Weird fiction, full of wonder – Part the 3rd

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Edwardian era, Fiction, Strange fiction

So, what can we learn from all these writers and their strange fancies?

Well, whilst realist literature attempted to provide an objective and impartial account of the world and its social ills and wrongs, the works of authors such as  Blackwood and Dunsany, as well as M.R. James, William Hope Hodgson, Oliver Onions (a brilliant name) and others reflect a continued and growing preoccupation with the paranormal and the occult, as well as being the medium for more quotidian, if no less strange, psychological speculations. Were they ghosts that turned the screw? Wo0O0^oo_o0Ooo…

Incredible adventures (1914) / Algernon Blackwood

Indeed, the start of the C20^th was a heyday for bodies such as the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) and other attempts to bring the methods of scientific investigation to the world of the paranormal. And on the flip side of this eerie coin we find the many faux-mystical associations of the time, such as the Ghost Club and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. And wouldn’t you know it, Algy Blackwood was a member of both, and in the Hermetic &c. Order he would find himself rubbing shoulders with the self-styled mystic and infamous libertine enfant terrible of the age, Aleister Crowley (who also bore the moniker … ‘The Great Beast.’ Yaaarghh the scandalous horror).

An interesting episode that knits these links together (and, thrillingly, will lead us towards a conclusion in part 4 of this blogseries) is the folkloric tale of the Angels of Mons, a popular (ca. 1915) legend which would have us believe that angelic beings came to the aid of the British army in their first encounter of Great War. The myth finds its origin in “The Bowmen,” a story written by Welsh weird fiction author Arthur Machen, also briefly a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Yawn and another singled out for praise by ol’ H.P. Sauce himself. The tale takes as it’s base the real David/Goliath achievement of the British in the Battle of Mons and then adds some etherial Agincourt bowmen to the fictional mix. Although presented as fiction, the story would mutate and reappear passing itself off as fact and would be investigated by the SPR. Though they’d conclude that the proffered accounts were *shock!* bunkem, the salient point as far as this post is concerned is that there was an environment which could support a straight-faced investigation of this sort of thing at all. Was the strange staining the straight-laced…?

Coming up next time: A conclusion is reached!

*Incidentally, there’re 5 Cambridge clues in there for all you budding Dan Browns or (depending your flavour) Iain Sinclairs out there, should you wish to join the dots to make a pentagram. Some are admittedly tenuous, but, hey, come on…*

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Victorian beauty tips

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beauty, treatments, victorian beauty

Credit to NiinaC (Flickr)

Much like today, Victorian women wanted to look good and there were many books with handy tips and tricks to help them. Rather than focusing on shop bought lotions and potions to achieve the ideal, many of these books contained recipes for making your own beauty treatments.

Proper preparation was key. Most of the books advocate the use of good old soap and water but other options were available. Mixing potash (potassium carbonate), rosewater, brandy and lemon juice into water and then rinsing your face made for a reviving skin wash. A lotion for ‘imparting a soft and delicate appearance for the skin’ could be made by mixing mercury and emulsion of butter almonds – but as the book cautions, care should be taken not to add too much mercury!

Wrinkles were as much a problem for Victorian women as they are today and many of the books contain sworn wrinkle busting recipes. Mixing onion juice, white lily, honey and white wax together and then applying as a night cream was a sure fire cure for pesky lines. Spots could also be cured by adding a little flour of sulphur to milk and then dabbing on the affected area. Due to the smell, people would then no longer come near enough to you to see that you had a spot! Greasy skin could be combated by rinsing the face with white wine – known for its purifying properties.

Make up is generally discouraged for well-bred ladies. Even a Mr. Rimmel is quoted as saying that he ‘cannot conscientiously recommend paints for the face’!  For those that chose to indulge, powder puffs made of swan feathers were recommended to apply a light layer to the face. Victorians used to kill five hundred swans a year purely to make these puffs so there was obviously a demand. A layer of glycerine should be applied to the face first to ensure a smooth application. Nails could be polished with beeswax and a chamois leather to gain a high shine and mixing small quantities of sulphur with the finest lard could restore greying hair.

