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Fellow writer and sister blogger, Noelle Granger, was kind enough to ask me to write a guest post for her blog. She suggested something related to fashion and history, so it’s a great pleasure to offer this overview of the clothes in Jane Eyre’s time, which includes a general reflection on Victorian and Regency fashion, and how fashion mirrors the moral code of the time. The Regency Era In the later part of his life, George III suffered from recurrent and eventually incapacitating dementia and blindness. From 1811 to his death in 1820, he lived in seclusion at Windsor Castle. As a result, his eldest son, George, Prince of Wales, became Prince Regent, until he succeeded his father as George IV. Much to his father’s irritation, the Prince Regent was an extravagant squanderer, gambler, and womanizer. His escapades included heavy drinking, drug consumption, and numerous mistresses. He also had very expensive tastes in clothes and decorating his palace, and was a generous patron of the arts, so he was frequently in debt. On the other hand, he was reportedly a witty conversationalist, and enjoyed partying. The Prince Regent’s indulgent lifestyle was reflected in the social life, fashions, and comparatively lax morals of the Regency period, which sometimes refers to a more extended time frame than the decade of the formal Regency, spanning from 1811 to Queen Victoria’s coronation in 1837. It was during the early years that Jane Austen, who died in 1817, wrote her novels. Charlotte Bronte was born, a year earlier, in 1816, and although Jane Eyre was published in the height of the Victorian era (1847), there is plenty of evidence to support that it is set before this period, during the Regency Era. Regency Fashion In the early 1800s, women’s clothes became more practical, for example, women began wearing shorter and lighter dresses without restricting long trains or hoops, which were more suited to carrying out daily routines. They also became much lighter. Women wore thin, gauzy outer dresses, which could be changed and washed more frequently. It was also during this time that fashion magazines such as ‘La Belle Assemblee’, one of the major ladies’ fashion magazines of Regency Era, began its publication. The ladies of the time often only wore three garments; a chemise, a corset and a gown. This was a striking contrast to the clothing of both the preceding and succeeding periods with their multiple layers, crinoline, and heavy fabrics. The first two paintings of Regency fashion reveal bare arms, chest, and necks, in both adults and children. The satirical engraving “The Graces in a High Wind”, by James Gillray (published 1810), shows us just how loose and flimsy ladies clothes were at the time, easily allowing the observer to identify the ladies’ contour beneath the dress! Victorian Fashion ARABELLA MARIA: “Only to think, Julia dear, that our Mothers wore such ridiculous fashions as these!” BOTH: “Ha! ha! ha! ha!” Some Victorians may have joked, but most Victorians would have felt uncomfortable to be reminded that their mothers or grandmothers had once danced and visited wearing what has come to be called Empire or Regency fashions, which would no doubt have been considered indecent according to Victorian convention. Women’s skirts literally swelled and became more cumbersome in the Victorian period. At first the skirts were supported by several petticoats, one of which was of a stiffened silk or of a silk and horsehair fabric, known as crinoline. Many of the bodices and blouses had high necks stiffened with bones or wire. Breasts, chests, and arms were covered, the high-waisted Regency styles were replaced by lower, tight bodices focusing on the waist, and the stiff crinoline petticoats made it impossible to guess the ladies’ shapes below the layers of heavy clothing! Clothes in Jane Eyre The clothes in Jane Eyre are definitely Regency style, and not Victorian, which leads us to assume that the action takes place in the 1830s, at the latest, probably around the time Charlotte herself was 20 years old, in 1837. There are few detailed descriptions of clothes in the novel, but Mrs. Fairfax describes Blanche Ingram as, ‘Tall, fine bust, sloping shoulders; long, graceful neck.’ Indicating her bust and shoulders were clearly visible in a low-cut, Regency dress. Also there is no mention of crinoline. Clothes marked class difference very clearly, the fabric and colours of lower class characters such as teachers and children at Lowood, and servants, were clearly different from the clothes worn by the upper class characters. They wore darker colours such as purples and browns, and were made of stuff, a type of coarse thickly woven cloth, or wool. We are told that the girls at Lowood all wear, ‘brown stuff frocks of quaint fashion, and long Holland pinafores’, while Miss Temple, her teacher and mentor at Lowood, wore, a purple cloth dress with black velvet trimming. On the other hand, her cousins, Eliza and Georgiana Reed, were obviously wearing light, Regency-style clothes. Jane watches them ‘descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes’, and Mr Brocklehursts’s wife and daughter ‘were splendidly attired in velvet, silk, and furs.’ When Jane arrived in Thornfield, she was wearing a black stuff travelling-dress, a cloak, a bonnet, gloves, and a muff. When she met Rochester, a few months later, while on her way to post a letter in Hay, Jane says, ‘He stopped, ran his eye over my dress, which, as usual, was quite simple: a black merino cloak, a black beaver bonnet; neither of them half fine enough for a lady’s-maid.’ When she was first invited to tea with Mr. Rochester, Mrs Fairfax told her to change, and she wore her one and only silk dress: ‘I repaired to my room, and, with Mrs. Fairfax’s aid, replaced my black stuff dress by one of black silk; the best and the only additional one I had, except one of light grey, which, in my Lowood notions of the toilette, I thought

