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Thinking about ice, ice palaces, and wit
Oct. 1st, 2002 10:28 pmNo time to actually write today, as I had to deal with some HP Education Fanon stuff tonight. But I think I may be close to attempting the first scene in the book, where Solveig almost drowns, falling through the ice while ice skating.
To prepare myself, I have been thinking about ice today, mostly about how it can be used as a symbol. I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story "The Ice Palace" yesterday. In it, he uses the St. Paul Winter Carnival ice palace as a symbol of northern (Yankee, as opposed to Southern) coldness, remoteness, distancing. In the story, a Southern girl engaged to a Minnesota man breaks off the engagement after she comes North to meet his family and is chilled by his manner; she gets lost in the Ice Palace and almost freezes.
Then I thought of Robert Silverberg's story "Hot Sky," where a giant iceberg symbolized the earth's natural resources that were--literally--melting away in the face of global warming. The ice represent what people squabble over, disappearing even as they fight, just as the iceberg scavengers squabble over control of the iceberg. I was pleased to note that I had remembered the last line of the story word-by-word, even though it's been about ten years since I read it ("No sense looking back. You look back, all you do is hurt your eyes.")
What would the ice represent in this book--besides magic, of course? Don't mean to come up with an easy answer here, but I'm content to discover this in the course of the writing.
Re-reading Sorcery and Cecelia by Wrede and Stevermer (a natural progression from Stevermer's River Rats). No matter how many times I read it, I find this book laugh-out-loud funny (alas for those of you who have not yet had the chance to read it, it's out of print and quite rare). The odious Marquis isn't exactly, well a smart-ass (he certainly would not appreciate that description) but I do appreciate his occasional wit--that was Caroline's doing, as she wrote the bits in London. It made me think about Jack, and trying to capture a sense of wit in dialogue, which roused a little bubble of dread about my capabilities. I have often wished I had the gift of wit, of being able to come up with, at an instant's notice, a good verbal riposte. My sister Cindy and my brother Chet definitely have that gift. (Of course, as a writer writing dialogue, I don't have to come up with witty replies at an instant's notice--it's okay if I take several weeks to come up with a stinging way for Jack to confound Solveig.)
That being said, feel free to chime in with some of your favorite examples of books with male lead characters with fascinating, sometimes devastating wit. Shakespeare's Benedict in Much Ado About Nothing. Georgette Heyer created a whole slew of 'em. Cassie Claire's (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
epicyclical) Draco. The characters in alexmalfoy's "Snitch!" Emma Bull's phouka in War for the Oaks. Some of the Spencer/Tracy movies.
Your favorite wickedly witty smart-asses?
Cheers,
Peg
To prepare myself, I have been thinking about ice today, mostly about how it can be used as a symbol. I read F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story "The Ice Palace" yesterday. In it, he uses the St. Paul Winter Carnival ice palace as a symbol of northern (Yankee, as opposed to Southern) coldness, remoteness, distancing. In the story, a Southern girl engaged to a Minnesota man breaks off the engagement after she comes North to meet his family and is chilled by his manner; she gets lost in the Ice Palace and almost freezes.
Then I thought of Robert Silverberg's story "Hot Sky," where a giant iceberg symbolized the earth's natural resources that were--literally--melting away in the face of global warming. The ice represent what people squabble over, disappearing even as they fight, just as the iceberg scavengers squabble over control of the iceberg. I was pleased to note that I had remembered the last line of the story word-by-word, even though it's been about ten years since I read it ("No sense looking back. You look back, all you do is hurt your eyes.")
What would the ice represent in this book--besides magic, of course? Don't mean to come up with an easy answer here, but I'm content to discover this in the course of the writing.
Re-reading Sorcery and Cecelia by Wrede and Stevermer (a natural progression from Stevermer's River Rats). No matter how many times I read it, I find this book laugh-out-loud funny (alas for those of you who have not yet had the chance to read it, it's out of print and quite rare). The odious Marquis isn't exactly, well a smart-ass (he certainly would not appreciate that description) but I do appreciate his occasional wit--that was Caroline's doing, as she wrote the bits in London. It made me think about Jack, and trying to capture a sense of wit in dialogue, which roused a little bubble of dread about my capabilities. I have often wished I had the gift of wit, of being able to come up with, at an instant's notice, a good verbal riposte. My sister Cindy and my brother Chet definitely have that gift. (Of course, as a writer writing dialogue, I don't have to come up with witty replies at an instant's notice--it's okay if I take several weeks to come up with a stinging way for Jack to confound Solveig.)
That being said, feel free to chime in with some of your favorite examples of books with male lead characters with fascinating, sometimes devastating wit. Shakespeare's Benedict in Much Ado About Nothing. Georgette Heyer created a whole slew of 'em. Cassie Claire's (
epicyclical) Draco. The characters in alexmalfoy's "Snitch!" Emma Bull's phouka in War for the Oaks. Some of the Spencer/Tracy movies. Your favorite wickedly witty smart-asses?
Cheers,
Peg
