FARINA Pronounced like the cereal, Farina began life in the pages of Princess Ben, there a humble barony. When selecting place names, I far prefer odd-but-real words to fabricated ones. > >
FRIZZANTE (Fre•ZAHN•tay) Pronounce with typical Italian gusto on the ZAHN. Onomatopoetically enough, frizzante is Italian for "fizzy." Italian sparkling wine is either frizzante or (if it's really fizzy) spumante. Sparkling water is similarly labeled: "San Pellegrino acqua minerale frizzante" = "Saint Pilgrim water mineral fizzy." Yet another peculiar word I appropriated because it's so darn much fun to say. > >
FROGLOCK Pronounced as it's spelled. Originally I called the capital of Farina Farinastadt, just as the capital of Alpsburg was Alpsburgstadt. But the name didn't satisfy, and while I was pondering a better one I happened to come across a selection of antique bronze locks shaped like animals. "Piglock" I rejected for reasons I can no longer remember, and "Ducklock"...no. But "Froglock" I loved. (I bought the lock, too.) It was only later, while writing the encyclopedia entry, that I came up with those other explanations for the word. >
GEBÜHR (guh•BUERE) German for "toll"; tolls are so important within the Empire of Lax that a country is even named after them! At the time I thought this was very clever, but I subsequently forgot the translation and had to look it up while writing this ... So fares my self-delusion. Similarly, with Rundel ([run'dle]; an obscure term for "small stream," not to be confused with rundle, "a rung of a ladder"), I thought it was terribly witty to feature a poet from mountains awash in creeks ... But "rundel" isn't even in my OED. Good luck trying to use it in Scrabble. Gebühr is also home to the Darling College for Women (see above). >
HÖCHSTELAND (HOEKH•ste•land) The umlaut gives you permission to pronounce this really deeply in your throat: HOEOEKKKHHHHsteland. Slobbering is optional but encouraged. Höchsteland translates as "highest country," which is a most fitting name for a region full of mountains. Like Sottocenere, this duchy once had a far more important role in earlier drafts of Wisdom's Kiss; I vaguely recall a discussion of diamond mines. Now it serves only to provide Wilhelmina, via marriage, with that coveted title of duchess. >
LAX Rhymes with "max." "Lax" began life as the pairing to "Om" (now Ahmb, above), part of a very violent reaction I had to some long and garbled place name in a now-forgotten fantasy novel. My next book—so I declared—would have place names that were easy. You know, like Frizzante and Sottocenere and Höchsteland and Pamplemousse ... okay, not those. But definitely some of the countries would have three-letter words that were easy to pronounce and easy to spell. Hence Lax. It's quite funny (to my mind at least) that all these long-winded little duchies and kingdoms are run by an empire with a name so very, very short. > Also, x is a very cool letter, as seen on all those maps for buried treasure. Note RIGORUSand my commentary on the empire. >
MARY MUNTANYA (MAR e moon•TAN•ya) Rather akin to "surf and turf," mar y muntanya (or "sea and mountain" in Catalan, an ancient hybrid of French and Spanish), consists of shrimp and chicken combined with olive oil, onions, and tomato, a trio ubiquitous to Spanish cooking—I think there's a law somewhere requiring it. Catalonians take both their language and their food extremely seriously and will doubtless censure me for saying "hybrid," but hey, they got something named after this great dish. > >
MONTAGNE See also
CHATEAU DE MONTAGNE. In the map I sketched for my own reference while writing Wisdom's Kiss, Montagne is about the size of my thumb. Small wonder that Drachensbett was forever trying to conquer it and Wilhelmina took such offense that her giant country would in comparison be only a duchy. I based Montagne's topography—though certainly not its climate—on Jackson Hole, Wyoming, which is also a flat valley surrounded by peaks, although unfortunately it's not sealed at one end by a giant, plunging cliff. If you're really curious and/or geographically inclined, picture Jackson Hole plunked atop the bluffs and with the climate of St. Paul, Minnesota. >
