- Influence
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Frimary 15, 1765
Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
The recently published work by author Agalia Braig, "The Duke and the Dowager", is a marked improvement over her previous works in a number of ways. First, Agalia appears to have taken firm action to expose herself to actual living beasts and the modes and pattens of communication used in a variety of situations and toward a variety of purposes, most notably romance, and by such action has remarkably improved the quality of her dialogue. Any reader of her work will recall the incessant criticism and mockery engendered by her frequent use of the adjective 'watery' throughout her work "Seven Suitors for Lady Smythe", and will be relieved to find that she, or at least her editor, have extracted this particular word from her lexicon with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. She has, regrettably, lapsed into other forms of descriptive sloth, namely in describing gazes as 'smoky' when her intent is clearly that they be 'smoldering'. One can only hope that her editors shall dangle her above a fireplace lit with wet twigs until her experience of a smoky environment shall render her allergic to any mention of the word, much less its use.
Where Agalia has always succeeded is in the development of compelling and nuanced characters with myriad and conflicting motivations. In this, "The Duke and the Dowager" is her finest work yet. The Duke of Magh, Montgomery Maltressor, bears such a tortured soul that, aside from the unforgivable alliteration in his naming, the only discernable flaw in Agalia's work is in failing to make his scarred psyche the product of a misanthropic interrogation. Certainly it would have been more interesting if the downfall from which his noble house sought recovery was due to the unjust intervention of that shadowy ministry; the reasons given, while compelling, are overused and overwrought to the point of being hackneyed, and no amount of wallowing in grief and guilt can overcome the shallowness of the ill treatment shown to this, the primary romantic interest. Indeed, were his methods more couth than those employed in the narrative, he would be unforgivably dull and unworthy of any investment of attention by either the reader or the writer.
In our female lead, as always, we find Agalia at her finest, and her eponymous dowager, the Lady Chrisilla Chemsworth (one can only pray that her surname begins with a soft ch, lest the author face summary execution for her alliterative crimes against the Vulpinsulan language and literature writ large), is in every way the complicated character one desires in a good romantic novel, rather than a merely passable one. Following the death of her husband, the shipping tycoon Sir Christopher Chemsworth (one can almost hear the grisly gallows of alliterative elimination moaning mournfully in the wailing wind), Agalia finds herself atop a mercantile empire that, by virtue of a flaw in her late husband's will, only her husband (should she take another) or her six-year-old son, upon achieving age of majority, may direct. In the meantime receivership falls into the hands of her late husband's avaricious uncle, who is quite determined to impose austerity upon Chrisilla and her son, depriving them of the lavish lifestyle to which they have become so accustomed. Here Chrisilla should, by all rights, present to the reader as unbearably petty and spoiled, and yet Agalia masterfully infects the reader with a sense of kinship with the beleaguered widow. A few choice lines planted here and there, like roses amongst weeds, rescue an otherwise irredeemable presentation and provide opportunity for growth. The reader's willingness to offer a chance for redemption comes mainly from the inference that Chrisilla was, in fact, low-born, and her marriage to Sir Chemsworth was one of genuine affection that time and money have curdled much like milk left abandoned on the doorstep. Faced with a return to the poverty of her youth, the primary concern expressed is not for herself, but for the deprivation that might befall her son, a child whose nonverbal state requires the assistance of a staff of attentive (and expensive) specialists and tutors. Sans the care her fortune has provided to date, Chrisilla fully expects to see the Chemsworth house decay within a generation.
