Archive for October, 2010

Pride and Punctuation; or, Sense and Semicolons

October 28, 2010

As if it’s not enough that Shakespeare’s plays were written by the Earl of Oxford1, now we find that Jane Austen’s style was not her own, but rather the work of William Gifford, apparently the Best Editor Ever. Or so says Kathryn Sutherland, Director of the Jane Austen Manuscript Digital Edition. According to some of the many accounts (h/t: I first heard of this in a comment here),

"What I’m particularly interested in is that the manuscripts do not bear out that high degree of polished grammatical style for which Jane Austen is known"—what Ms. Sutherland calls "the exquisitely placed semicolon."


In particular, the high degree of polished punctuation and epigrammatic style we see in Emma and Persuasion is simply not there.


One of her grammatical errors was the inability to master the ‘i before e’ rule and her works were littered with distant ‘veiws’ and characters who ‘recieve’ guests.

On other occasions she wrote ‘tomatoes’ as ‘tomatas’ and ‘arraroot’ for ‘arrowroot’, which according to Professor Sutherland reflect her regional accent.

‘In some of her writing, her Hampshire accent is very strong. She had an Archers-like voice with a definite Hampshire burr,’ she said.

For some healthy skepticism about such claims see Language Log and Austenblog, with good comments to be found at both. I don’t have much to add, just to reinforce that the only real specifics in the reports are about spelling and punctuation—in rough drafts!—which really don’t detract from her “polished grammatical style.” Unless, I suppose, you’re Lynne Truss.

It’s always nice when the evidence for these bold claims is easily available online; so I had a look for myself at this new Jane archive. I have to say it’s pretty neat: whatever the merit of Professor Sutherland’s claims, she and her colleagues seem to have done great work amassing and transcribing and presenting all these manuscript pages.

The first problem in deciding what to make of Professor Sutherland’s claims on behalf of Mr Gifford is that there is virtually nothing in these manuscripts to compare with published versions. That’s right, not only are these all rough drafts, there rough drafts of things that weren’t even published. Apparently she didn’t bother to keep either rough or fair copies of the ones that were published. The only exception is a bit of Persuasion, which looks to me to be very nearly identical to chapter 24, minus the very end, of the published version (at least as it appears here), with fewer commas and more dashes. It is fascinating to look at what she crossed out and rewrote. The most interesting bit is a passage about Sir Walter Eliot’s newfound respect for Captain Wentworth, pasted over in favor of what I think is a rather less piquant version. Perhaps she decided she had already been hard enough on the Bart., or more likely that it was a little repetitive with passages earlier in the book. But it is funny:

As he saw & conversed with Capt. W. more, saw his complexion by daylight — & perceived in conversation that his Teeth were as fine as ever. — he could not but feel that in any present comparison with Anne, Capt. W. must have the advantage, that he had lost much leſs of Youth & bloom than she had, and consequently might now

Back to Jane’s alleged unpolished prose and lack of “epigrammatic style,” I suppose that one could make an argument based on the style of all these unpublished (but hardly hitherto unknown) works as compared to that of the published ones, especially those that Gifford edited. [Which, by the by, do not include Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park]. Maybe that is what Professor S means to say, but if so I haven’t heard her say it.

Oh, and and typography! Or, um, not typography, but whatever you call the handwriting equivalent (I should really know the right word, shouldn’t I?). These manuscripts are full of long s’s, the things that look like a bit f’s but aren’t (they look like ſ, with no crossbar, or sometimes a little nub on the left; italic ones generally look like integral signs; and they are simply an alternate form of plain old “s”). Jane seems to have been much more regular than many printers in her use of long s, her rule being (as far as I can tell) just that ss is always written ſs. Anyway, I had never seen any manuscript long s’s before. It turns out that they look like f’s (surprise!) with the bottom loop reversed. That would make them quick to write, I should think, with no stroke reversals (is there a technical term for that?). Here’s the word “less”:


Neat, huh? Well, I thought it was interesting.


1. That’s ridiculous, of course. Shakespeare’s plays were written by Mary Sidney Herbert, Countess of Pembroke.

Vampires! Mostly, sort of.

October 26, 2010

When I was a boy I watched a great many science fiction and horror movies on TV programs with titles like The Big Show, Creature Feature (with Sir Cecil Creape), and Dr. Shock (“Good night, sleep tight, and should you hear a scream in the night…it will be your own.”)

Sir Cecil. I couldn’t find Dr. Shock.

Ah, youth! I doubt a single one of those films could have been called “good” by any reasonable measure, but for good or ill—mostly ill, I should think—all that schlock is deeply embedded in my soul. When I think of my childhood, at least of the fun parts, I think of bad acting and worse special effects. Happy days indeed!

And now, thanks to streaming Netflix, I can relive those golden days. I have no idea what I was looking for last weekend when Netflix decided that I might like Queen of Blood (usually it has me pegged, correctly, as pretentious). I was a little nervous about watching it, not wanting a fond memory ruined, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that it was exactly as I remembered it. Which is to say, pretty bad, but in a good way. It was too cheap to have its own special effects, so it stole some from a much more expensive and possibly much sillier Russian movie. I like that.

