Though I write literary women’s fiction focused on African American women and men–mainly wives and husbands–I love to read historical fiction set in the Victorian era of England and Europe.
Also men were men, and women were women. And like us today, they were flawed.
It was okay to be married back then. No one had to explain why there were married.
I’ve presently returned to Deanna Raybourn’s book, Silent in the Grave. It was referred to me by a friend and colleague in writing, whom I look up to–Lisa G. Riley.
Having said she couldn’t put the book down upon starting it, I immediately ordered a copy.
That was nearly two months ago. Unfortunately I started it and did put it down–after having read 100 pages straight through.
It had nothing to do with the writing.
Life took over. I delved into a second round of editing my upcoming novel, The House, and other things called upon my attention.
Now with things settling–slightly–and my mind feeling a need to calm–reading calms me–I’ve returned to Silent in the Grave.
Let me say that four other books lay under my pillow along with Silent in the Grave, one of which is Angels and Demons by Dan Brown that I must finish before seeing the movie. I attended Goddard College MFA Program where we were allowed to sit in on courses outside our genre and concentration.
While there I participated in several screen writing classes and developed a great appreciation for how much fiction writers can learn from screenwriters–particularly concerning how to clarify, establish and write close to your narrative line. I like reading novels and then watch the movies based upon them–paying close observance to what the screenwriter chose to focus on in making the movie.
If for some reason a movie is made of Deanna’s book Silent in the Grave, the major character of which has now become the center of what seems to be a series of books written and to be written by Deanna, I would certainly love to see it–of course after reading the books.
I’m taken in this first book Silent in the Grave, with the relationship between Lady Julia Grey and Nicholas Brisbane. Suffice it to say, for those interested, the story centers on Lady Grey’s desire to learn how and why her husband died.
As I read of the year following the death of her husband, Sir Edward Grey, who may have killed him. Mr. Brisbane warned and beseeched her to look into the details of Sir Edward’s death in the weeks following his burial.
Of course had Lady Julia done so, we wouldn’t have the story as presently is. Lady Julia has returned some twelve months following her husband’s death and is now ready to pursue the matter. I won’t tell you why–no spoilers. Again, it’s enough to say, Nicholas Brisbane is not amused. The game is on. The tête-à-tête between the two characters is marvelous.
On a more practical note, Mr. Brisbane has given me insight into the male protagonist of a novel I wrote some 50 pages on around Christmas. Having returned and read them, I am not pleased at all with the flow. Something is wrong–not flowing right. But I’m committed to the character and writing his story.
Alas, the answers I am realizing lie in Raybourn’s character, Mr. Brisbane. The more I read, the more I see what my protagonist’s obsession is–and how I might go back and begin the novel.
This is why I read–and how reading helps me.
How does reading help you as a writer?
Or does it?
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