Random Book Excerpt #1
I haven't totally forgotten one of my other loves -- detective fiction -- so I offer an excerpt from Laurie R. King's A Monstrous Regiment Of Women as a sign of remorse, especially for having not read finished any mysteries in the past few months.
In my occasionally random James Burke approach to literature, insights into one character (no matter how superficial) reminds me of another.
So here is where Sherlock Holmes intersects with Kuchiki Byakuya.
Shoot me down after you read the entire quote. This is a conversation between Holmes's apprentice, Mary Russell, and her friend Lady Veronica Beaconsfield:
"...What about your Mr. Holmes?"
"My Mr. Holmes is nearly sixty. Rather late to break up bachelorhood." I kept my voice, natural, humorous, mildly regretful.
"I suppose you're right. It's too bad, really -- he's dreamy, in an impossible sort of way."
I was startled. "You mean you find Holmes attractive?"
"Oh, yes. heaps of s.a. Why, don't you?"
"Well, yes, I suppose." Although I shouldn't have called it 'sex appeal,' exactly.
"But you sound surprised."
"I wouldn't have thought you -- Why does he appeal to you?"
"Oh, he doesn't, not really. I mean, I'm sure he'd turn out to be totally maddening, in reality. It's because he's so unavailable." She thought for a few steps, and I waited, intrigued. "You know, when I was fifteen -- this was just before the War -- someone at school had the bright idea of sending the top members of our form to Italy for the spring term. One of the girls had an uncle there, with a huge, dusty villa in the countryside not far from Florence, and the idea was that we hire a charabanc to transport us in everyday to view the treasures. Of course, the thing broke down continuously, or the driver was drunk, or we rebelled, so in the end I think we spent two days in the city and the rest in the small town three miles from the villa.
"There was a priest in the village -- there were several, of course, but one in particular -- I don't know if it was the Mediterranean sun or our glands or just sheer deviltry, but all of us developed a Grand Passion for the priest. Poor man, it must have been painful to have ten English misses on his heels, mooning about and bringing him fruit and sweets. He was very good-looking, in a bony kind of way, very elegant in his black robe, but it was his air of unreachability that was so electrifying. A challenge, I suppose, to break through that ascetic shell and set loose the passion underneath. Because one could feel the passion. My God, you couldn't miss it, in his eyes and his mouth, but it was under iron control. He kept it directed no doubt to his prayer, but you couldn't help but want to break his control and see what lay beneath." She reviewed what she'd said, then laughed in self-deprecation. "At least it seemed that way. He was probably terrifically repressed and scared to death of us, and no doubt he had all sorts of boring habits, as I suppose your Sherlock Holes would prove to have. Repressed and cerebral, a deadly combination. Still," she said, blithely unaware of the shattering effects her words were having on me, "there must be plenty of unrepressed and agreeable older men around..."
In my occasionally random James Burke approach to literature, insights into one character (no matter how superficial) reminds me of another.
So here is where Sherlock Holmes intersects with Kuchiki Byakuya.
Shoot me down after you read the entire quote. This is a conversation between Holmes's apprentice, Mary Russell, and her friend Lady Veronica Beaconsfield:
"...What about your Mr. Holmes?"
"My Mr. Holmes is nearly sixty. Rather late to break up bachelorhood." I kept my voice, natural, humorous, mildly regretful.
"I suppose you're right. It's too bad, really -- he's dreamy, in an impossible sort of way."
I was startled. "You mean you find Holmes attractive?"
"Oh, yes. heaps of s.a. Why, don't you?"
"Well, yes, I suppose." Although I shouldn't have called it 'sex appeal,' exactly.
"But you sound surprised."
"I wouldn't have thought you -- Why does he appeal to you?"
"Oh, he doesn't, not really. I mean, I'm sure he'd turn out to be totally maddening, in reality. It's because he's so unavailable." She thought for a few steps, and I waited, intrigued. "You know, when I was fifteen -- this was just before the War -- someone at school had the bright idea of sending the top members of our form to Italy for the spring term. One of the girls had an uncle there, with a huge, dusty villa in the countryside not far from Florence, and the idea was that we hire a charabanc to transport us in everyday to view the treasures. Of course, the thing broke down continuously, or the driver was drunk, or we rebelled, so in the end I think we spent two days in the city and the rest in the small town three miles from the villa.
"There was a priest in the village -- there were several, of course, but one in particular -- I don't know if it was the Mediterranean sun or our glands or just sheer deviltry, but all of us developed a Grand Passion for the priest. Poor man, it must have been painful to have ten English misses on his heels, mooning about and bringing him fruit and sweets. He was very good-looking, in a bony kind of way, very elegant in his black robe, but it was his air of unreachability that was so electrifying. A challenge, I suppose, to break through that ascetic shell and set loose the passion underneath. Because one could feel the passion. My God, you couldn't miss it, in his eyes and his mouth, but it was under iron control. He kept it directed no doubt to his prayer, but you couldn't help but want to break his control and see what lay beneath." She reviewed what she'd said, then laughed in self-deprecation. "At least it seemed that way. He was probably terrifically repressed and scared to death of us, and no doubt he had all sorts of boring habits, as I suppose your Sherlock Holes would prove to have. Repressed and cerebral, a deadly combination. Still," she said, blithely unaware of the shattering effects her words were having on me, "there must be plenty of unrepressed and agreeable older men around..."