#Literary connections

[fredbensonenthusiast]

The invention of Radclyffe Hall

Simon Goldhill, writing about the Benson family, makes a very interesting comparison between the trial of Oscar Wilde, and the obscenity 'trial' of Radclyffe Hall, author of 'The Well of Loneliness', and the publicity surrounding it, which, he feels, created certain stereotypes of men and women who were same-sex attracted.

Secondly, Radclyffe Hall’s own photographic portrait, which circulated very widely at this time, emphasized the masculinity of her appearance and dress—with short-cropped hair and male clothes....... The contrast between the bustles, dresses, and elaborate coiffure of the late Victorian and Edwardian period and the trousers, flat lines, and short hair of the roaring twenties resulted in a mass of journalistic flummery—cartoons, editorial comment, shocking photographs, amused articles—about the new New Woman and the confusion of masculine and feminine in dress and behavior. Radclyffe Hall’s clothes and demeanor were in a line with such fashions but also became a defining characteristic of the “masculine woman” as the paradigm of sexual inversion. Much as Oscar Wilde’s trial helped fix a stereotype of the homosexual, so Radclyffe Hall was instrumental in the establishment of the image of the lesbian as a masculine woman, short-haired, dressed in male clothes, adopting a male demeanor, even wearing a monocle and smoking a cigarette.

Goldhill, Simon. A Very Queer Family Indeed: Sex, Religion, and the Bensons in Victorian Britain, 2016

[rachel-sylvan-author]

[fredbensonenthusiast]

It suddenly occurred to me that this book was privately published in Naples in 1906 - surely the Capri set were all over this one! Literally just over the water from Fred's favourite spot. And I do wonder how deliberate some of those David Blaize parallels might have been 🤔

Imre: A Memorandum

I just wanted to shout about this novel by US author Edward Prime-Stevenson, but I'm not sure even where to begin. Thank you to @eclare1000 for recommending it to me.

It was published in 1906, and is frank in its discussion of same-sex attraction between men. But for me it has become more than just a literary/historical curiosity - the book is a fascinating insight into the times, written more like a detective novel than a romance - it is Austen-esque in its dissection of the many and various social niceties that needed to be navigated, and yet (or maybe because).......also rather romantic!

If you know this book, I would love it if you re-blogged and shared your thoughts 💖

It is free on Project Gutenberg

And also, don't forget to take a look at the only fic in the Imre fandom!!! So beautifully done by @black-bentley

[janicecampbell]

Leigh Hunt Biography

JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT (1784–1859), English essayist and miscellaneous writer, was born at Southgate, Middlesex, on the 19th of October 1784. Leigh Hunt, by Henry Meyer, after John Hayter line engraving, published 1828. Reference Collection, NPG D3289. From the National Portrait Gallery. Used with Creative Commons License: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ His father, the son of…

[amurg-cu-stele]

Then she ran her hands through my imagination.

@amurg-cu-stele

[pespillo]

one of the key things abt Great God Grove is that this should make you inherently more curious about godhood literary tropes, mythology, religion and culture from other parts of the world,

that arent just greek

[fredbensonenthusiast]

Ah what a wonderful update @alovelywaytospendanevening, this is such a thing of beauty and so intriguing! I love that W. Somerset Maugham and Fred are linked through the villa in Capri 💖

British gay/bi male writers and their social circles

As a great admirer of gay literature, the social circles of gay and bisexual male writers is something that piques my interest. Due to the dangerousness of the matter in the past and also because it revolves around a relatively small niche, it seems that there was high level familiarity between these figures. The United Kingdom, a country whose literary input has abundant homoerotic tones, is a very adequate setting to analyze such a configuration.

I've been building a graph on this subject for some time, and now it seems mature enough for me to post it. It's a diagram based on friendship connections — deep or superficial —, although romantic and family-related connections are also included. Just a mutual recognition of existence isn't enough to justify a connection (otherwise most of them would be linked to Wilde!), and rivalries were not considered too. All the writers included were born during the Victorian and Edwardian eras (1837-1910), where this interconnectivity seemed particularly strong.

This is just an early version, as I imagine there is still a considerable amount of information that I missed. Therefore, I'm very open to suggestions and comments on it!

