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dangermousieAs mentioned previously, I am on a Lymond kick (btw, Lymond are the only books I read with a dictionary. Narwhal? Palimpcest? Thank you Dunnett). And being on this kick made me think about Dorothy Sayers and Lord Peter, probably because Lymond and Lymond Chronicles owe a lot to Sayers and her detective.
Actually, walking this morning, it just occurred to me how much Lymond is inspired by Lord Peter (though of course he is uniquely his own, as a character), and I don't just refer to the aristocratic blondness. They are both emotionally high-strung (the old term would have been 'nervy'), extremely self-controlled men. Both with an amazing intellect and strength of purpose they conceal under a manner to guard themselves (Lymond is all about politics, Lord Peter does diplomatic missions in between his sleuthing). They are polyglot quotation magpies, with a love of poetry (I bet if John Donne existed when Lymond lived, he would be quoting him non-stop) and a passion for music.
Both were promising but rather well-adjusted-into-society young men with a set path in front of them (Lord Peter had double firsts in Oxford and was going to be a historian and Lymond was a child genius of Sorbonne who was going to be a conventional if bright young nobleman involved in politics). And then both got horribly derailed and traumatized by an event that happened prior to anything in the books but has shaped them completely: for Lord Peter is was WWI and his shell-shock (we only learn just how bad it was in "Busman's Honeymoon"), and for Lymond it was Solway Moss and the whole Lennox/Eloise/Galleys thing. And this past continues to affect them. And for both, their chosen fields of endeavor, while uniquely suited for them, actually continue to mess them up further and feed into their issues and feelings of 'unworthiness' (Lord Peter realizes that as a result of his sleuthing people get caught and executed. Just witness his falling apart in front of Harriet. And everything Lymond does and that is done to him in the course of the books violates his headspace and his soul more and more). Both men are all about control, not just because they'd had so little earlier, but also because without control they would sit in a little room, screaming.
The authors are marvelous about showing us so much through so little. Letting us figure things out. We rarely get directly into Peter's head (Harriet, like Philippa and Jerott in later books can come closest to what the heroes are really about, but it's still indirect), and we only see twice inside Lymond's head, but somehow, through all the indirections and mirrors and shields, we get to know the characters intimately. It's in what they don't say. Even though the chess game in Pawn in unbearable ("I've been good" makes me shudder), there is no scene that freaks me out more than Lymond first coming across the child Khaireddin, who is his son. And Khaireddin is small, and painted, and has been a child prostitute. And the whole scene is horrifying, with Khaireddin offering favors to his own father who he doesn't know is that, and the scene would make anyone sick and yet Lymond reacts with amazing rightness and gentleness and treats Khaireddin like a real little boy/man and subnegates himself in doing what's right for him, no matter what it costs him. Even though anyone decent would have a strong reaction to child prostitution. And more than that, Khaireddin is his son. And not just that, if anyone has buttons about sexual abuse, Lymond would (a beautiful 16 year old on the galleys? He was pretty surely toast). I think this is repeated in the situation with Philippa. It's rather scary how Lymond knows exactly how to take care of a victim of sexual assault. Though of course everything gets thrown off by his overwhelming love of her. And yet again, everything is in what's not said. When he finds Philippa in that house, what struck me most is how his neatness must have been violated by this. And it's all about his spare movements. But that's a digression. But the control and care Lymond has is all not about him. And Dunnett wants us to infer all that, there is no beating over the head with it.
Even the families are a bit similar: both have brilliant mothers they adore, and shadowy fathers. And a well-meaning, dull elder brother, who loves but doesn't understand.