The introduction of the Duke of Magh presents an uneasy escape for Chrisilla initially, as he appears first with an offer of marriage that seems entirely mercantile in nature: he will wed Chrisilla and provide for her not only from her husband's wealth but from his own as well. The first glimmer of character growth shows as Chrisilla refuses the Duke's offer categorically, unwilling to entrust her son's wellbeing to a todd whose only interest is in her fortune. This sets off the long arc of the narrative, in which the Duke adapts his approach to focus on Chrisilla's son, forming a fatherly bond that, as the young orphan and his mother adapt to the Duke's presence, grows from the performative to the truly paternal. Here Agalia's improved dialogue pays dividends, investing the reader directly in the revelations and confessions of the Duke and the Dowager respectively. The Dowager confesses that her love for her late husband was soured by his inattentiveness, albeit one born from distraction by the demands of the very business that provided for his wife and son. The Duke, in turn, admits that he has little in the way of business acumen, and would be ill-equipped to run the shipping company; were he in control of it, he would rather sell off the business and focus his time and attention on his family. As with all of Agalia's novels, this eventually culminates in a steamy conjugation of body and soul that places this work squarely among the elite of the so-called 'bodice ripper' novels.
Sadly, it is at the last minute that Agalia stumbles, subverting the entire narrative and its expectations. Chrisilla finds a letter in the Duke's coat pocket from his sister back on Magh, warning him that creditors are circling the family's holdings and that, if they do not come into a fortune soon, they shall be left entirely destitute. Chrisilla realizes that the Duke was only ever using her for her fortune, and should she marry him, she would find herself and her son in a reduced state regardless. She confronts the Duke, who admits to his family's monetary woes but begs Chrisilla to stay with him anyway, pleading that they don't need riches, they just need enough to be happy together as a family. In an act of narrative malpractice, Chrisilla dismisses the Duke, warning him never to approach her or her family again.
Here Agalia drives a dagger into the heart of her own work in what can only be called an inexcusable betrayal of the reader's investment of time and attention. Chrisilla approaches her late husband's uncle and offers him a compromise: she will marry him, giving him sole control and ownership of the company, so long as he continues to fund her son's care. The uncle agrees, and the pair are swiftly and unceremoniously wed. The pain of this betrayal is extended further by an epilogue set one year hence, in which Chrisilla and her son, while traveling through a nearby town, are treated to the son's first word: "Duke!" He points to outside of a tavern, where a scruffy, somewhat unkempt todd is drinking away his sorrows. It is indeed the eponymous Duke, reduced to vagrancy by his failure. He spots Chrisilla and, after a moment's pause, treats her to a sincere bow, one that communicates an affection that, despite her dismissal and his current circumstances, has never died. Chrisilla ends the novel realizing that, while she kept all of her material wealth and comfort, she lost the love she desired most of all.
There is, I suppose, a tragic justice in this ending, a cautionary tale about the risks of trading happiness for comfort. Still, in a genre built upon the unrealistic, this dose of heady realism feels inappropriate. The reader has, after all, invested over eight hours into the consumption of this narrative; one would expect to be rewarded for this investment with a sense of serenity and satisfaction, not melancholy and malcontent. One can only hope that this experiment in narrative subversion shall be the last we witness from Agalia, lest her authorial career descend into the gates of the Hells themselves. Should that day come to pass, one can only hope that Vulpuz is a more forgiving reader than myself.
Frimary 22, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
As regards the Forlorn Vixen's review of "The Duke and the Dowager" in the last edition, I must offer my sincere applause for her literary analysis. I have followed her reviews for some time now, and have been delighted to see the progression from the amateur to the authoritative. Her cutting remarks concerning Agalia Braig's writerly quirks are well-earned and well-appreciated both, and, as always, her appreciation for the fine art of characterization marks her as a truly scholarly mind. Sadly, it is on the topic of the book's conclusion that our opinions must diverge.
It is in my humble opinion that the ending of this book elevates Agalia's latest work above all others not only in her bibliography, but perhaps the entire genre. Agalia demonstrates a more nuanced understanding of the compromises that we as femmes must make for the sake of our happiness and that of our families than she has ever shown in her previous works. As any mother can tell you, our role is one of constant compromise between our own wellbeing and that of our kits; we are held to a standard to which fathers are not, as Agalia keenly highlights with how the absentee father of Christopher is lauded at his funeral as a devoted father, while Chrisella privately recalls the last time her husband devoted any measure of attention to his son was at the latter's nameday party three years prior. This establishes that Chrisella not only is devoted to her son's wellbeing, but it is the primary driver of her character, to the point that she refuses the Duke's offer of marriage when she still cannot trust his intent toward her son. It is with this in mind that we must interpret the ending of the novel.
