Odalisque

[Nemonymous]

As the 'Odalisque' novel seems to be in the news (TLO-wise) today, I thought I would remind readers that I have been making my own personal chapter comments (plus hopefully helpful second-eye proof-reading) on behalf of this mighty novel linked from here:

http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html

I am currently up to Chapter 23 (out of 50 chapters plus epilogue).

des

	TLO THOMAS LIGOTTI ONLINE

[Nemonymous]

'Odalisque' Passage of the Day

The room was poorly lit - a single candle burned low in its holder on a wall - and as they accustomed their eyes to the gloom they saw standing before them an odalisque of royal bearing, bare of midriff, wearing a tight bodice and loose pantaloons, and with her hands clasped in front of her chest.
-- from 'The Enchantress of Florence' (2008) by Salman Rushdie

I have now got up to Chapter 28 in my comments on 'Odalisque' by PF Jeffery:
http://weirdmonger.blogspot.com/2008/06/odalisque.html

[Aetherwing]

Many congratulations, my friend. I'll have to read this! I have nothing more intelligent to say, not having read any samples of your fictions as yet. I DO know that you write excellent letters and that you interview nicely, so I have high hopes for this project. Also, I think I can respect Des' recommendation, as he seems to have sort of an idea about this whole writing business.

If I accomplished naught more than congratulating you with this post, then I am content. Hey! I am now one more point towards becoming a Chymist.

Yours,
Jimmy

[Odalisque]

Quote Originally Posted by Odalisque

My novel - the title of which seems to be settling as Odalisque - seems to have reached completion today. I finished the version on my blog (Of Bondlings and Blesh) in February. Since then, I've been working fairly intensively on an improved version. The Of Bondlings and Blesh version was the result of a couple of years work. Earlier versions go back about 20 years. Reaching what looks like the end of 20 years work is a curious moment. Not sure what to make of it.

Approaching the end of Jane, now, I'm actively contemplating another re-write of what was Odalisque. I'm planning to chop the old novel in two, make various other changes, and turn it into volumes 2 and 3 of my Warriors of Love series. (Jane will be volume 1.) My current thought is to title each volume of Warriors of Love with the name of a prominent character. What was Odalisque may end up as Tuerqui and Lisa-Louise.

It remains to be seen when the 20+ years of work will end!

The version on my Blogger site is years old. I haven't bothered to change it because I doubt whether anyone reads novels online.

[Odalisque]

Quote Originally Posted by Odalisque

Approaching the end of Jane, now, I'm actively contemplating another re-write of what was Odalisque. I'm planning to chop the old novel in two, make various other changes, and turn it into volumes 2 and 3 of my Warriors of Love series. (Jane will be volume 1.) My current thought is to title each volume of Warriors of Love with the name of a prominent character. What was Odalisque may end up as Tuerqui and Lisa-Louise. It remains to be seen when the 20+ years of work will end!

Today, I've started work on turning the first half of Odalisque into Volume 2 of The Warriors of Love. If anyone would like to see the draft for the opening chapter, please let me know.

[Odalisque]

Here are the opening pargaraphs of my draft for Tuerqui:

My name is Tuerqui, formerly Princess Margaret of the Blood Victoria. But, to start at the beginning…

A zephyr rustled in the leaves on overhanging branches – the air filled with the songs of birds, the names of which I didn’t yet know. Having recently tripped over what was probably a tree root, my skinned knees still stung. My mother’s musky perfume mingled with the lavender Nanny Spencer always wore. The clear water of a brook teemed with tiny fishes – I poked a stick at them, and instantly they were gone.

Glancing up, I saw a creature in the shadow of the trees – man-like, but exceptionally hairy and uglier than any person or slave has a right to be. My brother started to scream. The beast thing, to which I couldn’t yet put a name, tumbled – falling face-down on the grass. Steeling myself to approach, I saw that the shaggy thing had an arrow in its side, bright red blood spread over the green surface on which it lay.

That is, I think, my earliest coherent memory. It must have been summer, but whether of my first, second or third birthday, I cannot say. The place must have been the forest that covers much of southern Essex – for I was raised there, in the Belle House, my mother’s ancestral home. Possibly I had been born in Lundin, a city my father ruled – claiming the title of Chieftain of the Blood Victoria. But there remain with me no early recollections of the town.


Here's a point at which formerly coarse elided dialogue has been changed:

“Surrey bitch!” one man snarled.

“Ah,” said his companion. “I think she’ll pay for the trouble she’s given us. His Majesty’s going to have her packed off to either Roach Keep or the Grim Tower, you’ll see.”

Three or four handlers minded leashed hounds – presumably employed to track my cousin in the forest. Whether by accident or design, one of the dog-men permitted his charge to mount the leg of a young officer cadet. As the creature started to hump, the young man squealed and shook his leg furiously – a comic dance at which his companions roared with laughter. Winning free after a struggle, the cadet kicked the dog viciously.

“Hoi!” bawled a sergeant. “Cadet Grace – leave that hound alone!”

“Sorry, serge.”

