Hello, everyone! Welcome back to the reread of Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. You can find the full schedule for the reread in the introduction post; catch up on past posts at the reread index; or check out Tor.com’s other posts about this book through its tag.
Please note that these reread posts will contain spoilers for all of JS&MN plus The Ladies of Grace Adieu. There’s accordingly no need to warn for spoilers in the comments—and comments are highly encouraged.
This week, the reread covers chapters 55 through 59 in Volume III, in which Jonathan Strange enters Faerie and is surprised at what he finds.
Chapter 55: The second shall see his dearest possession in his enemy’s hand
Night of 2nd/3rd December 1816
What Happens
Jonathan finds a Faerie wood overlaid upon Venice, and follows the glittering path to the house he saw at Windsor, which is really a brugh (“the interior of a barrow or hollow hill”). Inside, he finds a room full of people dancing, and is surprised to meet Stephen Black (whose name he cannot remember). Before the dance carries Stephen away, he tells Jonathan, “For God’s sake, sir, what are you doing here? Don’t you know that he hates you?” But Jonathan cannot parse the warning and ignores it as possibly an illusion.
The gentleman is anxious and frightened to see Jonathan there; he dismisses Stephen’s suggestion that Jonathan has come for Arabella, since Jonathan never mentioned her previously, and sees him as a threat. Stephen attempts to convince the gentleman to release Arabella and Lady Pole, but the gentleman entirely misinterprets him and is inspired to inflict “Darkness, misery and solitude!” on Jonathan.
Jonathan dances with a fairy woman who tells him that he is prophesied to fail and offers to talk with him when he is next at liberty, “[a] hundred years from tonight.” After the dance, Jonathan sees a woman with a missing finger, wonders if she was the owner of the finger given to him by the gentleman, and approaches her as she talks to another woman—who is Arabella.
Arabella is pleased but not overjoyed to see him; Lady Pole (who Jonathan does not know) discourages her from speaking with him, because “[n]o hope at all is better than ceaseless disappointment!” Before the conversation proceeds any further, the gentleman casts an overwhelming spell on Jonathan, filling the hall for successive instants with birds, leaves spinning in the wind, and a rain of blood, and then sends him back to Venice. Though it took all his strength, he considers Jonathan defeated. He calls Stephen brother and promises to find his name.
Commentary
My summaries are getting longer and longer, but at this point there’s so much happening that I can’t get them any shorter. My apologies if it approaches tl;dr territory for anyone.
So this chapter title. First, of course, it’s very exciting: finally, he’s going to find out about Arabella! Second, it reminded me to check in on the prophecy. I quoted it in full in the post about chapter 13, but the bits directly relevant here are:
The first shall fear me; the second shall long to behold me;
The first shall be governed by thieves and murderers; the second shall conspire at his own destruction;
The first shall bury his heart in a dark wood beneath the snow, yet still feel its ache;
The second shall see his dearest possession in his enemy’s hand…
The first shall pass his life alone; he shall be his own gaoler;
The second shall tread lonely roads, the storm above his head, seeking a dark tower upon a high hillside…
(Ellipses, as before, in original.) I think “conspire at his own destruction” must be the tincture of madness. “The storm above his head” is of course what the gentleman just did. I’m not entirely sure what “seeking a dark tower” refers to, as opposed to being in one involuntarily; it may be metaphorical, or I may be failing to remember a detail of the next chapters. The bits applying to Norrell seem pretty self-evident, though Lascelles hasn’t yet reached murderer status, well, that we are aware of.
Lady Pole and Arabella. As you may recall from when Arabella first met Lady Pole, Jonathan spent that whole visit talking with Sir Walter; and since, when John Segundus first met Lady Pole he immediately knew she was under an enchantment, we inferred that he’d never met her since. That seems confirmed here, though he puts it together pretty quickly in the next chapter. Lady Pole’s bitterness seems quite understandable to me, as when she was well, she was very decisive and forthright; and it’s been over nine years, I don’t blame her for giving up on hope. Arabella’s ambivalence toward Jonathan is more unexpected; I think this must be the effect of being under the gentleman’s magic (as is also discussed regarding Stephen in the last chapter of this set), particularly the way she looked at him “as if she were looking at a picture of him, rather than the flesh-and-blood man.”
