Epic

My first love, and my truest love, is the classical world.  The myths shaped my childish imagination and the art and literature fuelled my education.  The stories are so rich and vivid, and upon reading the words Sing Muse, I am always lifted in spirit eager to enter this ancient and wonderful world.  All books should begin this way.

The Greek myths cannot be beaten in terms of wealth of character and wealth of story.  All human life is explored, without moralising and without dilution.  The gods punish and reward, they fight and control, they make poor choices and mortals must endure the outcomes of their actions.  Allegory is made fun and memorable.  I still think of Demeter losing her daughter Persephone every autumn, when the leaves turn brown and Persephone must return to her husband Hades, and the earth is barren until spring.  I have yet to read a tale of the changing seasons that is more poetic.

At the tender age of 14 I began to truly study classical literature and art.  At 17 I read it for A level and fully indulged myself in this world four times a week for 2 years.  I read Plato and Socrates, I lived the Oresteia (so much so that felt that I had been at Troy), I studied the wonderful art.

In terms of my own writing, I am very attracted to the idea of taking a classical story and spinning my tale around it.  If George Bernard Shaw could get away with it, then so can I.  One scene from the siege of Troy struck me at 17 as the most hopelessly romantic moment possible.  It is the moment that the great hero Achilles mortally wounds Penthesilea, the Amazon Queen. In the thick of battle, he pierces her armour and as she turns to see her killer, their eyes meet and for one awful, glorious moment they fall in love.

 

I am currently re-reading Ovid’s Metamorphoese for inspiration.  Perhaps I can find a section of this poem to use.  I am only in Book 1, so shall have to plough forward purposefully before I lose momentum.  Failing that I can try to do a bodice ripper based around The Odyssey in the vein of Fifty Shades of Grey and make the most of rosy fingered dawn.  Snigger snigger.

Actual, Factual

I am currently lucky enough to write for a regional magazine in Leicestershire.  This regular spot allocated to me by sheer chance has allowed me to write articles on historical properties in the area in which I live, which are then read by 10,000 or so.  Each article is accompanied by my smiling face, as I impart my knowledge of English history in a nutshell.

Today I have been researching the history of Brooksby Hall, a small manor house in the heart of the county, which was once a Viking settlement and is now a local college and wedding venue.   The place itself is not very impressive – not much has happened there, but the people that have lived and died there are another kettle of fish.

It is the birthplace of George Villiers (1592-1628) who later became the lover of King James I, and was created 1^st Duke of Buckingham.  He dragged England into war with France over a desire for King Lois XIII’s wife (and angered a jealous Cardinal Richlieu), and was fictionalised in Alexandre Dumas’ Three Musketeers (1844).

James Brudenell, 7^th Earl of Cardigan (1797-1868) owned the property for a spell, and buried his favourite hunter, Dandy, under the lawn in front of the house.  He rode Ronald in 1854 as he commanded the Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava.  This famously disastrous moment in British military history was celebrated in the way only Britain can, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s poem of the same year.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns!" he said.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

And so on.

What I particularly enjoy about researching historical happenings is the feeling of immersion in a book, looking up and seeing that an hour has passed without any realisation on my part.  And likewise I take great pleasure in reading fiction based on historical fact.  Currently I am reading Pure by Andrew Miller.  He was inspired to write a novel about the clearance of a churchyard after reading a description of the 1787 works.  The grounding of the story against fact lends a weight to the work that a purely fictional tale can lack.

I just need to find my event or person....