Although the Victorians may have had some strange ideas about beauty routines, most of the books conclude with the same remarks. The key to beauty is happiness, since it ‘gives colour to the cheek and a sparkle to the eye’, all for free!

1878.6.179 The Art of Beauty, or, Lady's Companion to the Boudoir by Madame Bayard

Weird fiction, full of wonder – Part the 2nd

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Edwardian era, Fiction, Strange fiction

Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany (1878-1957)

A Dreamer's Tale (1910) / Lord Dunsany

…or to use his mercifully abbreviated nom de plume, just plain ol’ Lord Dunsany, was another writer of strange fiction birthed by the 20th and newest century. Born into privilege, young Drax Plunkett would spend many of his early years at the family castle, and would attend Eton and Sandhurst for his education. Perhaps unsurprisingly then, family wealth and connections assisted his introduction to the literary scene, but he would fund the publication of his first work, The Gods of Pegāna (1905), from his own pocket.  

The book presents a collection of tales detailing the pantheon of demons and deities in the mythical land of Pegāna, Dunsany’s own Olympus, at the head of which is MANA-YOOD-SUSHAI, the ur-god in whose head is the dream of all Pegāna (those of a more scholarly bent feel free to insert here any expatiations on the symbolism of writer as creator). Unfortunately for those pagan ol’ pegānites who may wish to pay appropriate tribute to MANA, he’s not to be praised, sacrificed to, or in any loud way revered for fear of waking him and thereby bringing about the End of Days.  Thus pantheism is strongly encouraged:  

“Let no man pray to MANA-YOOD-SUSHAI, for who shall trouble MANA with mortal woes or irk him with the sorrows of all the houses of Earth? Nor let any sacrifice to MANA-YOOD-SUSHAI, for what glory shall he find in sacrifices or altars who hath made the gods themselves? Pray to the small gods, who are the gods of Doing; but MANA is the god of Having Done—the god of Having Done and of the Resting.”  

The above lines, from the Sayings of Slid, bring us nicely to one of my favourite aspects of the book, being the names Dunsany bestows on his deities, which have a t’rific onomatopoeic quality to them. Take for examples:  Mung – Lord of all Death , Sish – Destroyer of Hours, and indeed the aforementioned Slid – Whose Soul is by the Sea, which for me conjure up thoughts of thick azoic muds, sand passing the waist of an hourglass and, well (bathetically), sliding on a wet surface.  

Anyway, owing a lot no doubt to the Celtic Revival occurring at the time, the book proved a great success. The fact that his subsequent efforts, not all set in Pegāna but certainly of a similar vein, including Time and the Gods (1906), A Dreamer’s Tales (1910) and Fifty-One Tales (1915), were published by large, well established publishing houses attests to the popularity of such works.  

   

A couple of addenda then…  

The Ghost Pirates (1909) / William Hope Hodgson

The illustrations on this page are by one Sidney Herbert Sime, a personal favourite, and an illustrator in whom Dunsany found a kindred creative spirit. Beginning with The Gods of Pegāna, the pair would often work together providing what seems to have been mutual inspiration. The library holds several of the first editions of the Dunsany/Sime works as wells as modern volumes which collect Sime’s illustrations, which are all well worth a peruse.  

Oh, and the second addenda, Lord Dunsany’s younger brother had an even longer, and more incredible name. A prize (well….) for the first one to find it!  

   

Coming up next time: A pattern forms in the background…  

Find your perfect match

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Moustache, physiognomy, romance

J. M. Barrie: what does his moustache say about him?

Looking to meet that special someone? Don’t waste your time trying to work out whether a person is right for you by talking to them – it turns out there’s an easier and quicker way. A few weeks ago, we learned of the preponderance of moustaches amongst late Victorian and Edwardian men. Not only were moustaches very common, but it would appear that the ability to ‘read’ them may have helped ladies find their one true love, as, according to J. R. Hughes, “phrenologist and physiognomist” and author of Marriage not a failure!, or, Sweethearts, and how to choose the right one, facial hair reveals the soul within:      

The colour of a man’s whiskers, or moustache, are more indicative of character than the hair on his head.      

Intriguing. Hughes goes on to provide a handy guide on how to use this as a basis for finding a life partner.      

Auburn whiskered men should marry ladies with brown or dark brown hair, and not ladies with fair or auburn hair.      