As noted in the summary, Jonathan doesn’t remember Stephen’s name, “though he had heard Sir Walter speak it a hundred times.” This ties so neatly into the “nameless slave” that I’m half inclined to think Jonathan’s forgetfulness is caused by the magical resonance there, rather than just not paying attention to a Negro servant. On reflection, I’m going to believe that it’s both.
We can also play the counterfactual/AU game here: what if Jonathan had heeded Stephen’s warning? What if he had previously asked the gentleman about Arabella, so that the gentleman had reason to believe he could satisfy Jonathan by releasing her? I think Jonathan would have still had the motivation to attempt to defeat the gentleman more broadly, but I don’t know if that would have taken the form of restoring English magic, or if he would have had the desperation-born strength (or the insights born of madness, which I must think Arabella would have strongly discouraged). This is supported by the fairy woman telling Jonathan that he is prophesied to fail so that magic can be restored.
Finally, two minor things. First, small bits of setting up the ending: on the way to Lost-hope, Jonathan is excited to be active and traveling; and the gentleman’s curse “stretched to their utmost limit” his old alliances, which probably made it easier for Jonathan to disrupt them and restore the Raven King’s. Second: who did say that “a magician needs the subtlety of a Jesuit, the daring of a soldier and the wits of a thief”? I suspect the answer is “Susanna Clarke,” but maybe it rings a bell for someone else.
Chapter 56: The Black Tower
3rd/4th December 1816
What Happens
Jonathan comes to Dr Greysteel in the middle of the night to urge him to send Flora away, because someone nearby wishes to imprison her. He also realizes that Norrell “has lied to everybody” about magic. Dr Greysteel thinks that Jonathan fears that he would himself harm Flora, but decides Flora and Aunt Greysteel should leave while he and Frank (their servant) stay to help Jonathan. Flora is very reluctant, but when Aunt Greysteel insists on telling her the truth, she agrees for the peace of mind of her father and aunt, and they leave that day.
Later that day, Dr Greysteel and Frank see “a black tower of impossible vastness” in the middle of Venice, and Venetian priests and members of the Austrian government come to Dr Greysteel to beg his intercession with Jonathan, who the tower is centered on. Dr Greysteel and Frank find Jonathan doing magic and are alarmed to hear him say that Arabella is alive. He, in turn, is alarmed to hear that it almost noon and the Darkness is unnatural.
The next day everyone is gossiping about the poor, mad English magician, thanks to Lord Byron, who had visited him the prior afternoon. Dr Greysteel goes to see Lord Byron, and they have an entirely unsatisfactory conversation.
Commentary
I don’t think it actually protects Miss Greysteel to send her away from Venice, but it was genuinely good of Jonathan to be concerned for her. Speaking of her, the narrator mentions “the family habit of regarding Miss Greysteel as someone of exceptional abilities and intelligence”; she hasn’t really had opportunity to show that yet, but it’s coming. Also, good for Aunt Greysteel for insisting that they tell her the truth, “something which had never occurred to Dr Greysteel and Frank.” (Here insert a mild but heartfelt eyeroll.)
I am not sure why the Darkness should suck snow into itself. But I choose to believe that the cats of Venice have flocked to the Darkness because Mrs Delgado wants Jonathan to have company, not that he probably notices.
Dr Greysteel’s conversation with Lord Byron is pretty funny—I particularly liked Dr Greysteel thinking that Byron’s expression when he attempted to attract a passing woman “suggest[ed] that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion.” It is also interesting that the narrator says Byron “had a little of the look of Christopher Drawlight—but only if Drawlight had been fearfully clever.” This association further suggests the narrator isn’t too impressed with Byron, and is another little reminder of Drawlight’s existence before his reappearance in the last chapter of this set. We had a few in the prior chapters: when Jonathan’s madness takes the form of extreme emotional distance, he thinks to himself, “I think I turned into Lascelles or Drawlight! How perfectly horrible!”; and when Jonathan is trying to understand the gentleman’s bringing him a finger, he remembers Drawlight telling him something about it.
Chapter 57: The Black Letters
December 1816
What Happens
Jonathan writes letters of varying coherence to Henry Woodhope, Arabella’s brother, telling him that she is not dead but stolen by a fairy and enchanted under the earth. He begs Henry to come to Venice and help, because he cannot go about the city unobserved, though he also tells Henry that he knows of no spell that can free her.