(Three Irishmen were also included in the diagram: Stoker, Wilde and Reid)

[laginestra98]

The metaphisical Love of Sauron's and Galadriel's hands

"They part the theater with a semitouch, their hands abstractly close-up, separated only by the glass of the car window. This marvelous cinematic gesture communicates so much more than simple character and plot resolution. The abstract nature of the shot amplifies the significance of it, suggesting love of the highest, metaphysical order." The Films of Krzysztof Kieślowski: The Liminal Image, Joseph G. Kickasola, pp. 317-318

I was reading this book for my thesis when i came about this lines and something in my head clicked at "suggesting love of the highest, metaphisical order". And in that moment I thought about Galadriel and Sauron (indeed, why doing your work when you can think of them, right?). This kind of love, which is metaphysical and it's shown through a simple gesture such as an almost-tuch. Just to give you some context, the text refers to Three colours: Red, which is the last film of the "Three Colours tryology" and of Krystof Kieslowski's career. It's about a young woman who casually meets an old retired judge and, slowly, they create some kind of connection (this is a very summarized plot, but there's more to it than this). Anyway, the frame the text refers to is this one:

This is the last time Valentine, the young woman, and the judge see each other. Kieslowksi is a real master of visual storytelling, and this is a blatant exemple. This short frame converge, as the text tells us, a ralethionship which was meant to be, but never was. In a previous scene the judge says to Valentine: "maybe, I never met the woman... maybe, you're the woman I never met". This non-meeting hangs there between them, between their hands, separeted by a glass, suspended in a timeless and spaceless moment. In this void their story exists, not in the real world, but in an alternate, separeted one. Sadly, is a world of imagination, so there isn't a possibility for a concrete connection, at least in the present. Now, there's more to say about Red, but I'll stop there because I don't think you're interested in it (but if you like cosmic connection and complicated carachters, you're welcome to watch this masterpice). What I want to address here are the words of Kickasola: "the abstract nature of the shot amplifies the significance of it, suggesting love of the highest, metaphysical order", then he adds: "at the same time, the glass symbolizes a barrier: a romantic connection reached for, but impossible". I think this words are easily applied to Sauron's and Galadriel's relathionship. So, let's analyzed how their hands are shot.

In this frames their hands don't touch, but they enlace each other's arms as a sign of trust. This is the first form of connection they share, still, they keep their distance: neither of them dares to touch the other's hand, neither for a shake. So, they create a barrier.

Here, their hands touch, but there's always an object between them. Every one of this objects rapresent an idea or a desire which are important to them: hope (the simbol of the Southlands king), promises (Finrod's dagger) and power (the nine rings).

In these their hands are near, but never touch. The illusion is shattered, the promise is lost and, even if Sauron tries, he's not able to reach for Galadriel's hand.

I think is interesting that they never hold each other's hand, nor voluntary, nor involontary, nor for necessity. All their approaches are shaped first by formalities, then by ideals, finally by betrayals. Their connection happens in this space, better, in this non-space where they can hide what they feel, but will never say. Love is relegated in a place beyond phisical reach, hung in the metaphisical domain: is in the space between their arms, in the hold of Finrod's dagger, in the distance that separates their hands when Sauron try to catch her from falling. I think the last frame, more than the others, explain this. Like the one in Red, the nature of the shot is abstract, suspended in the air. The background is out of focus, their hands clearly visible. But, unlike in Kieślowski's movie, the distance here is accentuated not only by the fact that Sauron doesn't reach Galadriel, but also by how their hands are shot: they never overlap, so they can't touch neither in the metaphisical space. So is Love over, even in the abstract dimension? No, it persists, willingly or unwillingly, in the outer world, that may become visible (but still not phisical) if the theory about the bond made by Morgoth's crown is correct. This is shown by Galadriel's hand reaching for the wound = for the invisible connection:

Interestingly enough, the phisical manifestation of said love (the phisical touch) happens in an outer space, separeted from reality: in Red, it happens in a theater, the ultimate fictional realm:

in trop, this happens in an illusion, Sauron's illusion:

Like Valentine and the judge, their love can't be sustained by reality, it wolud be crushed by hopes, ideals and power, but is unlatched from reality, alive in a place that trascend time and space. They both feel it, but will they acknowledge this? Only time will tell.