And then there are the women they love. Both of them are grounded by the somewhat younger, much more pragmatic, yet fiercely wounded women they fall in love with. And those women make them jump through hoops (not on purpose) but really are what saves them. There are wonderful parallels between Lord Peter in Harriet's lap at the end of "Busman's Honeymoon," finding peace and absolution and Lymond finding peace with Philippa and at the end, in a phrase that stayed with me, Dunnett describes them "robed like children." Everything has been washed clean. And there are parallels between their first night 'together:' neither author leaves us in doubt of what is happening but there are no distracting, explicit anatomical descriptions that make you feel you are in med school. What one remembers is the emotion and phrases and laughter. When I think of Lord Peter and Harriet, I think of 'hair the color of damp straw' and 'shabby tigers' and when I think of Lymond and Philippa I think of 'carillons upon glass.' And also, how amazing a writer is Dunnett? When there is a line about Lymond's mind for once utterly overturned by the needs of his body, I flash back to his talking to Margaret Lennox in Book One, saying he'd love to have a moment where he didn't know what he was doing. And there is of course Lymond finally getting some peaceful sleep. I cried. Like an idiot. And you know what is horrifying? That time with Philippa is not the first time Lymond had sex that wasn't awful or psychically scarring (he might not have loved Oonagh, but he respected her etc) but it's the first time he had sex that involved love.
And of course, both those women are fiercely intelligent, yet wounded and need healing in turn, and are in some ways mirroring their men. For Harriet it's her trial for murder and her shabby lover who made her betray all her traditonal belief for principles it turns out he didn't mean (and what a parallel with Lord Peter and his earlier love of someone unworthy. That girl before WWI). And the same is true for Philippa. I am not just referring to her time in Pawn which is enough to twist you, but in the fact that, she and Lymond are both victims of sexual abuse and in startlingly similar ways. She knows exactly what it is to be in his shoes: to be a willing accomplice to your own debasement for love of another or for the greater good. Because even if you agree, that does not make it any less sexual abuse. In fact, it fucks you up even more. I think Philippa would have been less screwed up if Leonard Bailey dragged her kicking and screaming into a corner and raped her. Her consent is what makes it unbearable. And I think she now knows how Lymond feels.
So yeah, there is a great deal of reason for why I love both.
And to finish on a Lymondish note, here is a quote about James Cobham from Freedom and Necessity. Rather Lymondish/Lord Peterish, don't you think?
That person was a collection of fragments held into man-shape by an outher shell that, depending on the moment, might be unmarked and brittle as glass or itself in a state of suspended collapse.
Or this:
At about three o'clock he appeared in the parlour, neat as the proverbial pin, flawlessly composed-in other words, nearly indistinguishable from a well-embalmed corpse except that he was mobile, upright, and articulate.
No wonder I love the book.
And for those who are 'what crack are you on and what are you blabbing about,' I present a bit of Hayden picspam. A lot of Hayden picspam actually.
Actually, walking this morning, it just occurred to me how much Lymond is inspired by Lord Peter (though of course he is uniquely his own, as a character), and I don't just refer to the aristocratic blondness. They are both emotionally high-strung (the old term would have been 'nervy'), extremely self-controlled men. Both with an amazing intellect and strength of purpose they conceal under a manner to guard themselves (Lymond is all about politics, Lord Peter does diplomatic missions in between his sleuthing). They are polyglot quotation magpies, with a love of poetry (I bet if John Donne existed when Lymond lived, he would be quoting him non-stop) and a passion for music.
Both were promising but rather well-adjusted-into-society young men with a set path in front of them (Lord Peter had double firsts in Oxford and was going to be a historian and Lymond was a child genius of Sorbonne who was going to be a conventional if bright young nobleman involved in politics). And then both got horribly derailed and traumatized by an event that happened prior to anything in the books but has shaped them completely: for Lord Peter is was WWI and his shell-shock (we only learn just how bad it was in "Busman's Honeymoon"), and for Lymond it was Solway Moss and the whole Lennox/Eloise/Galleys thing. And this past continues to affect them. And for both, their chosen fields of endeavor, while uniquely suited for them, actually continue to mess them up further and feed into their issues and feelings of 'unworthiness' (Lord Peter realizes that as a result of his sleuthing people get caught and executed. Just witness his falling apart in front of Harriet. And everything Lymond does and that is done to him in the course of the books violates his headspace and his soul more and more). Both men are all about control, not just because they'd had so little earlier, but also because without control they would sit in a little room, screaming.