Stephen and the gentleman observe Jonathan, who is certainly mired in darkness and misery, but is not as solitary as the gentleman would like, because Lord Byron is there taking notes for his poems. Stephen manages to convince the gentleman to grant Lord Byron another five years of life instead of killing him on the spot. Stephen also realizes that Lady Pole’s finger is no longer the gentleman’s and hopes that Jonathan can do some magic to free her, but “the signs were scarcely hopeful”: he doesn’t see Jonathan so much as look at it while they are there.
Commentary
One of Jonathan’s letters to Henry blames himself for neglecting Arabella and not paying attention to other people’s warnings. At the time I didn’t blame him; I’m not sure if his assessment of his own culpability can be trusted here, given his mental state, but it’s worth noting.
Stephen’s lack of hope that Jonathan will free Lady Pole is significant in two ways. First, it’s a neat bit of misdirection: it’s certainly plausible that Jonathan would obsess about Arabella to the exclusion of Lady Pole, and the letters here do nothing to contradict that. This makes his subsequent conversation with Drawlight, two chapters from now, more dramatic and a relief. Second, it increases Stephen’s disaffection with Englishmen and English magic, which will motivate his actions at the end of the book.
Also, the gentleman makes explicit what Jonathan’s fairy dance partner implied: the Darkness will last for one hundred years.
Chapter 58: Henry Woodhope pays a visit
December 1816
What Happens
Henry seeks help from Mr Norrell, who tells him that Jonathan is deluded, Arabella is not alive, and Henry should try to bring Jonathan home to be cared for. Lascelles then questions Henry in a way that makes clear that he’s looking to slander Jonathan and blame him for Arabella’s death, and asks to borrow Jonathan’s letters. (Henry mentions that Jeremy Johns, Jonathan’s servant, had Arabella’s coffin exhumed and reportedly found a log of black wood, which Henry doesn’t believe but which clearly means something to Mr Norrell.) Lascelles makes plans to send someone other than Childermass to Venice.
The Duke of Wellington returns to London to discuss the occupation of France. He is unperturbed at the news that Jonathan has apparently gone mad (and that “it was no longer possible to transport pineapples into Venice”).
In January, a bookseller publishes The Black Letters, which purport to be Jonathan’s letters to Henry. Henry swore that he had never given permission for their publication and that they had been altered: “References to Norrell’s dealings with Lady Pole had been removed and other things had been put in, many of which seemed to suggest that Strange had murdered his wife by magic.” One of Lord Byron’s friends also accuses Mr Norrell of trying to steal his correspondence with Lord Byron by magic.
Commentary
Ugh, I hate Lascelles so much. Norrell too, but it’s at least possible to see a principle behind his actions (I don’t think it’s wrong to want to break English magic of dependence on fairies), even though the actions themselves are deplorable. Lascelles just wants to maintain his power.
There’s another mention of the opposition between religion and magic in this chapter, with Lord Byron’s friend using a Bible to preserve his letters. In chapter 54, Jonathan had told the gentleman that “[a] salt-cellar, a rowan-tree, a fragment of the consecrated host” all make him unsettled and require him to take them into account so that his spells will work. I still find it a little weird that religious magic, essentially, is a thing in this world, but I think I just have to accept that all the beliefs in other-than-natural occurrences have a basis in reality: folktales about fairies and other magical creatures, animism, and religion.
Chapter 59: Leucrocuta, the Wolf of the Evening
January 1817
What Happens
Dr Greysteel is approached by a poor yet foppish man who claims to be a friend of Jonathan’s, but is spreading rumors that Jonathan killed Arabella. Under direct questioning, the man is forced to admit that he is Christopher Drawlight. Dr Greysteel visits every British family in the city and warns them to avoid Drawlight; Drawlight attempts to suborn Frank, Dr Greysteel’s servant, but is kicked into the canal for his efforts.