With this I won't mean that their love is not real, but that is bigger than the real world they are in (regardless from their behavior and choices)

Disclaimer: this is just my interpretation of Galadriel and Sauron relationship, it can be fallacious and is not a universal truth.

[gennsoup]

What do I wish for? I want to love and be loved. Without suspicion, and with ease. That's it. I don't know how to love or be loved properly, and that's what pains me.

Sehee Baek, I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki

[day1dream]

unpopular opinion: I love you a thousand yellow daisies

[pasdetrois]

like eve before you

George Frederic Watts, Eve Tempted (detail) • Vievee Francis, "Apologia" • Edmund Blair Leighton, The Keys (detail) • Maria Tatar, Secrets Beyond the Door: The Story of Bluebeard and His Wives • Angela Carter, "The Bloody Chamber" • Heinrich Aldegrever, Adam and Eve • Gustave Doré, Illustration for "Blue Beard" • Paul Dukas, Ariane et Barbe-bleue • Glen Duncan, I, Lucifer • Hans Baldung Grien, Eve, Serpent and Death • Erika Steiskal, Illustration for "The Bloody Chamber"

[fredbensonenthusiast]

Cribbing as a metaphor for……..

I have been dipping into Isabel Quigly’s book ‘The Heirs of Tom Brown’, (thank you again @alovelywaytospendanevening) and I found this really interesting section on cribbing:

Alec Waugh in his book ‘Public School Life’  attempts a spirited if ultimately unsuccessful defence of cribbing, to me anyway.

But EF Benson takes no prisoners on this issue!  The violence meted out as a result of it is memorable to say the least……but the solution he provides is also most entertaining and satisfying.  The idea that cribbing might be a ‘more discussable’ moral problem, as Quigley puts it, is a really interesting concept, and I wonder if it points to something about the book at a deeper level.

A sense of fair play pervades the books – the whole saga of the tennis match in David of King’s is particularly good example.  Unequal power and its abuse does seem to be a topic close to his heart.

[eldestdaughterdepartment]

"You suffered a little to reduce my suffering by a little."

[fromtheseventhhell]

When Jon comes back to life and gains a "ghost" moniker to match with Arya, so we get the "Ghost of Harrenhal" leading in Harrenhal and the "Ghost of the North" leading in the North

[janicecampbell]

The Renaissance

by John Addington Symonds Fresco of the Resurrection of Christ and Women at the Tomb. Fra Angelico, the “Angelic friar” was born Guido di Pietro (c. 1395–1455). He was an Early Italian Renaissance painter described as having “a rare and perfect talent” (by Vasari in his Lives of the Artists). The Renaissance RENAISSANCE—The “Renaissance” or “Renascence” is a term used to indicate a well-known but…

[fredbensonenthusiast]

Oh boy @alovelywaytospendanevening you are killing me here!!!

I had been thinking they were a similar age, and didn’t realise Nichols was the young whipper-snapper, almost a younger version of Fred himself come back to haunt him!  This is just delightful!

Nothing like a bit of 'damning with faint praise'. He doesn't seem to like anyone.....

I am of course fascinated by the Benson cattiness, I thought the Masters biography gave some teasing glimpses and I was sure there was more......Oh I need more, I guess Palmer and Lloyd is a good source?

Beverley Nichols and the Bensons

E. F. (Fred) Benson, Beverley Nichols and A. C. (Arthur) Benson

Beverley Nichols dined with Fred and went into raptures about [Fred's] house, saying in his usual whimsical way that the furniture seemed to have been put in its place by the gentle hands of Time; the pictures had almost grown into the walls; and the carpets had sprung naturally from the floors like some gracious form of grass. According to Nichols, Fred's face glowed with happiness as he showed his guest round the house. He was described as ‘a smallish (Fred was five feet ten), pinkish, twinkling, urbane, grey-flannel-trousered man’ who had finally come to rest in a quiet London square, having retained the sparkle of his eyes, his taste for Italian wine and, above all, his love of a sheet of white paper in the stillness of the night. Fred, who had not ‘come to rest’ at all, noted with amusement the slight cattiness behind Nichols's gush. [Geoffrey Palmer and Noel Lloyd, E. F. Benson: As He Was]

