(Apologies for my late arrival--this is the first chance I've had in a month or so to read-and-review anything at length.)
There are some very interesting stylistic contrasts in the beginning here, as the story moves from the historical formality of the NG summary, to the very Modernist-feeling breathlessness and headlong rush of the opening sections, to the calmer movement that follows the twin "Drink" scenes, with the two parallel returns to life.
As unsatisfactory as the Horatio/Archie encounter appears to be for the latter, its awkwardness is a delight to read:
Sat down at Archie's inviting wave; leapt up again as his weight on the bed brought Archie half-rolling towards him, and stood looking miserable until Archie held out his hand and pulled him down to perch on the bed once more.
He rose and carefully rearranged Archie's pillow until it was as lumpy, Archie thought, as any pillow could possibly be, kissed him on the forehead – Archie was powerfully tempted to wrap one arm around his neck and make Horatio kiss him properly, but his weakened reflexes were no match for Horatio at his most determinedly skittish, and the impulsive gesture ended in a sort of flailing half-caress of Horatio's arm, instead.
a bit of whole-hearted joy was, he had thought, not too extravagant a hope.
And how shameless you are at tormenting poor E.! One almost suspects you enjoy putting him through the wringer, what with the repressed anguish and the dutiful festivity, and the "I beg your pardon, Sir. I do not know you" and the faint bruising about the eyes...erm...I'm sorry, I appear to have lost the thread of my argument, but I'm sure it had something to do with being a heartless wench:
my heart was in my throat. One got used to the feeling, eventually... " He trailed off inconsequentially, then burst out "I can't take it in. Even now, I can't. He was so damned alive, he'd survived so much – I wake in the night and think it's all been a dream, something I ate, some ... damned idle nightmare come to plague me ..."
Edrington buried his face in his hands at that, and Bush reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder; his wrist was enfolded at once in a hard grip and Edrington's eyes were wet when he looked up, or maybe, Bush thought uncomfortably, it was a trick of the light.
Other bits I enjoyed along the way:
and so caused his Reason to be Cruelly Shattered
perhaps he'd never had a hope of heaven but it seemed mercy could stretch so far as to grant him cessation, at least, cessation and peace and a last human touch to take with him into the welcoming dark.
What cold mercy was this, and whose?
to drag him kicking and choking back up to the land of the living that he might kick and choke his way down to death properly, in order, all according to the Articles
great silent tears that puddled foolishly in his ears until he turned his head into the pillow to hide them
when he finished it Edrington felt he might almost pass for a man again, albeit a somewhat elderly and infirm specimen
and if he never smiled, well, war was a grim business, after all.
though how that had been contrived was a mystery to him, and welcome to remain so.
it had been a bit like digging free of Hell with a teaspoon
Exchanging late spring in Flanders for a chill Plymouth downpour was enough to make a man consider charges of high treason against whatever damned fool had so crafted the Treaty that hardly a scrap of the Continent remained in British hands.
"Oh, very well, then, from the line if it means so blessed much to you
surely this man, so contained and self-assured, could have no need of any consolation he could offer. Probably he would be affronted at the very suggestion. Mincing words with a dead man, William?
a familiar tone of deceptively gentle complaint
how soon he might – become a little less oblique
At Edrington's incredulous look, he added, "Didn't say how I was to manage it, though."
He didn't so much take orders as ... entertain suggestions, and politely comply.
I tried to write a play, once, and mercifully lost the manuscript.==>Hee! Hornblower scholar alert! ;-)
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timeasmymeasure
Fire Sermon (HH; ATKM) Part 1
Date: 2006-09-06 07:52 pm (UTC)There are some very interesting stylistic contrasts in the beginning here, as the story moves from the historical formality of the NG summary, to the very Modernist-feeling breathlessness and headlong rush of the opening sections, to the calmer movement that follows the twin "Drink" scenes, with the two parallel returns to life.
As unsatisfactory as the Horatio/Archie encounter appears to be for the latter, its awkwardness is a delight to read:
Sat down at Archie's inviting wave; leapt up again as his weight on the bed brought Archie half-rolling towards him, and stood looking miserable until Archie held out his hand and pulled him down to perch on the bed once more.
He rose and carefully rearranged Archie's pillow until it was as lumpy, Archie thought, as any pillow could possibly be, kissed him on the forehead – Archie was powerfully tempted to wrap one arm around his neck and make Horatio kiss him properly, but his weakened reflexes were no match for Horatio at his most determinedly skittish, and the impulsive gesture ended in a sort of flailing half-caress of Horatio's arm, instead.
a bit of whole-hearted joy was, he had thought, not too extravagant a hope.
And how shameless you are at tormenting poor E.! One almost suspects you enjoy putting him through the wringer, what with the repressed anguish and the dutiful festivity, and the "I beg your pardon, Sir. I do not know you" and the faint bruising about the eyes...erm...I'm sorry, I appear to have lost the thread of my argument, but I'm sure it had something to do with being a heartless wench:
my heart was in my throat. One got used to the feeling, eventually... " He trailed off inconsequentially, then burst out "I can't take it in. Even now, I can't. He was so damned alive, he'd survived so much – I wake in the night and think it's all been a dream, something I ate, some ... damned idle nightmare come to plague me ..."
Edrington buried his face in his hands at that, and Bush reached out tentatively to touch his shoulder; his wrist was enfolded at once in a hard grip and Edrington's eyes were wet when he looked up, or maybe, Bush thought uncomfortably, it was a trick of the light.
Other bits I enjoyed along the way:
and so caused his Reason to be Cruelly Shattered
perhaps he'd never had a hope of heaven but it seemed mercy could stretch so far as to grant him cessation, at least, cessation and peace and a last human touch to take with him into the welcoming dark.
What cold mercy was this, and whose?
to drag him kicking and choking back up to the land of the living that he might kick and choke his way down to death properly, in order, all according to the Articles
great silent tears that puddled foolishly in his ears until he turned his head into the pillow to hide them
when he finished it Edrington felt he might almost pass for a man again, albeit a somewhat elderly and infirm specimen
and if he never smiled, well, war was a grim business, after all.
though how that had been contrived was a mystery to him, and welcome to remain so.
it had been a bit like digging free of Hell with a teaspoon
Exchanging late spring in Flanders for a chill Plymouth downpour was enough to make a man consider charges of high treason against whatever damned fool had so crafted the Treaty that hardly a scrap of the Continent remained in British hands.
"Oh, very well, then, from the line if it means so blessed much to you
surely this man, so contained and self-assured, could have no need of any consolation he could offer. Probably he would be affronted at the very suggestion. Mincing words with a dead man, William?
a familiar tone of deceptively gentle complaint
how soon he might – become a little less oblique
At Edrington's incredulous look, he added, "Didn't say how I was to manage it, though."
He didn't so much take orders as ... entertain suggestions, and politely comply.
I tried to write a play, once, and mercifully lost the manuscript.==>Hee! Hornblower scholar alert! ;-)
On to Part Two...
~