Jonathan has been trying to reach Drawlight with the water from the canals and now brings him into the Darkness. Jonathan calls him a Leucrocuta and threatens to return him to his proper form, to Drawlight’s fear and Jonathan’s peals of laughter. Once they both calm down, Drawlight says that Lascelles paid his debts so he could leave prison and sent him to Venice. Jonathan gives Drawlight three tasks and says if he completes them, he will not take revenge on Drawlight. First, he asks for Lady Pole’s name and location; he tells Drawlight to tell Childermass that Emma Wintertowne is not mad, but that Norrell gave a fairy “all sorts of rights over her” in return from raising her from the dead, and also directs Drawlight to give Childermass the box with her finger. Second, Drawlight must take a message to all the magicians in England:
“My pupils,” he said. “My pupils are magicians. All the men and women who ever wanted to be Norrell’s pupils are magicians. Childermass is another. Segundus another. Honeyfoot. The subscribers to the magical journals. The members of the old societies. England is full of magicians. Hundreds! Thousands perhaps! Norrell refused them. Norrell denied them. Norrell silenced them. But they are magicians nonetheless. Tell them this.” He passed his hand across his forehead and breathed hard for a moment. “Tree speaks to stone; stone speaks to water. It is not so hard as we have supposed. Tell them to read what is written in the sky. Tell them to ask the rain! All of John Uskglass’s old alliances are still in place. I am sending messengers to remind the stones and the sky and the rain of their ancient promises.”
He drinks from the tincture of madness (which he had refrained from using while attempting to reach Drawlight) and shows Drawlight what he means, giving him a vision of Ancient Spirits and of being subsumed into England itself. Drawlight watches Jonathan turn the stones of a nearby wall into so many ravens that they blot out the sky above.
“Lord Magician,” gasped Drawlight. “You have not told me what the third message is.”
Strange looked round. Without warning he seized Drawlight’s coat and pulled him close. Drawlight could feel Strange’s stinking breath on his face and for the first time he could see his face. Starlight shone on fierce, wild eyes, from which all humanity and reason had fled.
“Tell Norrell I am coming!” hissed Strange. “Now, go!”
Drawlight goes.
Back in England, Stephen’s enchantment is taking more of a toll than ever on his emotions, and he is more and more distant from his English friends. The gentleman comes to visit and feels someone attempting to open “the doors between England and everywhere else.” He takes Stephen to see what is happening, and they witness the ravens going “back to England with instructions for the Sky and the Earth and the Rivers and the Hills. He is calling up all the King’s old allies. Soon they will attend to English magicians, rather than to me!” The gentleman tells Stephen “[w]e must redouble our efforts to make you King!”
Commentary
The title critter is also known as the Leucrota, and is similar to the Crocotta. Honestly I’d have picked something less fearsome and more scurrying for Drawlight, but it wouldn’t have been as effective in scaring him. Also, I am not, as far as I know, mad.
Jonathan’s message to the magicians of England is such a perfect culmination of everything the book has been working toward that, paradoxically, all I can do is admire it. All the groundwork for his conclusion has been laid throughout, and now here it is, said out loud. (Also, I want to hear it. Dear BBC, these scenes are going to be so hard to nail, please don’t screw it up, it will amazing if you get it right!)
Drawlight’s vision of English magic is similarly hard to summarize, so just some minor points. I badly want fanart or something of one of the Ancient Spirits he sees, “a Small Creature with Dark and Fiery Thoughts.” Also, I had forgotten that his vision of becoming merged with England ends with him becoming a tree, which maybe doesn’t explain his later transformation, but at least seems relevant. (I know we’ve discussed this before, but this is happens to be another example of why I prefer the narrator to be omniscient rather than an in-world character who’s reconstructing things after the fact, because I want that vision to be what happened and not what someone else inferred.)
Finally, Stephen’s state of mind. The enchantment means he can only feel bitter emotions now (see also: Lady Pole, at the start of this post). I want to comment on this passage in particular:
The division and estrangement between him and his English friends grew ever deeper. The gentleman might be a fiend, but when he spoke of the pride and self-importance of Englishmen, Stephen found it hard to deny the justice of what he said. Even Lost-hope, dreary as it was, was sometimes a welcome refuge from English arrogance and English malice; there at least Stephen had never needed to apologize for being what he was; there he had only ever been treated as an honoured guest.
