their homes and were gracious enough to wave as we went past!


Although I must say, parking your boat in front of the decorations did rather spoil the effect occasionally…
Like this one:
Or this one
Or this one


Shapes on a beach…

Walked to this beach this morning–in an attempt to get some inspiration for a chapter that is giving me some difficulty. Still can’t get the chapter right, but the beach was lovely anyway! This place is half an hour’s walk from our house.

That’s me in there
I’m in there to show the scale…

I wandered lonely as a cloud…

Actually not true. I am rarely lonely, although I do like wandering. It clears the head after being crouched over my computer for hours, trying to write a steady 1,500 (good) words a day in book 2 of The Forsaken Lands.  The title of this one looks like being “The Dagger’s Path“. And I am incredibly lucky to have truly wonderful places to wander into, especially as we don’t have a car. Like these:

Black-winged Stilt striding out…
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of dancing Rottnest Island Daisies;
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

Ok, so it doesn’t scan. But they are everywhere…growing wild, because this their home territory.


And then there’s the wildlife:
This is a Christmas Spider, so called because it only appears at this time of the year. They weren’t there a couple of weeks back, now they are everywhere. Tiny and quite exquisitely shaped and coloured, just like a Christmas Tree ornament.

After Christmas their colours start fading until by April they are pretty much black, after which they disappear.
Hard to photograph these, as the scuttle away across the web when you approach, and the wind was blowing the web all over the place. They are tiny too!
And of course, what is Australia without a kangaroo or two, or half a dozen?
With joey in the pouch
These fellas are right alongside the path and don’t budge as I walk by.

So, why the silence?

 Believe it or not, we owe our lives to these things:

 Which are found here (and in very few other places these days):

 This is Lake Clifton, and it’s just a short drive away from my house in a national park called Yalgorup.
 
We owe these guys, because they made the first oxygen 
needed for life on land.







 Here’s an article worth thinking about, from The Atlantic, Nov. 11th, 2013.

It’s inspired by the tragedy of the latest natural disaster, in the Philippines, but it was the final paragraphs that really got to me, about how countries “ought to spend less figuring out how to kill one another and
more trying to stop nature from prematurely killing us”…
and  “the high probability that advanced civilisations destroy
themselves.” 
 

Which is why
 we never hear any intelligent life out there speaking  us. 
The universe is silent.



“In other words, 
this silent universe is conveying 
not a
flattering lesson about our uniqueness 
but a tragic story about our
destiny. 
It is telling us that intelligence may be 
the most cursed
faculty in the entire universe—
an endowment not just ultimately fatal
but, 
on the scale of cosmic time, 
near instantly so.”



And we in Australia have blithely and selfishly elected a government which seems to believe that anything that makes the rich richer benefits all (in spite of all proof to the contrary) 
and that there’s no such thing as global warming and climate change (also in spite of massive evidence to the contrary.)

So this is a five minute verse from me:
without thrombolites and stromatolites 
we wouldn’t be here
life is fragile
this planet is just cotton candy 
in the universe
and greenies aren’t 
just tree-huggers
they are scientists too
trying to tell us
we need to take care
–of ourselves,
of our planet:

it’s all we’ve got,
mr abbott

Looking back at Spring in Western Australia

We are in Summer now. Warm days of endless sun…
As those of you know me well, or who have been reading this blog over the years will realise — I have loved the tropical rainforest. Its grandeur, its wild exuberance, its overstated, overpowering, magnificent fecundity. I’ve tramped and camped in places that appear so wild and lonely you can imagine yourself to be the only human being ever to have come that way (you’d probably be wrong, of course, but that’s the way it feels.)

But one thing it hasn’t got much of, at least not noticeably, are the flowering plants like these (although a single tropical forest tree may have — quite literally — millions of individual blooms…). To find wild flowers in adundance you must come to Australia, specifically Western Australia. No other place has so many varieties in such a small area — an abundance of epidemics that is staggering. And in Spring, well, everywhere you look.

Like the following:

Eucalyptus woody fruits: we used to call then honky or gum nuts


Orchid



Banksia tree with 3 stages of flower/seed


Wax matches
Wattle
Mixed wild flowers in King’s Park
Kangaroo Paws and Leschenualtia
Eggs and Bacon
Orchid





Vale, Dorothy Lumley

This blog post is overdue by several weeks.

The truth is: I was too sad to write it. Some time ago, I blogged about my literary agent, Dorothy Lumley, known to her friends as Dot. You can find that original post here

 Dot became my agent in January 1991, almost 23 years ago. She died this month. She knew she was dying, but she went on working up to the last with extraordinary courage and stoical acceptance. Her last communication with me, about a business matter, was just a week before she died. 

Right now I feel as though I’m a boat without a rudder. She was my guide and my advisor for so long. When no one else seemed to have faith in my writing, she was there, confident that one day I would be published, telling me I had what it takes, that I wrote good stories. Rejection followed rejection but she never lost faith in me as a writer. It was her confidence that enabled me to keep trying. I often wonder whether I would have given up if it hadn’t been for her. I owe her so much.

When she took me on I was living in Austria. And then in Tunisia. And then in Malaysia. And finally here in Australia. Whenever I was in Britain, I made a point of meeting up with her, but there weren’t that many opportunities. How many over the years? Six, seven? Not enough. The last time my daughter drove me down from where we were staying in Cardiff to Torquay, where Dot lived. We had lunch together, and she wore a pashmina I had sent her as a present a year or so earlier; I was touched at the thoughtfulness of that courtesy.

In our last exchange of e-mails, she hinted that she didn’t think she had that much longer. For that reason I sent her the first few pages of the proofs of my next book, The Lascar’s Dagger.  I am so glad I did, because she didn’t live long enough to see the book itself. It was just the title page, the maps, and then this, the dedication:





For my agent
Dorothy Lumley
to whom I owe more than I can possibly say





Vale, Dot. I’ll miss you.

How cool is this!

Promotional material for the eBook — the first book of The Isles of Glory

If you are from the UK, this trilogy was never published in Britain in paper form, 
so this is you chance to get hold of it.
Book 2 Gilfeather is already out and 
Book 3 The Tainted should be ready later this month.

In fact, you should be able to buy an eBook version of some kind in English wherever you live…