Chrisella faces the hardest choice a mother must ever face: that of choosing between her own happiness, and that of her family. If she marries the Duke, then she shall have a life with him, albeit one far less than what she and her son have experienced to date; moreover, they shall doubtlessly have to give up many of the expensive specialists and tutors who tend to her son's needs and welfare. This, in the end, is the deciding factor that causes her to sacrifice her own happiness for that of her son. The epilogue adds to the bittersweet nature of this compromise, showing the depths of Chrisella's sacrifice and honoring it by demonstrating a respectful character in the much-reduced Duke. Had the Duke spit at her, then her sacrifice would have been much diminished by making him vulgar of character and unworthy of her affection; that, even when destitute, he demonstrates his respect for her turns her sacrifice from the mercenary to the magnanimous.
In short, I hope that Forlorn Vixen reconsiders the work in the light of this analysis. I am quite certain that the body of the literary public will come to regard "The Duke and the Dowager" as a masterpiece in the full course of time, once it is given due consideration.
Smarch 1, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
As always, I appreciate the response by the Grand Dame, and recognize that her opinions are colored by a lifetime's accumulated wealth of experience. Certainly there is an emotional maturity to the sacrifice Chrisella makes for the sake of her son, but it is that very emotional maturity that makes "The Duke and the Dowager" an unwelcome addition to the genre it inhabits. Melancholy conclusions are anathema to the romantic genre; the much lauded 'happy ending' is, after all, a defining trait of the genre, without which no novel can be considered for membership. Therefore "The Duke and the Dowager" is unwelcome in the genre precisely because it is a character drama masquerading as a romance, and should be considered a departure from Agalia's other works.
As regards the epilogue, I must adamantly disagree with the Grand Dame's learned opinion. The theme of the epilogue is not in honoring the sacrifice made, but in demonstrating Chrisella's regret for her ill-considered choice. The Duke is still noble of character, even in poverty, because that is his immutable characteristic; it is intended as an indictment of Chrisella's character that she rejected him in favor of her late husband's stodgy uncle, not to laud her for her self-sacrifice. Should she have chosen the Duke as her husband, her station may well have been reduced in life; she would have experienced more humble circumstances than before, though certainly more akin to our own Zann's Backyard the Trenches or Slups. Moreover, the progress made by the Duke in reaching Chrisella's son indicates that the attention needed is not that of a small army of experts, but that of a devoted father; that the son's first word is "Duke!" in the epilogue only services to make this point more poignant. Had she chosen to marry the Duke instead, by the time of the epilogue, her son may well have been fully verbal and thriving, and Chrisella happily engaged in a devoted and satisfying marriage. Her choice therefore can only be regarded as a tragedy, and should not be lauded in any form.
Smarch 8, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
As regards the Forlorn Vixen's latest response, I can only bemoan an opinion born from what I presume to be the naiveté of the young. The satisfaction in "The Duke and the Dowager" is not found in yet another bland happy ending in which no true sacrifice or hardship is made, and therefore no character growth is experienced; rather, it is precisely in the growth of Chrisella's character to put her son's needs above her own that we find a character who shall endure the test of time and be held aloft as a literary model for future generations of authors. As drawing on the 'lifetime's accumulated wealth of experience', as the Forlorn Vixen so artfully terms it, I can speak authoritatively that, at any number of junctures, I might well have pursued short-term happiness over the long-term wellbeing of my own family. With the benefit of hindsight, I can state definitively that, had I done so, it would have been to my own destruction and to the devastation of those whose happiness matters most to my own. That the Forlorn Vixen is unfamiliar with this phenomenon is perhaps indicative of a life little experienced save for the fantasies presented by the genre she so vehemently champions.