Luccia Gray will post about fashion in the Regency and Victorian eras and the clothing in Jane Eyre. Stop by! 0 0

This is the week before my daughter’s wedding, and Luccia Gray has graciously agreed to give me a boost by being a guest on my blog. Luccia is the author of All Hallows at Eyre Hall, a terrifically entertaining book which I reviewed a few months ago and which is being reviewed on Rosie Amber’s blog today. It’s a great read. So stay tuned for a fabulous post! 0 0

It was time I learned to sail. At least that was what I’d been told by my father. He’d purchased an old wooden Turnabout, which lay with its bottom up on the lawn by the barn, mainmast, boom and sail stowed away. This doughty, barely ten foot sailing dinghy was what the kids at the yacht club liked to race on Saturdays. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into sailing at all, let alone race, and those kids were a whole different group from the ones I hung around with at the pool every summer. Racing to me met hitting the water with a flat, belly-smacking dive, and powering myself to the other end, then making a turn and powering back. That required practice, and my summer days were already pretty full. “You’ll enjoy it,” Dad insisted and promptly enrolled me in the land classes to prepare for sailing. In the meantime, he handed me sandpaper and told me to take all the paint off the turnabout. It was hard work, and I managed to remove a lot of skin and a fingernail along with the paint. It didn’t help to hear “Sand with the grain, sand with the grain” every time Dad checked on me. By the time I’d finished to Dad’s satisfaction, a whole weekend had been consumed. Later that week, he caulked the boat, and the next evening we repainted it together, red again. I really wanted blue. At supper the following Saturday evening, Dad said, “Your classes begin Monday at nine. Mom will drop you off at the yacht club and pick you up at noon.” “But Dad, do I have to? You know we have a big meet next Saturday. I need to be working on my intervals.” “Nonsense. It won’t matter if you miss morning practice. It’s not the Olympics. There’s still the afternoon and you’re the fastest kid in your age group already.” As Mom ladled chop suey into my bowl, her latest attempt at creating international cuisine, she remarked, “Your Dad and I really enjoyed the Coast Guard course we took last year, and we thought since we live on the water, you should be more familiar with boats.“ My brother Jay stuck his tongue out, then made a face as he tried the chop suey. Yeah right, I thought. It’s just because Dad and the Commodore have become big buddies and Mom helps run the Yacht Club dinners. I’m going to look like a jerk, as usual. “How long is the course?” I asked. “Three mornings.” “But Mom….” “Then you go out in the boat for a one-on-one class, and if you get the hang of it, you’ll be sailing by Friday. Won’t that be wonderful!” my Dad exclaimed. The next morning, I trudged up the gravel drive to the two story, weather-worn yacht club, pushed myself through the front door, and found a group of kids hanging around at one end of the dining room, where a chalk board had been set up. Hey, they’re all younger than me. Isn’t this just peachy? I sat as far away from the group as I could and still hear what was going on. The instructor showed up and moved to the chalk board. I noticed that he was one of the tall, good-looking young men I’d seen hanging around during the yacht club dinners, chatting, drinking Coke and lazily watching girls. He was bronzed by the sun from sailing and had windblown, wavy hair. I cringed. Just what I need. A Greek God to teach me sailing. In the last year, I’d shot up three inches and was gawky and clumsy. It didn’t help that at twelve, I was now taller than all the boys at my school and was called Miss Encyclopedia because I got good grades. I need to be swimming, I fumed. In the swimming pool, I’m someone. My teammates like me. There are even some younger kids who look up to me. Why am I here? The Greek God, whose name was Kevin, assembled the children around him. “Hey you, aren’t you in this class?” he asked me. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Well, you need to come closer and join the group. You need to be able see the board and take notes. I’ll be giving you a test at the end of the course and you have to pass it if you want to sail out of this club.” Oh joy, so nice to be singled out. I reluctantly moved to a chair at the end of the third row. A kid who looked like a kindergartener smirked at me as I sat down, picking the notebook and pencil up from the chair. During the next several hours, with breaks in between, Kevin covered a variety of topics. He started by teaching us to read a depth chart of the harbor. I was interested to see where the channels ran, how deep they were, and the shallow areas that were revealed as mud flaps (my brother’s interpretation of mud flats) at low tide. Then we progressed to the various parts of a sail boat, and Kevin showed us the different kinds of sailboats we would likely see in Plymouth harbor and explained their differences: a sloop, a ketch and a yawl, which looked a lot like a ketch (I could not for the life of me figure out the difference.) I found myself thinking, Darn, this stuff is interesting. And Kevin is sooo good-looking. I was itching to ask about the sails when Kevin said, “Okay, I think we will end for today. “Don’t forget to bring your notebook tomorrow. I’m going to teach you about sails.” I raced out the front door to the waiting station wagon. “How was your class?” my mother asked. “Kinda boring. The guy teaching is sort of okay,” I replied, not wanting to let Mom know I liked the class and the instructor. “I understand he won some regional