PAINDECAMPAGNE (pan•de•cam•PAN•yuh) Translated literally as "bread of the country," this is a rough sourdough loaf that several of us Murdocks find absolutely addictive. One year I bought a full loaf—approximately the size of a manhole cover—for my son for Christmas; he ate the whole thing. I must have been hungry when I was naming the countries surrounding Montagne; either that or (equally probable) I just really, really like food. >
PAMPLEMOUSSE (POHMP•la•moose) This is a true story I heard from a friend of a friend about her parents, who honeymooned in Paris. Their very first night out at dinner, they overheard someone ordering pamplemousse for dessert. How glamorous! They excitedly ordered it as well ... not knowing that pamplemousse is French for grapefruit. When our family visited Paris a few years ago, we ate pamplemousse ice cream every day—actually "pamplemousse rose," or pink grapefruit sorbet—and it was so good that we almost levitated like angels. J' aime pamplemousse ("I love grapefruit")is now my daughter's favorite French phrase. At one point while writing Wisdom's Kiss, the country of Pamplemousse had a much larger role, but it's since degenerated solely to watchmaking. And probably sorbet, though this isn't specified in the text. >
PHRAUGHELOCH PALACE A homonym of "Froglock" as "kauphy" is a homophone of "coffee." ("Kauphy" is an old English-class joke.) I, like Edwig of Farina, tried to make "Phraugheloch" the name of the whole capital city but was relentlessly lambasted by my readers/family. Luckily I came up with the solution of naming the palace instead, which got me my delicious homophone but preserved me from (at least some) ridicule. For a good visual on Phraugheloch, check out the real life Belvedere Palace or Wurzburg Residence. >
PICCOLO (PICK•o•lo) A piccolo is a flute so small it makes a normal flute look like a pile driver; it's also great fun to say. As with many of the locations and terms related to the Kingdom of Montagne, the word first appeared in Princess Ben, and it makes a cameo here as the seat of Trudy's eventual husband. > >
PNEU (P•nuh) French for "tire." This, one could point out, is rather an anachronism given that rubber tires probably hadn't yet made it to the Empire of Lax. But it, along with pamplemousse, is another favorite foreign word o' mine, and another little statelet—principality or duchy or whatnot—through which our heroes must slog in order to reach Farina. >
POTS DE CRÈME "pots" as in "poe"; "Crème" as in "phlegm" Pots de Crème is to chocolate pudding what Porsches are to bicycles; that it's served with a lavish topping of fresh whipped cream makes it even more extraordinarily, fantastically irresistible. I'm still not exactly sure what or who the Pots de Crème Giants are, but I chuckle nonetheless. >
RIGORUS (RIG•ur•us) Get it? The empire is "lax" ("careless; relaxed") but its capital is "rigorous" ("thorough; strict"). They're opposites! Oh, wordplay just slays me. And while we're on the subject of Rigorus, let's take a moment to chuckle over the publisher of The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax. Hazelnut and filbert are, of course, the same tree and nut, so the names are redundant. Ha! Also, they're quirky sounding (z is almost as much fun as x) and tremendously fun to say, which never hurts prose, even boring encyclopedia prose. >
SOTTOCENERE (sew•toe•chen•YARE•ee) Italian for "under the ash." An absolutely delicious Italian cheese flavored with truffles, named for the thin coating of volcanic ash in which the cheese is rolled in order to preserve it. (The rind is edible, but I wouldn't go out of my way for it.) Sottocenere the country originally had a much larger role in Wisdom's Kiss; had I known the whole dragon scene would ultimately be removed, I might have saved the name for something bigger. Apparently there's also a famous Italian movie with sottocenere in the title, but I'm not worldly enough to know about that. > >
UNDERJOYVersus, you know, overjoyed. A castle obviously founded by someone who forever sees the glass half-empty. >
UNIVERSITAT DRACHENSBETT (you•knee•VARE•see•tate DROKH•enz•bet) The whole Drachensbett business probably makes zero sense to anyone who hasn't read Princess Ben; if you haven't yet read it but want to, try not to pay too much attention. But if you hav