Smarch 15, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
I express my most sincere condolences to the Grand Dame on the result of her lifetime of self-sacrifice and compromise. Truly, to surrender all hope of a happy marital state is a tragedy, and I can only hope that she shall memorialize her own story in autobiography one day, and that she shall have the decency to at least market it as 'drama' rather than 'romance'. The purpose of the romance genre is to kindle the spark of hope for marital bliss in the hearts of femmes both young and old, and to inspire them to seek it in their own circumstances. That the Grand Dame's heart is so inured to even the potential for such happiness shall be ranked among history's greatest tragedies, perhaps filed right alongside "The Duke and the Dowager" in its most appropriate genre classification.
Smarch 22, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I most enthusiastically invite the Forlorn Vixen to descend from the heavens and perhaps engage in a few deep exhalations to remove the cloudstuff that is clearly fogging her mind. The purpose of truly great literature is to inspire the reader to reconsider their own notions and to challenge the dominant worldview. Agalia has, much like the fisherman's wife dreaming of ballgowns and banquets, dared to reach above her station as an author of the much-derided 'romance' genre, and in so doing has created a work that transcends the pettiness of its origins. One cannot fault her for doing so, for it would be akin to slighting the minstrel who, after a lifetime of bawdy tavern songs, finally composes a great epic or a romantic ballad that stirs the heart to wakefulness. Should the minstrel's work be demeaned because it does not continue in the same verse as his prior work, or should he be congratulated for overcoming the meanness of his past performance? I strongly advise the Forlorn Vixen to reconsider her own life and, perhaps, to experience some measure of it for a change prior to insulting another's.
Smarch 29, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
The invitation from the Grand Dame of Zann has been carefully considered and, after a sustained period of consultation with the myriad closely-held lovers and family in this opinion writer's life, I cordially invite the Grand Dame to remove the truncheon that seems to have lodged itself in a most unfortunate location about her posterior. Whence originated this truncheon, I cannot say, but perhaps the Grand Dame would find herself in a better state if she spent less time in a compromising position with numerous members of the Fogey Police.
Soggus 5, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I thank the Forlorn Vixen for her well-considered advice and, after due consideration, I invite her to defend her literary position in-person at a small, private salon to be held at Wuther's Heights Tea Shop in the Trenches on Friday Soggus the 11th. A response shall not be necessary in this forum; her appearance, or more likely the lack thereof, shall be taken as indication of her faith in the validity of her position, and of her willingness to engage in such debate without the protection of a penname in a written forum.
Smarch 12, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
Following yesterday's salon, I would like to issue a public apology to the patrons and owners of Wuther's Heights Tea Shop, and promise to honor both the agreement to never again patronize the business, and to replace the very fine silvered mirror that was so unfortunately broken over the Grand Dame's head. I would also like to extend my full respect to the Grand Dame herself, who displayed a vitriol and vigor far exceeding the average for a beast of her years. I certainly hope that, upon our next meeting, we can engage in a more respectful and sedate exchange of literary opinion, one less colored by vital fluids than our last.
Smarch 19, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I, too, would like to issue my apology to the Tea Shop, and promise that the cough-ee bar shall be replaced in full once a shipment of appropriate wood is received in port. I additionally acknowledge the respect given by the Forlorn Vixen, and wish her a speedy recovery from the minor lacerations to her torso, as well as the ill-considered bite marks on her ear. I additionally acknowledge the offer of a more moderate discussion in the future, and graciously accept such terms. Perhaps Friday, Soggus the 25th? I have recently come into possession of a copy of "The Siren and the Sailor", and would be most intrigued to hear the Forlorn Vixen's interpretation of fantasy romance as a genre. I shall eagerly await your next column on the topic.