The authors are marvelous about showing us so much through so little. Letting us figure things out. We rarely get directly into Peter's head (Harriet, like Philippa and Jerott in later books can come closest to what the heroes are really about, but it's still indirect), and we only see twice inside Lymond's head, but somehow, through all the indirections and mirrors and shields, we get to know the characters intimately. It's in what they don't say. Even though the chess game in Pawn in unbearable ("I've been good" makes me shudder), there is no scene that freaks me out more than Lymond first coming across the child Khaireddin, who is his son. And Khaireddin is small, and painted, and has been a child prostitute. And the whole scene is horrifying, with Khaireddin offering favors to his own father who he doesn't know is that, and the scene would make anyone sick and yet Lymond reacts with amazing rightness and gentleness and treats Khaireddin like a real little boy/man and subnegates himself in doing what's right for him, no matter what it costs him. Even though anyone decent would have a strong reaction to child prostitution. And more than that, Khaireddin is his son. And not just that, if anyone has buttons about sexual abuse, Lymond would (a beautiful 16 year old on the galleys? He was pretty surely toast). I think this is repeated in the situation with Philippa. It's rather scary how Lymond knows exactly how to take care of a victim of sexual assault. Though of course everything gets thrown off by his overwhelming love of her. And yet again, everything is in what's not said. When he finds Philippa in that house, what struck me most is how his neatness must have been violated by this. And it's all about his spare movements. But that's a digression. But the control and care Lymond has is all not about him. And Dunnett wants us to infer all that, there is no beating over the head with it.
Even the families are a bit similar: both have brilliant mothers they adore, and shadowy fathers. And a well-meaning, dull elder brother, who loves but doesn't understand.
And then there are the women they love. Both of them are grounded by the somewhat younger, much more pragmatic, yet fiercely wounded women they fall in love with. And those women make them jump through hoops (not on purpose) but really are what saves them. There are wonderful parallels between Lord Peter in Harriet's lap at the end of "Busman's Honeymoon," finding peace and absolution and Lymond finding peace with Philippa and at the end, in a phrase that stayed with me, Dunnett describes them "robed like children." Everything has been washed clean. And there are parallels between their first night 'together:' neither author leaves us in doubt of what is happening but there are no distracting, explicit anatomical descriptions that make you feel you are in med school. What one remembers is the emotion and phrases and laughter. When I think of Lord Peter and Harriet, I think of 'hair the color of damp straw' and 'shabby tigers' and when I think of Lymond and Philippa I think of 'carillons upon glass.' And also, how amazing a writer is Dunnett? When there is a line about Lymond's mind for once utterly overturned by the needs of his body, I flash back to his talking to Margaret Lennox in Book One, saying he'd love to have a moment where he didn't know what he was doing. And there is of course Lymond finally getting some peaceful sleep. I cried. Like an idiot. And you know what is horrifying? That time with Philippa is not the first time Lymond had sex that wasn't awful or psychically scarring (he might not have loved Oonagh, but he respected her etc) but it's the first time he had sex that involved love.
And of course, both those women are fiercely intelligent, yet wounded and need healing in turn, and are in some ways mirroring their men. For Harriet it's her trial for murder and her shabby lover who made her betray all her traditonal belief for principles it turns out he didn't mean (and what a parallel with Lord Peter and his earlier love of someone unworthy. That girl before WWI). And the same is true for Philippa. I am not just referring to her time in Pawn which is enough to twist you, but in the fact that, she and Lymond are both victims of sexual abuse and in startlingly similar ways. She knows exactly what it is to be in his shoes: to be a willing accomplice to your own debasement for love of another or for the greater good. Because even if you agree, that does not make it any less sexual abuse. In fact, it fucks you up even more. I think Philippa would have been less screwed up if Leonard Bailey dragged her kicking and screaming into a corner and raped her. Her consent is what makes it unbearable. And I think she now knows how Lymond feels.
So yeah, there is a great deal of reason for why I love both.
And to finish on a Lymondish note, here is a quote about James Cobham from Freedom and Necessity. Rather Lymondish/Lord Peterish, don't you think?
That person was a collection of fragments held into man-shape by an outher shell that, depending on the moment, might be unmarked and brittle as glass or itself in a state of suspended collapse.
Or this:
At about three o'clock he appeared in the parlour, neat as the proverbial pin, flawlessly composed-in other words, nearly indistinguishable from a well-embalmed corpse except that he was mobile, upright, and articulate.
No wonder I love the book.
And for those who are 'what crack are you on and what are you blabbing about,' I present a bit of Hayden picspam. A lot of Hayden picspam actually.