Well, it’s not far down to paradise, at least it’s not for me And if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see Believe me It’s not far to never-never land, no reason to pretend And if the wind is right you can find the joy of innocence again Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see Believe me Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be Just a dream and the wind to carry me And soon I will be free Fantasy, it gets the best of me When I’m sailing All caught up in the reverie, every word is a symphony Won’t you believe me? Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be Just a dream and the wind to carry me And soon I will be free Well it’s not far back to sanity, at least it’s not for me And if the wind is right you can sail away and find serenity Oh, the canvas can do miracles, just you wait and see Believe me Sailing takes me away to where I’ve always heard it could be Just a dream and the wind to carry me And soon I will be free Sailing Away by Christopher Cross I’ve been listening to music while I work on the DIY projects for my daughter’s wedding – mostly at the sewing machine, where I’ve turned into a lace-decorating fiend. Mostly to a station that plays 70s and 80s music, which is my favorite period. Today Christopher Cross’s Sailing Away came on, and I had to stop and just enjoy it. It does take me away – to sailing on my boat and the wonderful sense of freedom one gets on the water with just the wind to push you along: lazy and soft or brisk and frisky or wild and exhilarating. Next week I will post a bite-sized memoire piece of how I learned to sail. It was not pretty, but I survived it. I had my own boat, a National 10, which is actually a nine foot long tubby thing with a centerboard and a single main sail, although you can add a spinnaker. When I was young, it was called a Turnabout because it could come about on a dime. Mine was called the Yama, which means ‘hurry’ in Bahamian, and it was wooden. Newer ones are fiberglass. Once I had the confidence to handle it no matter the conditions, I discovered the absolute freedom of sailing. Everyone should have this sort of experience – you leave your cares and work at the dock, and should never, ever take your cell phone! Turnabout are small enough to be handled well by one person, two people are a crowd, which is why the boat is so much fun. Flip it over? No problem – you can stand on the center board and right it, then bail like mad. My current boat is 17 feet long and a lot more to handle, very sensitive to the helm and incredibly fast. Flip it? Call for help! And I usually sail with someone. If you want the experience and exhilaration of sailing without actually getting into a boat, I recommend the Disney movie Morning Light, a documentary about fifteen young sailors who train for six months to take on a sailing adventure: racing a high performance 52 foot sloop in the TRANSPAC, a daunting open-ocean sailing competition. Here is the website where you can see a trailer: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105824/ You can listen to Christopher Cross and Sailing Away at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7khQNR7s1Ho 0 0