Frimary 15, 1765
Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
The recently published work by author Agalia Braig, "The Duke and the Dowager", is a marked improvement over her previous works in a number of ways. First, Agalia appears to have taken firm action to expose herself to actual living beasts and the modes and pattens of communication used in a variety of situations and toward a variety of purposes, most notably romance, and by such action has remarkably improved the quality of her dialogue. Any reader of her work will recall the incessant criticism and mockery engendered by her frequent use of the adjective 'watery' throughout her work "Seven Suitors for Lady Smythe", and will be relieved to find that she, or at least her editor, have extracted this particular word from her lexicon with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. She has, regrettably, lapsed into other forms of descriptive sloth, namely in describing gazes as 'smoky' when her intent is clearly that they be 'smoldering'. One can only hope that her editors shall dangle her above a fireplace lit with wet twigs until her experience of a smoky environment shall render her allergic to any mention of the word, much less its use.
Where Agalia has always succeeded is in the development of compelling and nuanced characters with myriad and conflicting motivations. In this, "The Duke and the Dowager" is her finest work yet. The Duke of Magh, Montgomery Maltressor, bears such a tortured soul that, aside from the unforgivable alliteration in his naming, the only discernable flaw in Agalia's work is in failing to make his scarred psyche the product of a misanthropic interrogation. Certainly it would have been more interesting if the downfall from which his noble house sought recovery was due to the unjust intervention of that shadowy ministry; the reasons given, while compelling, are overused and overwrought to the point of being hackneyed, and no amount of wallowing in grief and guilt can overcome the shallowness of the ill treatment shown to this, the primary romantic interest. Indeed, were his methods more couth than those employed in the narrative, he would be unforgivably dull and unworthy of any investment of attention by either the reader or the writer.
In our female lead, as always, we find Agalia at her finest, and her eponymous dowager, the Lady Chrisilla Chemsworth (one can only pray that her surname begins with a soft ch, lest the author face summary execution for her alliterative crimes against the Vulpinsulan language and literature writ large), is in every way the complicated character one desires in a good romantic novel, rather than a merely passable one. Following the death of her husband, the shipping tycoon Sir Christopher Chemsworth (one can almost hear the grisly gallows of alliterative elimination moaning mournfully in the wailing wind), Agalia finds herself atop a mercantile empire that, by virtue of a flaw in her late husband's will, only her husband (should she take another) or her six-year-old son, upon achieving age of majority, may direct. In the meantime receivership falls into the hands of her late husband's avaricious uncle, who is quite determined to impose austerity upon Chrisilla and her son, depriving them of the lavish lifestyle to which they have become so accustomed. Here Chrisilla should, by all rights, present to the reader as unbearably petty and spoiled, and yet Agalia masterfully infects the reader with a sense of kinship with the beleaguered widow. A few choice lines planted here and there, like roses amongst weeds, rescue an otherwise irredeemable presentation and provide opportunity for growth. The reader's willingness to offer a chance for redemption comes mainly from the inference that Chrisilla was, in fact, low-born, and her marriage to Sir Chemsworth was one of genuine affection that time and money have curdled much like milk left abandoned on the doorstep. Faced with a return to the poverty of her youth, the primary concern expressed is not for herself, but for the deprivation that might befall her son, a child whose nonverbal state requires the assistance of a staff of attentive (and expensive) specialists and tutors. Sans the care her fortune has provided to date, Chrisilla fully expects to see the Chemsworth house decay within a generation.