e, you'll know that Drachensbett was for centuries an archenemy of Montagne, until_________ (I won't give it away). Afterward, the Kingdom of Montagne, being a gracious winner, founded a university in Drachensbett (the university-founding part isn't in Princess Ben; all that happened after PB ended). Anyhoo, "universitat" is German for "university," and the name is great fun to say aloud if you really draw out the VAAAARE sound and then make the "kh" part of Drachensbett really throaty and spitty. Throaty and spitty is pretty much the high point of German, at least for me, although I can—two-plus decades out of college—ask for a German newspaper. I don't know how to read it, or what the person I ask this of says in response, but I still know how to ask for one. >
Bonus Material: Queen of All the Heavens
Author commentary on the entire play >
Deleted screenplay opener >
Full Act I >
Author commentary on Act I >
Act II, scene iii >
Act II, scene v >
Deleted dragon scene >
Enhanced Materials Menu
Legend:
Wisdom's Kiss
Glossary & Geographic Gazetteer
The Imperial Encyclopedia of Lax
Queen of All the Heavens
Author Commentary
Character Commentary
Recipes
Extras
Excerpts from Princess Ben
Author Commentary: Queen of All the Heavens >
So: who's "Anonymous"? Who's the talentless hack who wrote this Queen of All the Heavens fluff? Do you know?
The biggest clue—a dead giveaway, really—can be found in Dizzy's last diary entry. Next is Dizzy's fourth diary entry, where she four times quotes the words "queen of all the heavens"; the phrase ends up—coincidentally enough!—the title of the play. Later, Dizzy concludes her sixth entry with "It is my love come to me at last!"—a line that Princess Wisdom in Queen of the All the Heavens repeats on the very next page. Dizzy's diary and Queen are the only two voices that use "O" for "Oh." It's also notable that Princess Wisdom is the only character who appears in every scene of Queen of All the Heavens, and Queen of All the Heavens includes intimate conversations between Roger and her, Ben and her, and Tips and her. I do love Dizzy's statement that someone writing a play "would need great skill with a pen." I'm not sure how much skill she ultimately displays, though in the intervening decades she at least learns how to punctuate.
As far as my writing of Queen of All the Heavens goes, I can say this: it began life as a meandering and anachronistic screenplay that clearly needed to be changed to something—what, I did not know, but the script definitely had to go. In converting it to a play, I was forced, so sadly, to delete all the descriptive passages, though I did manage to recycle Roger's outfit into Felis's wedding-day attire . The bigger problem, though, was that I'd never written a play and hadn't a clue how to go about it. So—aim high, right?—I dug out my college editions of Shakespeare's Tempest and King Lear and set to work studying the master.
I learned that Shakespeare himself did not write stage directions (you know, those italicized bits such as "Steve exits stage left" or "Mrs. Burrbottom collapses") but instead wove them into the dialogue. Hence lines such as "Approach, My Ariel, come"—a cue that the actor playing Ariel needs to walk onstage. Well! I decided to follow Shakespeare's lead and omit stage directions from my play, too. Unfortunately this proved impossible. But the italicized bits in Queen of All the Heavens remain minimal, and my Shakespearean efforts can be seen in such lines as Roger's "I fall to one knee to beg your hand in marriage"—a cue that the actor playing Roger needs to kneel.
The prose, too, I ornamented a la Shakespeare—not that it's in the same ballpark, or even the same time zone, but I was trying at least to evoke that mood. Plus it seemed to me that Dizzy, even though (or perhaps because) she was working anonymously, would imbue every line with histrionic passion. For all her faults, the girl certainly loves to feel, and I can easily picture her camping it up onstage. And not just Dizzy, either: Queen of All the Heavens is a blast to read aloud. You should try it.