Beverley Nichols was a lunch guest and on one occasion he came with his nephew. This must have been the time he was contemplating his piece “E. F. Benson, or Very Much at Home” (from Are they the same at home? 1927), because Mr Benson asked him if he was going to show it to him before he published and he said yes. But apparently he didn't, as Mr Benson was pretty peeved at a reference in the article to his novels "growing more and more dusty on the shelves of the subscription libraries. He doesn't care, I'm sure." In fact he did. "Mr Benson didn't like that at all," said Charlie [Tomlin]. Mr Benson had a mild dig at him in retaliation in some review of a publication where Beverley Nichols is in Italy or somewhere abroad and suddenly at the end realises it is April and the daffodils are blooming in England. So he has to rush home, of which Mr Benson wrote "I hope to God he got back in time." (Beverley Nichols was to retain a certain animosity towards Mr Benson until his own death in 1983.) [Cynthia and Tony Reavell, E. F. Benson: Remembered, and the World of Tilling]

Despite this shared animosity between him and Fred, Nichols previously maintained a long friendship with the older Benson brother, Arthur:

In the space of two minutes my war — my very special war — seemed much less unpleasant, because my new friend was none other than the Master of Magdalene, A. C. Benson, whose father had been one of Queen Victoria's favourite Archbishops. There were three Benson brothers, all distinguished in their separate ways, though the only one who is nowadays remembered is E. F. Benson, who is currently enjoying a belated revival as a writer of Edwardian comedy. A. C. Benson, whom I came to know very well indeed, was a true scholar and an admirable administrator, with a knack of coaxing large sums out of American philanthropists for the benefit of Magdalene, which was his chief love. A beautiful little college it was, with a library of exceptional distinction, founded on the original bequest from Samuel Pepys. Benson was a mixed-up man, who had a habit of developing sentimental attachments at a moment's notice, and no doubt this was what had occurred when he met me in the porch, though I did not at first realise the full implications of the encounter.

[…] Ever since my departure [A. C. Benson] had kept in touch through a constant stream of correspondence. No young man ever had a kindlier mentor; he wrote as an equal, drawing me out, seeking my opinions. He was not only kindly but practical. Realising that I had no means apart from my meagre Second Lieutenant's pay, he took some of my letters and sent them to an American magazine called The Outlook with the suggestion that they should be published anonymously. They were accepted, and the editors asked for more. Altogether I made five hundred dollars from The Outlook, which was a small fortune in those days. For the first time I knew the excitement of writing words on paper and selling them, of twisting my pen into symbols that could be exchanged for gold. Which is all that authorship has ever been about, or ever will be. I do not know whether The Outlook still survives and Benson's letters to me have long since disappeared, with the exception of one, which I kept and cherished because I had a feeling that it was a landmark in my life.

"My Dear Beverley, We do not know each other as we might have done, but if you have come to know me at all you will have realised that one of my ‘complexes’ — I believe that is the fashionable expression — is a hatred of waste. Perhaps that is why I can claim some success as the Master of Magdalene. I keep a very strict watch on the outgoings of the Bursary! But it is not only a matter of accountancy. It goes deeper than that. I am bewildered and alarmed by the profligacy of Nature, and even more bewildered and alarmed by the wastage of this hideous war. I think that you are being wasted. You have many talents and none of them is being used. With your precarious state of health your sphere of activities must be limited, but that does not mean that you can be of no use at all. As soon as I see an opportunity I propose to do something about this. Once you suggested to me — with that never-failing impertinence which I find so engaging — that I was an ‘intri- guant.’ (I had been telling you the story of the ingenious manner in which I had persuaded a Chicago millionaire to give us ten thousand dollars for our beloved Library.) You could not have paid me a higher compliment. Intrigue, to me, is the spice of life. I am an ancient spider, sitting in the centre of an ancient web, weaving ancient spells. And some of them will shortly be speeding in your direction. My affectionate greetings, A.C.B."

The ink of the letter has dimmed to a sickly sepia, and the address on the envelope, with its faded penny stamp, is almost illegible. But I still feel a glow of warmth as I read it, with half a century of disillusionment behind me. [Beverley Nichols, The Unforgiving Minute: Some Confessions from Childhood to the Outbreak of the Second World War]