The introduction of the Duke of Magh presents an uneasy escape for Chrisilla initially, as he appears first with an offer of marriage that seems entirely mercantile in nature: he will wed Chrisilla and provide for her not only from her husband's wealth but from his own as well. The first glimmer of character growth shows as Chrisilla refuses the Duke's offer categorically, unwilling to entrust her son's wellbeing to a todd whose only interest is in her fortune. This sets off the long arc of the narrative, in which the Duke adapts his approach to focus on Chrisilla's son, forming a fatherly bond that, as the young orphan and his mother adapt to the Duke's presence, grows from the performative to the truly paternal. Here Agalia's improved dialogue pays dividends, investing the reader directly in the revelations and confessions of the Duke and the Dowager respectively. The Dowager confesses that her love for her late husband was soured by his inattentiveness, albeit one born from distraction by the demands of the very business that provided for his wife and son. The Duke, in turn, admits that he has little in the way of business acumen, and would be ill-equipped to run the shipping company; were he in control of it, he would rather sell off the business and focus his time and attention on his family. As with all of Agalia's novels, this eventually culminates in a steamy conjugation of body and soul that places this work squarely among the elite of the so-called 'bodice ripper' novels.
Sadly, it is at the last minute that Agalia stumbles, subverting the entire narrative and its expectations. Chrisilla finds a letter in the Duke's coat pocket from his sister back on Magh, warning him that creditors are circling the family's holdings and that, if they do not come into a fortune soon, they shall be left entirely destitute. Chrisilla realizes that the Duke was only ever using her for her fortune, and should she marry him, she would find herself and her son in a reduced state regardless. She confronts the Duke, who admits to his family's monetary woes but begs Chrisilla to stay with him anyway, pleading that they don't need riches, they just need enough to be happy together as a family. In an act of narrative malpractice, Chrisilla dismisses the Duke, warning him never to approach her or her family again.
Here Agalia drives a dagger into the heart of her own work in what can only be called an inexcusable betrayal of the reader's investment of time and attention. Chrisilla approaches her late husband's uncle and offers him a compromise: she will marry him, giving him sole control and ownership of the company, so long as he continues to fund her son's care. The uncle agrees, and the pair are swiftly and unceremoniously wed. The pain of this betrayal is extended further by an epilogue set one year hence, in which Chrisilla and her son, while traveling through a nearby town, are treated to the son's first word: "Duke!" He points to outside of a tavern, where a scruffy, somewhat unkempt todd is drinking away his sorrows. It is indeed the eponymous Duke, reduced to vagrancy by his failure. He spots Chrisilla and, after a moment's pause, treats her to a sincere bow, one that communicates an affection that, despite her dismissal and his current circumstances, has never died. Chrisilla ends the novel realizing that, while she kept all of her material wealth and comfort, she lost the love she desired most of all.
There is, I suppose, a tragic justice in this ending, a cautionary tale about the risks of trading happiness for comfort. Still, in a genre built upon the unrealistic, this dose of heady realism feels inappropriate. The reader has, after all, invested over eight hours into the consumption of this narrative; one would expect to be rewarded for this investment with a sense of serenity and satisfaction, not melancholy and malcontent. One can only hope that this experiment in narrative subversion shall be the last we witness from Agalia, lest her authorial career descend into the gates of the Hells themselves. Should that day come to pass, one can only hope that Vulpuz is a more forgiving reader than myself.
Frimary 22, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
As regards the Forlorn Vixen's review of "The Duke and the Dowager" in the last edition, I must offer my sincere applause for her literary analysis. I have followed her reviews for some time now, and have been delighted to see the progression from the amateur to the authoritative. Her cutting remarks concerning Agalia Braig's writerly quirks are well-earned and well-appreciated both, and, as always, her appreciation for the fine art of characterization marks her as a truly scholarly mind. Sadly, it is on the topic of the book's conclusion that our opinions must diverge.
It is in my humble opinion that the ending of this book elevates Agalia's latest work above all others not only in her bibliography, but perhaps the entire genre. Agalia demonstrates a more nuanced understanding of the compromises that we as femmes must make for the sake of our happiness and that of our families than she has ever shown in her previous works. As any mother can tell you, our role is one of constant compromise between our own wellbeing and that of our kits; we are held to a standard to which fathers are not, as Agalia keenly highlights with how the absentee father of Christopher is lauded at his funeral as a devoted father, while Chrisella privately recalls the last time her husband devoted any measure of attention to his son was at the latter's nameday party three years prior. This establishes that Chrisella not only is devoted to her son's wellbeing, but it is the primary driver of her character, to the point that she refuses the Duke's offer of marriage when she still cannot trust his intent toward her son. It is with this in mind that we must interpret the ending of the novel.