You can also read the entire first act of Queen of All the Heavens, including seven scenes not published in Wisdom's Kiss, as well as my commentary on all of Act 1's turgid glory.
More Author Commentary >
The First, Awful Stab at QUEEN OF ALL THE HEAVENS >
I studied screenwriting for eight years before trying my hand at novels, and so of course a screenplay was my first choice when I decided that Roger's proposal to Dizzy needed powerful visuals and volleying dialogue. What better way to communicate this than in a movie script? >
Below is the result. (Several character names have been updated to match the final version of Wisdom's Kiss.) When I sent this to my agent, she replied—correctly—that the screenplay seemed awfully anachronistic. It was also, as I read it now, at least twice as long as it should have been, and except for the final proposal, rather pointless. Hence its replacement by a play. But if nothing else, this screenplay illustrates why in eight years I never came close to selling a script.
CHATEAU DE MONTAGNE - EXTERIOR - LATE AFTERNOON
The castle, standing tall atop a mighty cliff, glows against the autumn mountains, the Great River streaming down in a thin ribbon—for the historic spring flooding is still six months hence. A wide stone terrace flanks the cliff; upon it dance courtiers and aristocrats in polychrome finery while musicians strum a merry tune and footmen proffer treats.
A couple strolls near the terrace balustrade:
TEMPERANCE, the young queen of Montagne, and ROGER, Duke of Farina, Duke of Höchsteland and Count of Paindecampagne. Temperance wears a heavy black lace veil beneath her crown, and a gown of plain gray. Roger, in contrast, sports a slashed velvet doublet and hose of amethyst and violet, striped stockings of mustard and jade, an embroidered cape lined in scarlet, and a magnificent salt-and-pepper toque with an iridescent quill: a handsome peacock in full plumage.
The two walk in silence.
ROGER
So ... the season is most lovely, is it not? I always enjoy the turning of the leaves, regardless of the chill to come.
TEMPERANCE
Yes ... Providence loved this time of year.
She sighs heavily and strokes a cameo brooch engraved with the profile of a woman.
ROGER
Again, I am so very, very sorry ... Ah, this terrace ... I have heard tell of its marvels. Is it true that when not employed as dance floor it hosts a tropical forest?
TEMPERANCE
(brightening)
Why, yes. 'Tis a joy indeed to see the Cocos nucifera wheeled outside in their great pots once warmth has returned each spring. We have harvested our first cocoanut! And the Ficus carica are quite remarkable, self-fertilizing and ... Figs were my mother's favorite fruit, you know. I used to pick them for her every morning...
Once again, funereal silence cloaks the pair. The music slows.
A nobleman in exuberant garb approaches and bows low.
NOBLEMAN
Forgive my interruption, your Grace, but I should cherish dearly a pass with her Royal Majesty.
ROGER
As do we all, my fine Lord. But I fear that her lovely hand is not mine to offer. Surely there is no more appropriate land in all this empire than Montagne, and no more appropriate lass in all Montagne than the queen, to determine her own fate. Your Majesty?
Both men wait expectantly.
TEMPERANCE
What? Oh yes, I suppose I should dance
She takes the nobleman's hand with a sigh.
NOBLEMAN
My dear Temperance, 'tis a waltz we near, not the gallows! Ah, there is a hint of a smile. I shall coax one yet from your lips...
They wander away. Roger, alone, permits himself a sigh and a roll of the eyes as he pats his face with a monogrammed kerchief.
He starts at the footsteps of a young woman. WISDOM, too, sports a black veil beneath her modest circlet, but her
gown of blue suits her, and the occasion, far more than gray did Temperance. Her smile helps as well.
ROGER
Your Highness—your Royal Highness—I did not hear you approach—
WISDOM
Did you not realize, your Grace, that this afternoon fete would require as much exertion as battle of war?
ROGER
Or more. Truly, Princess, I must say that your sister mourns the acquisition of a crown as most men would mourn its loss.
WISDOM