Thanks to Noelle for hosting me today. I am honored to be here to talk a bit about my new book, How To Climb The Eiffel Tower. Tell me a little about How To Climb The Eiffel Tower. How To Climb The Eiffel Tower is the story of two women who forge a powerful friendship the day they are each diagnosed with cancer. That friendship gives Lara the strength and hope to confront her cancer and her past and learn to truly live a full life. Those are some some pretty heavy topics. How did you handle that? When I was writing the book, I was very conscious that cancer, child abuse, and betrayal are heavy topics and was purposeful about injecting a good amount of humor into the book. Lara is a snarky character that looks at the world through a humorous, slightly skewed lens. Her work life also allows for quite a bit of lightness and humor. Still, I understand that some people see the word cancer and simply refuse to read any further, yet How To Climb The Eiffel Tower is not a book about cancer. It’s a book about friendship and healing. What inspired you to write this book in the first place? Inspiration can come from anywhere – a person’s odd assortment of items in the grocery store line, a face in a passing car, or a snippet of overheard conversation. Part of the inspiration for How To Climb The Eiffel Tower came from a comment I overheard in the chemotherapy room while I was going through cancer treatment. I was heavily drugged at the time, but I distinctly remember hearing a woman on the other side of the room say to her neighbor that getting cancer was the best thing that ever happened to her. It’s a good thing I was pretty weak and tethered to a machine because I wanted to get up and smack that woman. Still, that comment stuck with me until I sat down to write a novel based on some of the people I met while going through cancer treatment. It prompted my ‘what if’ question of – How could being diagnosed with cancer be the best thing that ever happened to someone? What kind of internal turmoil would a person need to be experiencing for a cancer diagnosis to be a positive force in their life? From there, my brain kicked into gear and Lara Blaine’s story began. I have no idea what that woman was talking about 12 years ago, but I will be forever thankful for her making that comment. You frequently write about the value of a critique groups on your blog. In fact, you and I initially met through a critique group. Why are you such an advocate for critique circles? Writing is a lonely pursuit. A tremendous amount of time is spent sitting alone slowly tapping out the first drafts of a story. At some point, you need feedback and support from other writers. A good critique group can point out clunky dialogue, tell you if your characters are coming across as real people, and help you rein in a runaway plot. They can serve as a first editor that tells you if a story is working or if you have lost your way. The actual critiquing is the reason writers join critique groups. The camaraderie is why they stay. The writing life is full of rejections and setbacks. There are points where you can feel like a boxer taking jab after jab in the ring of endless submissions. It helps to have someone in your corner to clean you up and give you pep talks between rounds. We all need support and encouragement. Book blurb: Lara Blaine believes that she can hide from her past by clinging to a rigid routine of work and exercise. She endures her self-imposed isolation until a cancer diagnosis cracks her hard exterior. Lara’s journey through cancer treatment should be the worst year of her life. Instead, it is the year that she learns how to live. She befriends Jane, another cancer patient who teaches her how to be powerful even in the face of death. Accepting help from the people around her allows Lara to confront the past and discover that she is not alone in the world. With the support of her new friends, Lara gains the courage to love and embrace life. Like climbing the Eiffel Tower, the year Lara meets Jane is tough, painful, and totally worth it. Bio: Elizabeth Hein grew up in Massachusetts within an extended family of storytellers. In 2002, Elizabeth was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a cancer of the blood. During her extensive treatment, she met dozens of other cancer patients and developed close relationships with several of them. These friendships were the inspiration for How To Climb The Eiffel Tower. She learned that a cancer diagnosis is a life changing experience, yet it does not necessarily change a life for the worse. Prior to the new book’s publication, Elizabeth was invited to attend the Southern Independent Booksellers Alliance (SIBA) conference and has received excellent advanced reviews on her break-out new book. Elizabeth Hein writes women’s fiction with a bit of an edge. Her novels explore the role of friendship in the lives of adult women and themes of identity. Her first novel, Overlook, spotlighted a housewife dealing with a cheating husband and the pressures of keeping up appearances. Elizabeth has published several short stories and is currently writing a novella and beginning to write a historical family saga about how love and identity effect four generations of women. She and her husband now live in Durham, North Carolina. Book Trailer – http://youtu.be/hHGNcjuRndQ Buy links: Amazon Amazon UK Barnes & Noble Website: ElizabethHein.com Twitter: @_ElizabethHein Facebook Google+ Goodreads 0 0

Stay tuned for a great guest post by a very talented writer I met through my critique group: Elizabeth Hein. She has a new book coming out this Friday and I thought it would be wonderful for the people who visit my blog to learn more about her. 0 0

Greetings to all my Sisters in Crime. This is the September blog hop, for which I need to answer some of the following questions: • Which authors have inspired you? • Which male authors write great women characters? Which female authors write great male characters? • If someone said “Nothing against women writers, but all of my favorite crime fiction authors happen to be men,” how would you respond? • What’s the best part of the writing process for you? What’s the most challenging? • Do you listen to music while writing? What’s on your playlist? • What books are on your nightstand right now? • If you were to mentor a new writer, what would you tell her about the writing business? I’m going to keep this short and sweet. Inspirational authors: Craig Johnson, C.J.Box, Sue Grafton, Kathy Reichs, and P.D. James are the first that come to mind. Clearly my favorite crime fiction authors are NOT all men, and each of these authors takes a different approach to their stories. The best part of the writing process for me is the actual writing. Losing yourself in your writing is exhilarating! Right behind comes research. I was a scientist for my career, and research was one of the academic legs I had to stand on. Research for a book is far more fun. The most challenging part for me is the endless rewriting and editing. Well…there is marketing. I don’t listen to music when I’m writing because I need to hear the dialogue in my head. I have occasionally used soft classical music, but mostly I enjoy the quiet. The pile of books on my nightstand is teetering, and the list of books I’ve downloaded on Kindle is prodigious. I just finished a novella by Kathy Reichs based on the snake hunts occurring outside the Everglades National Park, in an effort to reduce the overpopulation of boa constructors. I recommend it, lots of twists and turns and general yuck. My advice for new writer is to join a critique group as soon as possible. My group taught me to write by patiently working though my first book, and I still rely on them for ideas, criticism, and encouragement. I can’t emphasize more the importance of this! I am going to invite R. M. Byrd to join the blog hop. His first book, The Fir, Fish, Flea and Beagle Club is a wonderful read – a coming of age story about two boys just before WWII. His current book is a mystery with a twist, and he attended the recent Writers’ Police Academy, which is sponsored each year by Sisters in Crime, to hone his police procedural and investigative writing skills. R.M. Byrd: http://byrdwords.wordpress.com/ 0 0