Red or bright auburn young ladies should marry very dark brown or black, and ladies with very dark brown or black should marry auburn or fair.      

Spare a thought for anyone whose hair colour doesn’t fall into such tidy categories. Still, it seems straightforward enough, until you go on to read that actually, it’s also vitally important that your beloved has the correct eye colour as well. Apparently, the blue-eyed are affable and credulous; those with hazel eyes have a “frolicsome turn of mind”; a person with grey eyes is “a plain, plodding, downright drudge” (this seems a bit harsh, but then, I’m not a trained physiognomist); and then there are the red-eyed (no, I’ve no idea either), who are “selfish, deceitful and proud, furious in anger, fertile in the invention of plots, and indefatigable in resolution to bring them to bear”. My goodness. Anyway, again, Hughes records which eye colour is appropriate to look for in a spouse:    

Blue eyes should not marry blue. The same may be said of each other colour.      

A grey eye should marry a very dark coloured eye … A hazel eye should marry blue, or a very dark coloured eye, but not a grey.      

This is about the point at which it all gets far too complicated; if I’m going to follow this (surely foolproof) method of finding a husband, I’ll have to carry round a compatibility chart with me.   

Of course, there’s always the possibility that you’ll meet a man without any facial hair. Alas, Hughes offers no advice on what to do if you find yourself in such a predicament. Still, as the saying goes, “kissing a man without a moustache is like eating an egg without salt”, so such a man would probably not be worth your concern …

Reach for the sky

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Edward Watkin, Victorian engineering, Wembley Park Tower

Sir Edward Watkin, chairman of the Metropolitan Railway Board in the 1880s, was a man with big ideas.  His main aim in life was a railway line to connect the north of England with France by means of a Channel tunnel (which was in fact started) but he also owned land at Wembley Park, north of London, which he envisaged turning into grand pleasure grounds.  He wanted the centrepiece of this to be a great tower; bigger, taller and altogether better than the one Gustave Eiffel had recently completed in Paris.

 To realise this vision, the Metropolitan Tower Construction Company was set up and they promoted an international competition, inviting architects of the day to put forward designs for a tower of not less than 1,200 feet – it had to be taller than the Eiffel Tower.  These were eventually published [Descriptive illustrated catalogue of the sixty-eight competitive designs for the great tower for London. 1890.8.495] and it is now fascinating to look through the proposals and marvel at the inventiveness and ingenuity displayed.

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In fact, none of these designs really impressed the judges, but they settled on one that looked remarkably similar to the Eiffel Tower (but 175 feet higher) and set about building it.  The New York Times reported on this with some enthusiasm, telling its readers how “the Wembley Tower crowns an eminence of the beautiful Wembley Park, affording a lovely view of the surrounding country.”  It goes on to inform that “over 150 men are now employed fitting pieces of the tower together, and it is wonderful what rapid progress they make.” [NYT, May 20, 1894]

 Sadly, despite allowing two years for the foundations to settle, the ground could not take the weight of the structure and it began to subside.  Only the first stage of the tower up to the lower platform was built and while it was something of an attraction for a year or so, it was soon nick-named Watkin’s Folly as work was abandoned.  Eventually, in 1907, it was dismantled and the metal work recycled.  However, if you happen to visit Wembley Stadium, spare a thought for the remains of the tower’s concrete foundations, which lie underneath the pitch.

Weird fiction, full of wonder – Part the 1st

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Edwardian era, Fiction, Strange fiction

I’m partial to an unusual tale, and thus, I suppose, was bound to get caught in the tendrils of H.P. Lovecraft sooner or later. An oft cited influence on the modern in his own right, this premier auteur of strange fiction was concious of the debt he owed to his predecessors in the field (many of whom haunt the Tower), and it is from this jumping off point (a plunge from the shore’s of Atlantis into the mythos infested waters that surround it) that I’d like, if I may, to borrow some time to post a blog or two flagging some of these influences and having a chin-wag about the subject in general.