Again, this will feed into his actions at the end of the book. But it also made me ache for him all over again in sorrow and sympathy. I’ve had a similar feeling, where after one too many brushes with racism in a row, I just wanted to find some friendly brown faces and not deal with any white people—and those were quite minor bits of racism, nothing like what Stephen regularly experienced. To head off any potential trolls who might stop by: no, I don’t hate white people (see?), but I think most people know the relief that comes from entering the company of people who are all “like you,” on whatever axis is most relevant at the moment (geeks, women, etc.), and who, because of that, know how your position on that axis has shaped your experiences. And Stephen doesn’t even have that: he gets to escape human racism, but lacks the solace of commiserating with anyone who understands what he’s escaping.
I have thus decided to believe that when he becomes the nameless king, he offers black people in England (and elsewhere, if he has the ability to do so) a voluntary refuge in the brugh.
And on that hopeful but entirely speculative note, I’ll turn it over to you all. How did you feel about all the major happenings of these chapters?
See you next week for the second-to-last post (can you believe it?) on this book, covering chapters 60 through 64. Also, if you’re at Arisia in Boston this weekend, I’ll be doing some things, feel free to say hi!
Kate Nepveu was born in South Korea and grew up in New England. She now lives in upstate New York where she is practicing law, raising a family, and (in her copious free time) writing at Dreamwidth and her booklog.
I’ve always liked that Susanna Clarke chose Venice for this part of the story. In literature, Venice is almost always associated with deciept, trickery, or outright magic. The most prominent example is in Merchant of Venice, with Portia’s faerie-like twisting of Shylock’s “pound of flesh.”
The structure of Venice is also unique: the city was built to be seen from the canals. That’s where most of the buildings face front, but most people today walk the street. (I don’t remember the exact ratio of street to canal traveling in the book). It gives you the feel of almost two worlds, nesting and co-existing. Also, the maps of Venice are confusing. You’ll be walking along and take a turn and it will be a dead end into a canal.
England might be the home of faerie magic, but Venice is the city that best mirrors this book’s human world-faerie world relationship.
I like that headcanon.
Subtlety and Jesuits, which seemed to me the most unique part of that description, seems to be somewhat of a trope? Particularly older sources use it in a sort of semi-derogatory way — the way “sly” is used — sometimes alongside other… er… questionable comparisons.
DaniMarien @@@@@ #1, that is very interesting about Venice, thank you! There’s a very interesting post-canon fanfic from this year’s Yuletide rare-fandom fanfic exchange that has a lot of Venice in it that may interest you, City of Salt and Time.
What’s in a name? @@@@@ #2, well, Jonathan does think it was probably supposed to be an insult . . .
I love the details in this book. In these chapters, the detail about being unable to import pineapples makes me chuckle.
Werechull @@@@@ #4, yes, me too! Flying out of boats, hee.
Like Kate, I went back to the beginning to check the prophesy poems. And in flipping past, I was reminded that the low dockside dive where Childermass met Vinculus was called The Pineapple. Hee.
Also, I’d forgotten that the Stranges lived in Clun. People must live there, I suppose, but it’ll always be Housman’s “quietest place” to me.
Byron probably was suffering from indigestion a lot of the time: wasn’t he the one who lived on potatoes and vinegar, so as to keep his boyish figure?
If Drawlight is a Leucrocotta, then Lascelles is obviously a vampire. Pure predator, that man.
“Jesuitical” in the mouth of a 19th-century English Protestant is not a compliment. It suggests “equivocation” at best, or a fancy word for lying. And at worst, it suggests Gunpowder, Treason and Plot.
Speaking of Jesuits, maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing, but “religious magic” doesn’t seem at all odd to me. When you think about it, the sacraments themselves are a kind of magic: the priest says some words of consecration or baptism or absolution, and something happens that depends partly on his words and actions, and partly by invoking a greater power. And there’s a lot of tradition and custom where it’s hard to tell where doctrine ends and folklore or superstition begin, the miracles ascribed to the saints, holy wells and holy islands and holy water (somebody should sprinkle some on Lascelles), prayers that might just as easily be charms.
It seems quite logical to me that the Bible, which is after all entirely made of written words which have been treated as powerful in themselves, could foil a spell which attacked written words.
Jonathan becoming a tree, and his generally distressing condition in this chapter, reminded me of the Irsh stories of the mad king Sweeney, who annoyed a saint and was cursed with madness and driven to live entirely in the treetops:
the man you are looking for roosts in his tree. The life God grants me
now is bare and strait; I am haggard, womanless, and cut off from music.. . . Ronan has brought me low, God has exiled me from myself – soldiers, forget the man you knew.