Chrisella faces the hardest choice a mother must ever face: that of choosing between her own happiness, and that of her family. If she marries the Duke, then she shall have a life with him, albeit one far less than what she and her son have experienced to date; moreover, they shall doubtlessly have to give up many of the expensive specialists and tutors who tend to her son's needs and welfare. This, in the end, is the deciding factor that causes her to sacrifice her own happiness for that of her son. The epilogue adds to the bittersweet nature of this compromise, showing the depths of Chrisella's sacrifice and honoring it by demonstrating a respectful character in the much-reduced Duke. Had the Duke spit at her, then her sacrifice would have been much diminished by making him vulgar of character and unworthy of her affection; that, even when destitute, he demonstrates his respect for her turns her sacrifice from the mercenary to the magnanimous.
In short, I hope that Forlorn Vixen reconsiders the work in the light of this analysis. I am quite certain that the body of the literary public will come to regard "The Duke and the Dowager" as a masterpiece in the full course of time, once it is given due consideration.
Smarch 1, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
As always, I appreciate the response by the Grand Dame, and recognize that her opinions are colored by a lifetime's accumulated wealth of experience. Certainly there is an emotional maturity to the sacrifice Chrisella makes for the sake of her son, but it is that very emotional maturity that makes "The Duke and the Dowager" an unwelcome addition to the genre it inhabits. Melancholy conclusions are anathema to the romantic genre; the much lauded 'happy ending' is, after all, a defining trait of the genre, without which no novel can be considered for membership. Therefore "The Duke and the Dowager" is unwelcome in the genre precisely because it is a character drama masquerading as a romance, and should be considered a departure from Agalia's other works.
As regards the epilogue, I must adamantly disagree with the Grand Dame's learned opinion. The theme of the epilogue is not in honoring the sacrifice made, but in demonstrating Chrisella's regret for her ill-considered choice. The Duke is still noble of character, even in poverty, because that is his immutable characteristic; it is intended as an indictment of Chrisella's character that she rejected him in favor of her late husband's stodgy uncle, not to laud her for her self-sacrifice. Should she have chosen the Duke as her husband, her station may well have been reduced in life; she would have experienced more humble circumstances than before, though certainly more akin to our own Zann's Backyard the Trenches or Slups. Moreover, the progress made by the Duke in reaching Chrisella's son indicates that the attention needed is not that of a small army of experts, but that of a devoted father; that the son's first word is "Duke!" in the epilogue only services to make this point more poignant. Had she chosen to marry the Duke instead, by the time of the epilogue, her son may well have been fully verbal and thriving, and Chrisella happily engaged in a devoted and satisfying marriage. Her choice therefore can only be regarded as a tragedy, and should not be lauded in any form.
Smarch 8, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
As regards the Forlorn Vixen's latest response, I can only bemoan an opinion born from what I presume to be the naiveté of the young. The satisfaction in "The Duke and the Dowager" is not found in yet another bland happy ending in which no true sacrifice or hardship is made, and therefore no character growth is experienced; rather, it is precisely in the growth of Chrisella's character to put her son's needs above her own that we find a character who shall endure the test of time and be held aloft as a literary model for future generations of authors. As drawing on the 'lifetime's accumulated wealth of experience', as the Forlorn Vixen so artfully terms it, I can speak authoritatively that, at any number of junctures, I might well have pursued short-term happiness over the long-term wellbeing of my own family. With the benefit of hindsight, I can state definitively that, had I done so, it would have been to my own destruction and to the devastation of those whose happiness matters most to my own. That the Forlorn Vixen is unfamiliar with this phenomenon is perhaps indicative of a life little experienced save for the fantasies presented by the genre she so vehemently champions.