I'd rather meet one of the green girls from Star Trek In the distant future, the year 1990, the International Space Federation (whose signage has lettering that must have looked very futuristic in 1966) has received radio transmissions from an alien race and is eagerly awaiting the arrival of emissaries from same. When the alien spaceship crashes on Mars, the ISF dispatches a rescue mission, including Manly Astronaut John Saxon; his girlfriend, Sexy-Girl-Next-Door Astronaut Judi Meredith; and Expendable Astronaut Dennis Hopper, looking very young in his pre-Easy Rider days. They find the crashed spaceship—it turns out to be on Phobos, for reasons that probably have to do with the Russian footage the filmmakers cribbed—with a single survivor, an exotically green-skinned alien woman, played by exotically Czech actress Florence Marly.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, she turns out to have a taste for human blood, and to have both hypnotic powers and heat vision, which prove awfully inconvenient for Hopper and the mission commander (who will have to remain anonymous here, as I’ve forgotten his name). Fortunately, our better-looking heroes make it back to earth, where (twist ending! there’s always a twist ending) they discover that the alien has laid eggs throughout the ship. She really was a queen, the egg-laying kind of queen, get it? Beware, humanity!

Like so many Roger Corman-produced cheapies of the era, Queen of Blood makes the most of its small budget and low production values, making up in spunkiness what it lacks in, well, everything else. And it does have a few moments of great creepiness. Marly, who seems to have been a sort of minor Marlene Dietrich, did manage to project some real eeriness, even completely silent and wearing a space helmet over a hairstyle that must have looked silly even in the sixties—another legacy of the Russian donor movie, I think. And the final scene, of enthusiastic scientist Basil Rathbone (yes, really!) beaming as he carries trays of alien eggs off the spaceship, is nicely chilling.

Mark, Bert, Wes, and the gang Flush with the success of QoB, I moved on to Planet of the Vampires, which I remember being very scary indeed. I had high hopes for this one, for reasons beyond my childhood fears. For starters, it was directed by Mario Bava, the Italian horror maestro who brought us such horror classics including Hatchet for the Honeymoon and Black Sunday (which scared the piss out of me when I was six, and which is tragically unavailable on instant play). And according to Leonard Maltin and the internet it has a reputation for stylishness.

Alas, the maestro let me down. PotV is merely so bad it’s bad. The vaunted Euro-style is mostly low light, a lot of wasted space in the spaceships’ control rooms, and a dry-ice fog machine in the “eerie planet” set. The dialog is sub-trite, except for the technobabble, which was all babble and no techno. The spacesuits are among the silliest in all of sci-fi. The astronauts are named “Mark,” “Wes,” and “Burt.” At least the High G special effects—actors (if you can call them that) putting their heads on their desks, basically—were worth a laugh.

And there are no vampires. Instead, there are evil alien spirit beings that force the astronauts to kill each other, and then possess the corpses. Which wouldn’t be bad, actually, if only they were scary. There is one almost-good sequence in which the astronauts find centuries-old wrecked spaceship, the occupants of which apparently fell prey the the evil spirit beings. Was it an inspiration for Alien? I would think so, but it’s a little different to imagine the two being connected. Alien was, you know, really good.

I fear I gave up on PotV. Maybe I’ll go back and watch the end, the bit that really got younger me: (SPOILER ALERT) we find that the last two “survivors” are in fact not survivors at all, and that their alien possessors intend to spread their evil race throughout all civilization. But, the ship’s Meteor Rejecter having been irreparably damaged, they are forced to land instead on a nearby undistinguished planet with a primitive situation, a planet called (wait for it…) Earth!

Enough of these space vampire movies with no vampires! It’s time to get back to real vampires.

Finally, a REAL vampire. I’m pretty sure I never saw The Vampire Lovers, certainly not in all its unedited glory, but I saw a great many others from Hammer Productions. Hammer’s films were earthy, violent and bloody. They took little interest in afterlives or other worlds, except as they might lead to the immediate leaving of this one, preferably gruesomely. As a friend of mine put it, “In a Hammer film, you could die.” Hammer vampires, starting with Christopher Lee’s Dracula, were foul and brutal creatures, not in the least soulful or tormented or sparkly.

The Vampire Lovers dates from the happy time when Hammer, like other production companies, had just discovered nudity. And what better use for nudity than a Victorian lesbian vampire story? The Vampire Lovers is an adaptation of J. Sheridan LeFanu’s Carmilla, the lesbian vampire story from which all other lesbian vampire stories derive. I read it long ago, and remember its being disappointingly tame and a bit boring, as I suppose befits something from 1872. You can see for yourself here; I haven’t had the energy to reread it.

The movie is surprisingly (though certainly not strictly) faithful to the story, and really a great improvement, what with the nudity and the explicit lesbianism and the general Hammering it up. Carmilla, aka Mircalla aka Marcilla (aka Millarca in the book) is played by Ingrid Pitt, who made a bit of a career of this sort of thing. I have no idea whether she could really act, but she was so sultry (dressed or not) that it hardly mattered. The plot was not particularly coherent, and a number of things were left unexplained and unresolved (maybe the book was the same way), but again, who cares? Plot coherence really wasn’t a Hammer value. Hammer movies were about fangs and blood and terror. And nudity.