(From Seumas Heaney’s translation)
Amaryllis, maybe it’s because I’m *not* religious, but I just have a vague feeling that religions would sort of . . . not want to be considered on the same level as magic from other sources–take the folding-in of pre-existing ideas as religions spread and re-attributing them to religion, for instance. But probably I don’t have the right fundamental mindset for this because I am so not religious.
And if I may be permitted a second combox, there were two people I meant to mention:
– I was rather impressed by Doctor Greysteel in this section. He may be dull in his conversation and conventional in his ideas, but he’s been a loyal friend and loving father. It’s not everyone who’d have walked into the Darkness like that.
– I was amused by Wellington’s sang-froid. “If Mr Strange is mad, then he intends to be mad, best to leave him to get on with whatever he’s doing.” That’s the spirit that won Waterloo!
Crossing comments….
Certainly in the real world, priests and pastors have preached against superstition– which usually means other people’s beliefs. Or held firmly that their brand of magic is the only true one: the transubstantiation of the eucharistic host is doctrine but transfiguration spells are nonsense, angels are true but fairies are fiction, that kind of thing.
But what bishops say and what people think are not necessarily the same thing, and I guess I’ve read enough Irish and Scottish legends, which happily mix up saints and spells, to be used to it.
On the other hand, did you ever read Edward Eager’s Seven-Day Magic? Five children have found a magic book which takes them on magical adventures, every day for seven days. But, by strong-minded Susan’s decree, not on Sunday: “Magic’s not a Sunday thing. Not that it’s sinful, I don’t mean. But they just wouldn’t mix.”
Amaryllis, yes, Dr Greysteel is not sparkling or innovative, but he is loyal and considerate. And Welllington was hilarious; I trimmed out at least one more quote from him for length.
I guess I have the same intuition as Susan, but your perspective makes a lot of sense to me!
@Kate: forgive me if this comes off as belaboring the point. But I heard something today which amused me, and I hope it does you.
I was listening to a program of folk music from the BBC this afternoon, and they played a song called “The Reverend Jones,” by Anne Lister, which I don’t think I’ve ever heard before:
Although his house may be rubble and stones
The fairies still dance with the Reverend Jones.
Of course I’m a Christian he said to his foes
God creates more than we can know
Humans are not on this world alone
Of course there are fairies said the Reverend Jones.
So I looked him up; Edmund Jones was a Dissenting minister in 18th-century Wales who wrote a book called A Relation of Apparitions of Spirits in the County of Monmouth and Principality of Wales; With other relations from England; together with observations about them and instructions from them, designed to prevent the infidelity of denying the being and Apparitions of Spirits, which Tends to Irreligion and Atheism.
(You knew what you were in for with a book, in those days.)
Anyway, he did think that if you believed in God and in angels, you were also bound to believe in fairies and ghosts and sorcerers and all manner of arcane beings. Who are mere humans to say what God can or can’t create? (It is fair to say, however, that most of his contemporaries thought he was either heretical or more than a little nuts.)
According to the Reverend Jones, the fairies are very fond of dancing, speak an inhumanly beautiful language tangentially related to Welsh, and are a very “disputatious” race. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?
Of course, a general belief in fairies and such is not exactly the same thing as putting the Bible in the same category as a magical wand or potion, but still, the timing made me laugh. Last week or next week I wouldn’t even have noticed that song particularly.
Amaryllis, no, not belabored at all, thanks for mentioning it, it’s great!
Talk of religion and magic reminds me of R.A. MacAvoy’s fantastic The Grey Horse, in which the pooka Ruairi Mac Eibhir, who spends a good half the book as a grey horse, undertakes to be baptized. The conflict between religion and magic is real but by no means irreconcilable. The baptism scene is fantastic, as the priest worries intensely over whether baptism will harm the fairy — and, in fact, it does, but is put right by the priest’s own stubbornness and power.
