Correct me if I’m wrong…

But should not an ‘ebook’ cost considerably less than the printed version? Really? No? Well, I ask this because around Christmas I toyed with getting a Kindle. However, Luke pointed out that it was an unnecessary expensive when I could have the Kindle app on my iPad. So, I bowed to pressure (always pays to take the line of least resistance where my husband is concerned) and I did indeed install the Kindle app on my iPad. I was very excited to discover that many of my favourite classics are free. I downloaded many. I also decided to buy some of the ones available in the Kindle sale. I was rapidly getting carried away with it all, when my excitement and enthusiasm was brought to an abrupt halt!

Now, I love history, really love history and have many, many history books. So many in fact, that I am now prohibited from buying any more due to lack of space. I am not interested in historical ‘novels’, though these are cheap as chips. I read factual history books based upon a solid body of research and evidence.  I decided therefore to go and check out some of my favourite historians to see what their bestselling works were going for. My first port of call was Barry Cunliffe, well known historian whose specialist field is the Celts. Imagine my consternation when I discover that his best selling work ‘The Celts’ published in 1997 is £10.99, and the paperback version (wait for it), £10.99. Another of his, ‘The Ancient Celts’, also published in 1997, Kindle version£11.63, paperback edition £12.92.

I did some research and discovered pretty much the same situation for most of the history books that interested me.   I am at a loss to understand how the publishers can justify this pricing policy when there are no printing costs or other related overheads? I appreciate that there is the royalty payment to the writer…but still!!! How is this mark-up justified?

So,  my Kindle experience thus far? Disappointing.

ETA: Having said that, reading the books I have downloaded thus far is an enjoyable experience.

Warning – When I am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple

I read this poem many, many years ago when I was at school, and it stayed with me. I decided that when I was approaching a certain age, that I would adopt this very policy. As I am now in my forties and fifty is imminent I think it is now time to cultivate my batty and eccentric persona. I believe I now qualify to join the Red Hat Society. I have a red hat, but yet no purple. This shall of course be remedied.

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

By Jenny Joseph

Warning - When I am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purply by Jenny Joseph. Illustration by Pythia Ashton-Jewell

Georgette Heyer + These Old Shades

The works of Georgette Heyer have always been abiding favourites of mine. I read my first Heyer novel at the age of 11, when staying at my Grandmother’s house. I was immediately entranced by the romantic and dashing world (as Heyer portrayed it) of the Regency period in which she mostly based her novels. I became a voracious reader of all Heyer works thereafter, and have remained so till this day.  My mother some years ago gave me her collection of Heyer novels, mostly bought in the 60′s, though the collection over the years had become sadly depleted.

Despite being an avid reader my entire life, in the last five years or so I have not read quite as much as I would like. Mostly because having had a child, as those with children know, ones free time becomes severly limited, and given my that my main preoccupation is my art, one has to make choices. However, of late I have been trying (when not drawing and painting) to spend less time online and more time reading. I decided recently to revisit my ‘old friends’, and work my way through my Heyer collection. I also decided that I wanted to reread the first Heyer novel I ever read, which was ‘These Old Shades’ (a sequel of sorts to ‘The Black Moth’), and which though not set in the Regency period (and in fact during the 18th century during the reign of Louis XV) remains my favourite.

As this (and it’s sequel ‘Devil’s Cub) had been lost a few years ago, I ordered the two from Amazon and waited their arrival with excitment. When they arrived I very naughtily (and this was always my problem) sat down and read them both through in two sittings. ‘These Old Shades’ on the Monday, and ‘Devil’s Cub’ on the Tuesday.

I have to say, that despite the passage of years, neither book had lost its charm for me.  I was still able to engage with the characters utterly, was totally submerged in both stories, and carried away with by excitement of the narrative.  Heyer’s characterisation is excellent, her writing style witty and engaging (somewhat in the style of Austen and Gaskill though with the dryness of her own time and personality), and her knowledge and understanding of the period in which she writes  is without par. Leonie and Justin’s story had me reading at breakneck speed with excitement, despite having read the story so many times. I delighted in her debut into the fashionable world when she became a girl again, was excited by her abduction and rescue, and the commitment of all the supporting characters,  and thrilled at the ultimate comeuppance of St.Vire and Justin’s declared love for Leonie (Justin Duke of Avon remains my  favourite Heyer character of all time).

I subsequently read ‘Devils Cub’ with the same glee and excitement and enjoyed the story as much as it’s predecessor. A week later I ordered Arabella, (firmly set within the Regency period) and read that through in one sitting also.