 

To kick off then…

 

If the dominant style for fiction during the first decades of the twentieth century appears to have been a continuation of the literary realism of the Victorian era (that of Dickens, George Eliot and Balzac, continued by Arnold Bennett, Ford Madox Ford, D. H. Lawrence … et. al.), there is, if one is willing to look at it, a concomitant rise in the amount of fiction being written in a more fantastical mode; the stories of the weird and wonderful taking place in this, and other worlds.

 

Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951)

Julius Le Vallon (1916) / by Algernon Blackwood

…A prolific writer of strange fiction, penning 15 books in his most productive period from 1906-1916, his stories present their protagonists as seekers of the unknown, rather than the passive receivers of apparitions, whose investigations culminate in awe and wonder (The Centaur, 1911) as often as they would in horror (The Empty House and other Ghost Stories, 1906). Raised by a strictly Evangelical father, he would eventually rebel against these teachings and immerse himself in whorls of Buddhism and Rosicrucianism. Although a firm believer in psychic experiences and supernatural phenomena, all the same, he never presented his stories as coming from his own experience.       

 

    Coming up next time: A man with a very long name…     

War and resentment

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destruction, First World War, France, Germany, war

War artists and photographers from the First World War are well known.  Lithographs from the siege of Strasbourg during the Fraco-Prussian war in ‘Bombardement de Strasbourg’, 1870 (1906.7.2401) provide an earlier view of the work of war artists– and of the methods of waging war.  The book is composed of 21 plates of lithographs depicting war damage to the city of Strasbourg (with captions in both French and German), as well as a final series of two plates showing and naming a collection of cannons that were used and (by the looks of them) destroyed in the siege of the city.

While in the First and Second World Wars a similar picture might have been used to show the battleships, tanks or airplanes, as late as the Franco-Prussian War, these showpieces were still cannons– many from the reign of Louis XIV.  Or maybe these were shown as a sign of nostalgia– Krupps and other steel companies built modern artillery pieces for the Franco-Prussian War, and these cannons may have shown simply to show how woefully inadequate France’s and Stasbourg’s defences had been. 

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The very thing for a lady …. is an electric corset

Items on medicinal clothing/apparel are something we regularly catalogue and with advertising hook lines like the one above they certainly stand out.

 Apparel designed for treatment by magnetism is interesting as many of the same beliefs and criticisms exist today. In the late 1800s and early 1900s businesses selling these items were already both well established and criticised. Makers of magnetic apparel, often decrying competitors as unprincipled quacks carrying out veriest shams, competed in their claims that their designs could increase vitality, prevent illness or cure epileptic fits, lumbago, sciatica, tumours, liver complaints, loss of hearing, physical protraction, bronchitis, spinal injuries, gout and rheumatism, etc. [1]. The ‘graceful and comforting’ outfits included body belts in summer and riding varieties for gentlemen and ladies, chest protectors, womb shields, knee caps, throat protectors (for indoor wear), spine bands and friction gloves [2]. Some worked on the principle that the magnetised steel inside the webbing of these pads would attract iron in the blood, and so improve circulation, while others charged these ‘invisible energies’ with healing properties given by divine appointment that could cure nearly all ills. Both were refuted at the time, with any success put down to the warmth of the pad and the faith of the patient.

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Less comparable to self-cures today is the slightly more disarming item of medicinal garb, the electric corset. Advertised as the ‘very thing’ for ladies, not only does ‘the most awkward figure become graceful and elegant’ but ‘the internal organs are speedily strengthened’, good for ‘any form of nervous, muscular or organic weakness’. Dr Carter Moffat’s unisex belt claimed to cure indigestion, constipation, palpitation, drowsiness, corpulence and gout etc., etc. These assertions were however already being questioned. In 1893 electric belt frauds had begun to be exposed in the law courts, the technique and design proven as ineffectual and a work of quackery [3]. Belts and corsets were lined with flannel fastened with small eyelets of zinc and copper, which touched the skin and were connected with wires. The perspiration of the body was then said to provide enough fluid to generate electricity by its action upon the zinc discs. Scientists and physicians who were then studying the impact of electrical treatments argued that this method would never generate enough electricity required for medical purposes. Electric hairbrushes were equally labelled as bunk for their lack of electric power [4].

Titles on these are plentiful and can be found under subject searches on Electrotherapeutics, Magnetotherapy, Magnetic healing and one of my favourites, Quacks and quackery.