Many years ago, front porches were an important part of our society. People would gather on the front porch after dinner in the evening, sitting in straight chairs or more likely rocking chairs, and talk with each other. No TV, no video games. They talked, and not only with each other but with passers-by and neighbors, and kept an eye on the neighborhood children. This provided a sense of community and cohesiveness and may have solved a lot of problems. Today most houses don’t have front porches, or if they do, they aren’t used. As neighborhoods get larger, communication ceases. I loved our first house in Evanston, Illinois; it had a front porch, and the first thing we did was buy some rocking chairs and sit outside. We met all our neighbors that way! Today we have a lake house with a front porch, but it’s so far from the road that sitting there is not likely to encourage interaction. That’s when I discovered the beauty of the back deck and the boat house deck. We have visitors on a regular basis to our lake house, and one of the joys of those visits is sitting out on the back deck in the morning with coffee and the evening with a glass of wine and just talking. The boat house has an extensive deck, and when the weather is warm we bring down a cooler with drinks and food or snacks and sit on the deck. Boats going in and out of our cove have to go slow – it’s a no wake zone – and that almost always leads to conversations with the people on the boats. We swim in the cove and will occasionally swim over to another boat deck and chat with the people sitting there. Sometimes, if everyone is in the water, we gather floating on our noodles and just talk. As our lives have evolved, so have our front porches! 0 0

This is the second of two books I’ve recently read, about the relationships between women and their slaves in the South before the Civil War (which I discovered is also called “The Recent Unpleasantness”). Yellow Crocus was written by Laila Ibrahim. In her own words,”I self published Yellow Crocus in 2011 when agent after agent told me that no one would want to read a story about the love between an enslaved black woman and her privileged white charge.” She is currently working on her next novel, set in a different time period, but with a similar theme: loving across difference. On April 14, 1837, 20 year old Mattie, a Southern slave with a small child, is called to her owner’s house to serve as a wet nurse to his newborn baby, Elizabeth. She has to move into the plantation house, leaving her own baby behind. When yet another baby is born, Elizabeth is taken from Mattie, who is given the new baby to wet nurse. Mattie becomes sick and nearly dies in Mattie’s absence, so her mother reluctantly returns her to Mattie’s care and finds another wet nurse. Thus begins an intense relationship that will shape both of their lives for decades to come. Mattie is more of a mother to Elizabeth than her own remote, societally governed mother, and from her trips to the slave quarters with Mattie, forms lasting bonds with the slaves related to and surrounding Mattie. As in The Invention of Wings, talk of abolition and the legality of slave-holding penetrates the Oak Hill plantation, and the reader is reminded -in less graphic ways – of the way in which slaves were treated, worked, rented out and sold, including Mattie’s son, Samuel. When Elizabeth outgrows Mattie, their stories diverge, Mattie being sent to another plantation where she is defiant and is whipped, but continues to seek a way to escape with her son, a plan that was hatched at Oak Hill many years before. Elizabeth is forced into the societal norms of parties and events designed to find her an appropriate husband; she gradually becomes aware of the vast difference between the lives of slaves and whites and rebels against what is expected of her. The author lovingly and imaginatively makes their separate lives evolve and eventually re-entwine. This is a well-written story of love, determination, courage, cruelty and heartbreak – one which inexorably draws the reader in and tugs at your emotions. It is definitely a much more gentle novel than The Invention of Wings; it has a satisfyingly happy ending, which ties things up in a neat package, but is somewhat less than realistic. However, the historical details are well researched, and the writing is so good that I recommend it and will definitely read the next book by this author. 0 0