Small wonder she loves that dog: it's the only male in her life who stands up to her. >
Speaking of which, readers familiar with my fairy tale Princess Ben may have noted the passing reference to Wilhelmina's father, Edwig; he was also the blockhead responsible for renaming Phraugheloch. Edwig, Baron of Farina, has a slightly larger but far more memorable role in Princess Ben as one of Ben's early and more ham-fisted suitors. What Wilhelmina thought of such a man I can't imagine, but he couldn't possibly have helped her moral or emotional development.>
My reference to "the willies," by the way, was complete serendipity. I'd established her name long before and was simply pondering how to illustrate her horrible legacy. This is a rare modern word to make it into Wisdom's Kiss, a bit of American slang first recorded in the 1890s, and of of unknown origin. It bears no relation to evil fictitious dowagers. >
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Ben and Florian
Author's commentary on Benevolence, Queen Mother of Montagne, and Florian, her consort >
Ben shouldn't require much commentary seeing as she already has her own whole book. As I was writing Princess Ben —the narrator being Ben as an old woman reflecting on her life—I kept wondering what this elderly queen was like and thinking how much fun it would be to meet her. At the same time, I wanted to write a teen love triangle told from three points of view. The three POV, however, would leave huge gaps in my narrative—the Tips-is-amazing problem, for example. I already had in mind a scene involving food poisoning, but who should tell it? Certainly not the princess—not accurately, anyway. Trudy was the most reliable narrator of the three, but she couldn't describe scenes for which she was not present, such as Dizzy's first encounter with the acrobat or Dizzy's magic or Dizzy's wedding. A play (actually a screenplay; that's a different story) would solve some of this, and an encyclopedia could provide a wealth of important detail, but I needed another set of eyes—someone as reliable as Trudy to provide a blow-by-blow description... I needed Ben.
I'd always liked the idea of Ben as a grandmother, and I'd often wondered whether her magic passed down to her offspring. > I even had a whole family tree worked out. And what of the world beyond the borders of Montagne? How fascinating it would be if Ben, now queen mother, left her kingdom—left it to escort her granddaughter to her wedding.
Plus—and this is the extraspecial bonus—I could keep Ben a surprise. This is why I'm so emphatic that Wisdom's Kiss is not a sequel to Princess Ben: labelling it so immediately raises the issue that one of the narrators is Ben. And that, people, would completely ruin the delicious revelation that comes, thirty pages into the book, when you realize that this ancient, quirky grandmother is none other than our princess all grown up.
Well, okay; it will only be a surprise if you've read Princess Ben. A surprising number of people have, however. Maybe this scheme won't work, but if I can give just one reader that thrill ... O joy. O blessed joy.
"A consequence of Princess Ben' > The virtue of Benevolence
A note on Florian:
Readers of Princess Ben may also catch a passing reference to Ben's late husband Florian. While she speaks of him lovingly within the pages of Wisdom's Kiss, she spent most of the earlier book hating his guts. This isn't to say that the guys you hate today you'll marry tomorrow—not a good dating strategy, that one—but it did give me a chuckle, as I wrote her doting reminiscences, to recall some of her original feelings about the man.
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Modesty and Patience
Author's commentary on Lady Modesty and Lady Patience, also known as Mrs. Sprat and Jack Sprat >
Modesty and Patience have a small but crucial part in Wisdom's Kiss, the always unenviable role of the guys who get bumped so the hero can step in and save the day. Or in this case the ladies-in-waiting who barf up tainted oysters so Trudy can step in and ... You get the point. >
The problem is that Modesty and Patience have issues. As I reflect upon this twosome, I'm surprised I managed to finish the book at all. First was the whole business of their names. When I wrote Princess Ben, I wanted the female characters to have old-fashioned names, seeing as this was an old-fashioned-type fairy tale. Hence Benevolence, Prudence, Sophia, Beatrix, Hildebert...(which I later learned is a boy's name—oops). Then, as I was developing Wisdom's Kiss, I realized I could take this much further. Why not make it a Montagne tradition to name girls after virtues? I even named the foundress (that is, the female founder) of Montagne "Queen Virtue," to drive this point home. Unfortunately, it turns out that namewise most virtues are either really lame (Determination? Cooperativeness?? Autonomy???) or already commonplace (Faith, Hope, Grace). But I did my best and managed to find some decent namelike virtues such as Patience and Modesty and whatnot.
This led to the second issue, an issue I call the Conundrum of Minor Characters. Many of us, myself very much included, have trouble remembering names. This is because a person's name usually has nothing to do with the person. A baker named Baker would be easy even for me, but a policeman named Baker makes no sense. If I were to read a novel with the line "Policeman Baker arrived at the scene" and then five pages later read "Baker scowled at the suspect," I would have not a clue who this Baker character is. I would be irked. The reading spell would have been broken.