“You don’t sound very sorry lad – but, if you don’t watch it you will be – on the painful end of a whip. That there hound’s valuable. If you need to kick anything make it the prisoner. Another booting for her will make no odds to anyone.”

[Odalisque]

Today, I think that I may have put to bed the title page and first chapter of Tuerqui (Warriors of Love Volume 2). The chapter is a rewrite of Odalisque Chapter 1 and part of Chapter 2. I made more changes, today, than I expected -- especially to what was the early part of Odalisque Chapter 2.

Perhaps the rewrite should have a new thread.

[Odalisque]

Here's the start (still subject to change, of course) of Chapter 2 of the revised book:

With gritty mud inside my boots, I grew increasingly uncomfortable. Beyond the colonnade shadows, the parade ground lay flooded in bright sunshine. A hint of dung in the air suggested the recent passage of a cavalry squadron. Sweeping the flagstones, a guardsman sang discordantly – the missed tune evidently that of a patriotic ditty.

Occasional audible words indicated ribald parody. Where the original had Osrick wished only the fit, he seemed to have substituted Osrick’s sis took off her kit. My father exacted severe penalties for voicing lyrics in praise of his enemies, or critical of his rule. He would certainly have had me punished for singing words linked with sexual activity. Whether the guardsman was transgressing the boundaries set to him was a matter beyond my knowledge, but he seemed to be testing the limits.

Jenna’s and my entrance to the palace grounds had been via the Grand Ceremonial Gateway. As we approached, the guards attempted to repel the muddy objects before them. Then, suddenly recognising us, they snapped stiffly to attention, presenting halberds, exhaling whisky breath. Attempting to copy Jenna’s arrogant glare, I probably looked more foolish than fierce.

Colossal statues formed the pillars of the gateway. The images were of Osrick to the right and Empress Margaret to the left. Thirty or forty feet above our heads, Osrick’s sword joined Margaret’s sceptre to form the lintel. The two figures symbolised the power of the Blood Victoria which my grandfather had usurped.

Osrick, that infamous enemy of Surrey, had been carved as wearing only breech clout and helmet. If the statue were accurate, he must have been a very muscular man, although not a handsome one. Brutal is perhaps the word. His sculpted bare feet were longer than a man is tall.

By contrast, Empress Margaret was carved as being enveloped in flowing robes. She was a supposed foremother of the Blood Victoria – and I had been named after her. According to the stories, her empire stretched from furthest Westland to Scotia Major. Since this would make her conquests greater than those of Her Majesty, the stories must be lies – and, given that my family accorded so little honour to real women, surely no such person as the legendary Margaret ever lived.

[Odalisque]

By contrast, here's the same passage after a bit more work:

In boots containing gritty mud, my feet grew increasingly uncomfortable. Beyond the colonnade shadows, the parade ground lay flooded in bright sunshine. A hint of dung in the air suggested the recent passage of a cavalry squadron. Sweeping the flagstones, a guardsman sang discordantly – the missed tune evidently that of a patriotic ditty.

Occasional audible words indicated ribald parody. Where the original had Osrick wished only the fit, he seemed to have substituted Osrick’s sis took off her kit. My father exacted severe penalties for voicing lyrics in praise of his enemies, or critical of his rule. He would certainly have had me punished for singing words linked with sexual activity. Whether the guardsman transgressed the boundaries set to him was a matter beyond my knowledge, but he seemed to be testing the limits.

Jenna’s and my entrance to the palace grounds had been via the Grand Ceremonial Gateway. As we approached, the guards attempted to repel the muddy objects before them. Then, suddenly recognising us, they snapped stiffly to attention, presenting halberds, exhaling whisky breath. Attempting to copy Jenna’s arrogant glare, I probably looked more foolish than fierce.

Colossal statues formed the pillars of the gateway. The images were of Osrick to the right and Empress Margaret to the left. Thirty or forty feet above our heads, Osrick’s sword joined Margaret’s sceptre to form the lintel. The two figures symbolised the power of the Blood Victoria which my grandfather had usurped.

Osrick, that infamous enemy of Surrey, had been carved as wearing only breech clout and helmet. If the statue were accurate, he must have been a very muscular man, although not a handsome one. Brutal is perhaps the word. His sculpted bare feet were longer than a man is tall.

By contrast, Empress Margaret’s carven form stood enveloped in flowing robes. She was a supposed foremother of the Blood Victoria – and I had been named after her. According to the stories, her empire stretched from furthest Westland to Scotia Major. Since this would make her conquests greater than those of Her Majesty, the stories must be lies – and, given that my family accorded so little honour to real women, surely no such person as the legendary Margaret ever lived.

[Odalisque]

Looking at my last two posts, I notice that, although the passage has changed somewhat, it has changed less than I supposed. In the first sentence, for example, gritty mud changed to muddy grit and then back to gritty mud. The verb grew was replaced by several alternatives before returning to grew. After posting the current version, I was surprised to see that so many words had reverted to the version of three days earlier. Many changes came and went over that period, notably changes preserved only in my slowly fading memory.