Smarch 15, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
I express my most sincere condolences to the Grand Dame on the result of her lifetime of self-sacrifice and compromise. Truly, to surrender all hope of a happy marital state is a tragedy, and I can only hope that she shall memorialize her own story in autobiography one day, and that she shall have the decency to at least market it as 'drama' rather than 'romance'. The purpose of the romance genre is to kindle the spark of hope for marital bliss in the hearts of femmes both young and old, and to inspire them to seek it in their own circumstances. That the Grand Dame's heart is so inured to even the potential for such happiness shall be ranked among history's greatest tragedies, perhaps filed right alongside "The Duke and the Dowager" in its most appropriate genre classification.
Smarch 22, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I most enthusiastically invite the Forlorn Vixen to descend from the heavens and perhaps engage in a few deep exhalations to remove the cloudstuff that is clearly fogging her mind. The purpose of truly great literature is to inspire the reader to reconsider their own notions and to challenge the dominant worldview. Agalia has, much like the fisherman's wife dreaming of ballgowns and banquets, dared to reach above her station as an author of the much-derided 'romance' genre, and in so doing has created a work that transcends the pettiness of its origins. One cannot fault her for doing so, for it would be akin to slighting the minstrel who, after a lifetime of bawdy tavern songs, finally composes a great epic or a romantic ballad that stirs the heart to wakefulness. Should the minstrel's work be demeaned because it does not continue in the same verse as his prior work, or should he be congratulated for overcoming the meanness of his past performance? I strongly advise the Forlorn Vixen to reconsider her own life and, perhaps, to experience some measure of it for a change prior to insulting another's.
Smarch 29, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
The invitation from the Grand Dame of Zann has been carefully considered and, after a sustained period of consultation with the myriad closely-held lovers and family in this opinion writer's life, I cordially invite the Grand Dame to remove the truncheon that seems to have lodged itself in a most unfortunate location about her posterior. Whence originated this truncheon, I cannot say, but perhaps the Grand Dame would find herself in a better state if she spent less time in a compromising position with numerous members of the Fogey Police.
Soggus 5, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I thank the Forlorn Vixen for her well-considered advice and, after due consideration, I invite her to defend her literary position in-person at a small, private salon to be held at Wuther's Heights Tea Shop in the Trenches on Friday Soggus the 11th. A response shall not be necessary in this forum; her appearance, or more likely the lack thereof, shall be taken as indication of her faith in the validity of her position, and of her willingness to engage in such debate without the protection of a penname in a written forum.
Smarch 12, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Forlorn Vixen of Fishminster
Following yesterday's salon, I would like to issue a public apology to the patrons and owners of Wuther's Heights Tea Shop, and promise to honor both the agreement to never again patronize the business, and to replace the very fine silvered mirror that was so unfortunately broken over the Grand Dame's head. I would also like to extend my full respect to the Grand Dame herself, who displayed a vitriol and vigor far exceeding the average for a beast of her years. I certainly hope that, upon our next meeting, we can engage in a more respectful and sedate exchange of literary opinion, one less colored by vital fluids than our last.
Smarch 19, 1765
Re: Concerning "The Duke and the Dowager"
Opinion by The Grand Dame of Zann
I, too, would like to issue my apology to the Tea Shop, and promise that the cough-ee bar shall be replaced in full once a shipment of appropriate wood is received in port. I additionally acknowledge the respect given by the Forlorn Vixen, and wish her a speedy recovery from the minor lacerations to her torso, as well as the ill-considered bite marks on her ear. I additionally acknowledge the offer of a more moderate discussion in the future, and graciously accept such terms. Perhaps Friday, Soggus the 25th? I have recently come into possession of a copy of "The Siren and the Sailor", and would be most intrigued to hear the Forlorn Vixen's interpretation of fantasy romance as a genre. I shall eagerly await your next column on the topic.
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