One solution to the Minor Character Conundrum is to provide readers a title: "Officer Baker scowled at the suspect." Oh, the policeman! I remember! This is why Queen Ben continually refers to "Lady Modesty" and "Lady Patience," to remind the reader that they're, you know, ladies-in-waiting. But a far, far more useful solution is to avoid names altogether. Don't say "Policeman Baker arrived at the scene" but rather "Next to arrive was a policeman sporting an enormous and utterly ridiculous mustache." Five pages later, refer to this character by image: "Officer Silly Mustache." We shall recollect at once the character to whom you refer. Hence Princess Wisdom's repeated description of her ladies-in-waiting as "Jack Sprat" and "Mrs. Sprat." The nicknames provide a visual: obviously Lady Modesty is rather plump. Just as important, we readers already know these names—they're ingrained in our brains from the childhood nursery rhyme and so are likely to stick in our consciousness as "Patience" and "Modesty" never would.
Remarkably few characters in Wisdom's Kiss have names, for this very reason. The Farina spy, the grouchy old lawyer, the duke's guards, the captain, the sergeant, the genealogist ... Each of these men can be clearly pictured without a name. I would argue, in fact, that the very lack of names makes envisioning easier. The reader isn't obliged to make a mental note: "his name is Petersen, don't forget..." Instead it's just "the tall one with the saggy ears," the ear detail repeated as necessary. (Don't worry, there aren't any characters in Wisdom's Kiss with saggy ears; the phrase is for illustration purposes only.) This strategy also allows for a bit of subterfuge about the real name of the Master of Air, which turns out to be ... Well, I won't reveal it here. Either you know it or you haven't read that far.
Other virtue-named characters in Wisdom's Kiss:
WISDOM
FORTITUDE
BENEVOLENCE
TEMPERANCE
PROVIDENCE
FAITH >
HUMOR >
COMPASSION >
CHASTITY >
More on the whole lady-in-waiting thing, including its definition
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Escoffier
Author's commentary on Escoffier >
Georges Auguste Escoffier is possibly the most famous chef in history, the man who modernized French cooking and whose 1903 Le guide culinaire cookbook remains a definitive reference work for any serious cook. How fitting it is that our Escoffier, with his near-human appetite and near-human sense, should be named for a man of matching taste (and doubtless matching arrogance). Also, "Escoffier" (es•COE•fee•ay) is great fun to say out loud.
Escoffier the cat began life quite early in the formation of Wisdom's Kiss. I needed a spy, and I loved the imag
e of a big black cat jumping into the middle of a table covered in secret papers. At that point the cat could actually read the papers as he lay on top of them, but this detail was lost in revision, and we're none the worse for it. >
Unfortunately Escoffier, like many pets in stories and children in screenplays, serves a rather utilitarian role: he promotes the plot but otherwise doesn't have much to say (as it were). (To elaborate on the "children in screenplays" issue: kids far too often operate as mouthpieces for tedious expository prose. "Mommy, I wish you didn't divorce Daddy, because I know you still love him." "Grandpa, remember that time you and I were flying kites and you saw that lady with red hair and she ran away with all your money and now you're broke?" Yeah, that's how kids normally talk ... The movie features either that, or kids who misbehave as Earthling children never would.) How could I make Escoffier a member of the team instead of just a tool pulled out when the plot needed propelling? Thus his showdown with Wilhelmina's awful dog and his defense of Tips during the sword fight; both of these show that Escoffier has a personality, not just a function. Ditto the encyclopedia entry, which hints that this cat is more than he seems.
The details of Escoffier's "union" with Nonna Ben remain vague, even to me. It took me some time indeed to combine Nonna Ben's pet with the Doppelschläferin spell, particularly given that my original D. spell didn't involve animals. The implication is that Escoffier and Ben, having once shared their consciousness within the cat's body, have a residual connection that gives Ben catlike faculties and Escoffier extrafeline intelligence. Is it this intelligence that compels Escoffier to guard Dizzy or provoke the dog? Is he linked to Ben when he comforts Trudy, or watches Trudy and Tips argue, or observes Trudy learn of her heritage? To tell you the truth, I don't know. (Hey, I only write this stuff; I don't pretend to understand it.) I will say that Escoffier is smarter than the average cat, which isn't saying much; cats don't need to be very smart. He is, as I mention elsewhere, based wholly and endearingly on our cat Charcoal, who is—with the exception of his dearth of magic but not his brainlessness—almost perfect.
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Handsome
Author commentary on Handsome, Duchess Wilhelmina's terrier >
I like dogs. If you don't believe me, read my novel Dairy Queen, which features a totally awesome dog named Smut. Right off the top of my head I can think of a couple of dogs (Terry Wiser, I'm talking to you) who I'd adopt in a heartbeat.
All this said, I don't like badly behaved dogs. Yappers, nippers, whiners, bossers ... not a fan. Given that badly behaved dogs are often a product of badly behaved owners, it makes sense that it would be Wilhelmina who produces the worst dog in all of Lax. Handsome, bless his wicked little heart, provided me with countless opportunities to illustrate Wilhelmina's arrogance and delusion, and to exploit the comic potential of obnoxious little dogs. I so love Handsome's battle of wits with Escoffier, I present it twice, which at least one reader pointed out might be overdoing things, but that's one darling I can't bear to kill. >
Speaking of darlings ... Isn't Wilhelmina's death absolutely scrumptious? A friend in the medical field pointed out that the medical term was "dog-bite sepsis" caused by the bacterium Pasteurella multocida (or, for medical nerds, P. multocida). How wonderful it is that she died at the mouth of that which she loved most—or at least loved as much as she was capable of loving.