One thing I will say, it’s an interesting (and slightly bitter sweet) experience to read these book so many years after the first. My understanding, perception and feelings towards the characters have changed considerably since the first time I read the books. Hardly surprising given I was eleven, then in my early teens, and am now in my forties.  At the time of first reading, I identified strongly with Leonie (and all the young heroines), and thought that Justin was terribly old as a lover for a young girl (given he was in his forties) and could not understand how she would fall in love with a man so much older, as being over 40 seemed positively ancient to me.  When I read these books, I was so very young and  had still the excitement and uncertainty of love and romance to look forward to. Now, with the passage of years and being …well, middle aged, I read with a slight pang the knowledge that those days are now far behind me (though that’s not to say I have no romance in my life at all… if my husband chances to read this!).

Interestingly, most of my favourite Heyer novels when I was young were her earlier works, and then as I grew older, my preferred books were those written in her later life. The reason being, that as she grew older, so did her heroines so become. Less were there the 18 year old wide eyed heroines, and her female characters became more mature and self possessed, and to be honest, a lot  more interesting).

(to be continued)…

Good Reviews:
‘These Old Shades’ by Jane Austen’s World

Rob Roys Grave

One of my favourite poems by William Wordsworth, and incidentally, loved by an athor famous for his own tale of naugty Rob, Sir Walter Scott.

A famous man is Robin Hood,
The English ballad-singer’s joy!
And Scotland has a thief as good,
An outlaw of as daring mood;
She has her brave ROB ROY!

Then clear the weeds from off his Grave,
And let us chant a passing stave,
In honor of that Hero brave!

Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart
And wondrous length and strength of arm:
Nor craved he more to quell his foes,
Or keep his friends from harm.

Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave;
Forgive me if the phrase be strong; –
A Poet worthy of Rob Roy
Must scorn a timid song.

Say, then, that he was wise as brave;
As wise in thought as bold in deed:
For in the principles of things
He sought his moral creed.

Said generous Rob, “What need of books?
Burn all the statutes and their shelves:
They stir us up against our kind;
And worse, against ourselves.”

“We have a passion — make a law,
Too false to guide us or control!
And for the law itself we fight
In bitterness of soul.”

“And, puzzled, blinded thus, we lose
Distinctions that are plain and few:
These find I graven on my heart:
That tells me what to do.”

“The creatures see of flood and field,
And those that travel on the wind!
With them no strife can last; they live
In peace, and peace of mind.”

“For why? — because the good old rule
Sufficeth them, the simple plan,
That they should take, who have the power,
And they should keep who can.”

“A lesson that is quickly learned,
A signal this which all can see!
Thus nothing here provokes the strong
To wanton cruelty.”

“All freakishness of mind is checked;
He tamed, who foolishly aspires;
While to the measure of his might
Each fashions his desires.”

“All kinds, and creatures, stand and fall
By strength of prowess or of wit:
‘T is God’s appointment who must sway,
And who is to submit.”

“Since, then, the rule of right is plain,
And longest life is but a day;
To have my ends, maintain my rights,
I’ll take the shortest way.”

And thus among these rocks he lived,
Through summer heat and winter snow:
The Eagle, he was lord above,
And Rob was lord below.

So was it — would, at least, have been
But through untowardness of fate;
For Polity was then too strong –
He came an age too late;

Or shall we say an age too soon?
For, were the bold Man living now,
How might he flourish in his pride,
With buds on every bough!

Then rents and factors, rights of chase,
Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains,
Would all have seemed but paltry things,
Not worth a moment’s pains.

Rob Roy had never lingered here,
To these few meagre Vales confined;
But thought how wide the world, the times
How fairly to his mind!

And to his Sword he would have said,
“Do Thou my sovereign will enact
From land to land through half the earth!
Judge thou of law and fact!”

“‘T is fit that we should do our part,
Becoming, that mankind should learn
That we are not to be surpassed
In fatherly concern.”

“Of old things all are over old,
Of good things none are good enough: –
We ‘ll show that we can help to frame
A world of other stuff.”

“I, too, will have my kings that take
From me the sign of life and death:
Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds,
Obedient to my breath.”

And, if the word had been fulfilled,
As might have been, then, thought of joy!
France would have had her present Boast,
And we our own Rob Roy!

Oh! say not so; compare them not;
I would not wrong thee, Champion brave!
Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all
Here standing by thy grave.

For Thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild Chieftain of a savage Clan!
Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love
The liberty of man.

And, had it been thy lot to live
With us who now behold the light,
Thou would’st have nobly stirred thyself,
And battled for the Right.

For thou wert still the poor man’s stay,
The poor man’s heart, the poor man’s hand;
And all the oppressed, who wanted strength,
Had thine at their command.

Bear witness many a pensive sigh
Of thoughtful Herdsman when he strays
Alone upon Loch Veol’s heights,
And by Loch Lomond’s braes!

And, far and near, through vale and hill,
Are faces that attest the same;
The proud heart flashing through the eyes,
At sound of ROB ROY’S name.

Lorrie Whittington
Visual Artist and Designer
Chichester, UK

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