The 100-year Darkness has always puzzled me; are Jonathan and Norrell meant to outlive the curse and emerge? The Raven King has lived unaging for hundreds upon hundreds of years, but most other magicians seem to have lived the natural extent of human years. Though on the whole I almost think dying within the Darkness would be preferable to emerging in Europe in 1917…
Mary Beth @@@@@ #13, well, the Argentine magicians lived unusually long for their era — chapter one lists them as “Thomas Lanchester, 1518—90; Jacques Belasis, 1526—1604; Nicholas Goubert, 1535—78; Gregory Absalom, 1507—99”, and Maria Absalom lived to be 99. So perhaps nthey would have any unusually long life anyway. Alternatively, it’s hard to tell what effect the Darkness would have on them–Jonathan says he doesn’t sleep or eat in “The Black Letters,” but that may be his state of mind instead of the magic. Also, I have no idea what 1917 would look like in this world, but it has to be considerably different . . .
Thanks for the dates! That gives us Lanchester dying at 72, Belasis at 78, Goubert at 43, and Gregory Absalom at 92 — respectable, certainly, except for poor Nicholas Goubert, but hardly measuring up to the Raven King still looking like a young man after 400 or 600 years. And Norrell is in his 60s or thereabouts already.
You have a good point about the Darkness, however. I’m inclined to take Jonathan’s comments on not eating or sleeping at face value–three days without sleep or food would indeed drive you mad, but much longer and you’d tip straight over from mad to dead. (Strange learns later from Norrell that he’s been inside the Darkness for three months, though he thought it had been years.)
Perhaps the Darkness is a slice of Faery, or even of that kingdom beyond Hell — do we ever get any more information about it? The Darkness seems to overlay the human world, but interacts oddly with it.
What effect would the return of English magic have on Europe of the 19th and 20th centuries? There’s fanfic waiting to happen…
Well, here in our own world, my new friend the Reverend Jones was born in 1702 and died in 1793. Moreover, he was still apparently preaching twice a day, every day, until he died, and travelling on foot all over North Wales right through his 80s. Maybe hanging around with the fairies does improve one’s longevity and stamina both.
I always thought the Darkness was a little intrusion of Faery into our world, Faery or Elfland being “the land where the sun and the moon do not shine.”
Mary Beth @@@@@ #15, Amaryllis @@@@@ #16, because when the gentleman cast his spell, Stephen saw glimpses of birds, leaves spinning in the wind, and a rain of blood, and after the gentleman said his alliances had been strained to the limit, I took the Darkness to be something that those old allies did. But beyond that I hadn’t thought, and I will have to look in subsequent chapters for any more clues.
I don’t see those two hypotheses as mutually contradictory, unless I’ve misunderstood your comment — perhaps the allies’ powers were used to entrap Strange in a liminal reality, etc.
What’s in a name?, no, I’m not saying they’re mutually exclusive, just that my initial impression was that the allies had trapped him in some space that was made up of the magical equivalents of those things, and I hadn’t considered whether that the space might also be part of another realm.
I had always thought that the fairy had simply banished the day from shining on “the English Magician” (much as the Raven King had once banished Winter for a time), but having skipped a little ahead, there is a moment when Childermass, inside Strange’s perpetual darkness, sees that the stars are not those one would normally see at Hurtfew. So I suppose Strange must be carting another world around with him.
Angrifon @@@@@ #20, you are quite right and I entirely forgot to mention it in the post that’s going up tomorrow–the reset & stopped timepieces, yes, but not the stars.
@7: Magic is often compared to religion in this book, for instance when it is said that magician is the most respectable profession after the church, in the fear and respect that fairies have for christianism (in the story of Stokesey’s boots), or in the heresy that someone who was healed by magic is no longer subject to God and his Church. It seems that magic and religion are two sides of the same coin, and I think that the narrator only claims that religion is more important only not to blaspheme.
Athreeren @@@@@ #22, welllll, in the Charcoal Burner story in _Ladies_, we see that the natural elements of England obey the Saints even more than they do the Raven King, so we do have reason to believe that religion is more powerful than magic even beyond Jonathan’s comments about the host. But yes, they do seem to be of a kind.
Kate – you are AMAZING – you describe everything I think and feel about this book and raise really interesting questions as well. I am in the midst of my second read ( we are on this chapter now – trying to finish before BBC Airs – ARGH that air date – bastards!! Anyhow – I am loving this blog so very much and want to thank you for your detailed writing and dedication – it’s about as good as reading another S. Clarke novel!!
lesetoiles, wow, thank you for the amazing compliment! I’m gratified beyond words to see it.