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Rüdiger
Author's commentary on Rüdiger IV, Emperor of Lax >
In describing Duchess Wilhelmina, I discuss villains' crucial role in fiction. But it's not villains per se that matter; it's antagonists. An antagonist doesn't have to be wicked or evil, she or he just needs to oppose the protagonist. The ancient Greek term "protagonist" originates not with "pro-" as in "positive" but with "prot-" as in "first": a protagonist is simply the most important actor in a drama (not, as is commonly assumed, the hero). "Antagonist," on the other hand, comes from "ant-" as in "against:" the person who challenges the protagonist. Given that conflict is the predicate of entertainment (which it is; trust me), antagonists, the againsters, make the story happen. No antagonists, no conflict, no story.
Rüdiger is a classic antagonist. He shows up in Froglock in the middle of the wedding preparations and forces everyone to attend his circus; he demands that Dizzy perform, and then marry, when and how he wishes; he strong-arms Ben into touring Circus Primus; he insists on hiring Dizzy without any concern for her desires ... All this he does not from malevolence but from his own self-interest. By doing so, he's driving the story forward. >
The problem, of course, is that I thus created a character whose only real function is to get in Ben and Dizzy's way. If they say "up," he has to say "down"...even if "down" isn't suitable to his character. I had to pay very close attention to Rüdiger's every gesture and word to make sure that I wasn't writing simply for my own convenience. For example, Ben needs to tour Circus Primus so that she can introduce readers to the Globe d'Or and meet Tips. Neither of these, however, is the concern of the emperor of Lax. So how do I make his behavior rational for him instead of just for the sake of the plot?
It didn't help that both Wilhelmina and The Encyclopedia of Lax describe Rüdiger as senile, a detail I added to plant seeds of doubt in the reader's mind. This may have been too successful; I'm still not sure readers will realize he's sane. I also hope it's not too jarring that Rüdiger accepts Dizzy's magic with nary a blink. He—so it's hinted at, in escapades such as his own Encyclopedia of Lax biography and the Mar y Muntanya Border Crusade —has had his fingers in many plots over the years and has no scruples about twisting law and protocol for the greater good ... or at least his greater good.
The "Spindle Kaiser" sobriquet arose from my need for a nickname in the first line of his encyclopedia entry. Kaiser of course is German for emperor, deriving from the Latin Caesar ; a "spindle" was a hand-held rod used for spinning wool, a tool implicitly female and domestic. "Spindle Kaiser" is thus a bit of an insult, something along the lines of "Apron-Strings King": real men don't spin; they bop people and start wars and yell a lot. Apparently Rüdiger didn't do that much. His Encyclopedia of Lax biography is really quite scornful—the editors apparently championing instead the bop/ blood/yell paragon of manhood—and he receives no credit for the peace and prosperity he orchestrated.
More on Lax >
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Providence
Author's commentary on Providence, late Queen of Montagne >
In my first drafts of Wisdom's Kiss, Providence was still alive, and Ben's letters were to her, not Temperance ... It was confusing and stupid; looking back, I can't imagine what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. If nothing else, Providence's existence broke the cardinal rule of children's literature, that Mothers Must Be Missing Or Dead. (Very early in the writing process, Temperance and Dizzy also had an older brother named Augustus, but the less said about him the better.) So Providence had to die—which sounds terribly hardhearted, I know, but that's the way it is with writing. "Kill your darlings" sometimes means literally. >
If a character has to bite it, the obvious question is "of what?" It's best to make their death not only fit within the logic of overall story (Providence can't die in a nuclear submarine accident) but also strengthen the overall story. Passing peacefully in one's sleep is far less useful than a murder that starts a war—that is, should the author need a war started. I needed to make the point that magic was in use within Montagne but suppressed and discounted within the broader Empire of Lax. Thus Providence falls off a flying broom: it shows that Dizzy and Ben have magical powers but Providence and Temperance do not (a fact Temperance heartily resents); that magic is highly risky, not only because of prosecution but also personal safety; and that Providence's death has kept Dizzy and Ben from further magic. Whew.
This "solution," though, raised another problem: how would I tell it? How does one describe a secret, particularly if the sec
ret's two bearers already know it by heart and thus have no reason to write it down for readers to read? Good question. I even went so far as to write up the details of Providence's death in a footnote, later wisely scrapped. Finally, I figured out a cryptic explanation within Dizzy's diary, but if you missed the nuance, I won't hold it against you. (It is described in detail in the full first act of Queen of All the Heavens, however.)
If Providence's death suits her character and the story, then Cuthbert's suits it times ten. For a mushroom nerd to die of mushroom poisoning is pretty much as good as it gets.
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Pierre Stein
Author's commentary on Pierre Stein, Trudy's father >
"Pierre" is French both for "Peter" and for "stone;" "stein" is German for "stone." And Trudy's father was a stone carver. (Snort.)