I just drove out from Vegas to spend a week at the beach for Christmas. It was glorious. Getting out of the desert periodically re-hydrates my mind. All the vacation wine too.
The rental apartment had a selection of books, including this one:
Normally, it’s reading a great book that gives me a writer’s inferiority complex. Someone else’s compelling concept, poetic prose, astonishing plot twists, can be bittersweet to read. Enchanting as a reader, but discouraging as a writer, realizing how much I suck when compared to Melville, for example.
So this book was a refreshing change. Now I feel incompetent not only because my skills and talent are lacking, but also because my work space is so very uninspiring. To be fair, if my house was going to be photographed for a book, I would clean it up a bit. But it still wouldn’t look like this:
I hadn’t heard of von Stuck before. I like his stuff.
I especially loved Rodolphe d’Erlanger’s house. It looks like if Jane Austen novels had been set in North Africa.
How could you not create beautiful things in a room like that?
And Gabriele d’Annunzio’s workshop is my ideal, everything I would want in my house if I had a ton of money, and better interior design sense than I do.
How could you be a fascist surrounded by such beauty? A fascist who wrote beautiful poetry though.
My kitchen table is not an inspiring place to work, by any stretch. I can’t bring myself to post a photo. Maybe I need to redecorate.
Partly I was just happy to discover such a thing as Barefoot Enthusiasts. I now know there are people out there who would appreciate my callouses, and not side-eye me like the pedicure technicians at the nail salon. I’ve felt so alone in this for so long.
But mostly I was surprised to find out the Irish barefoot tradition continued so late as 150 years ago. It makes me even prouder of my Irish ancestors.
The Irish have had shoes forever, clearly. Like this very nice one Joyce shows in “A Social History of Ancient Ireland.” In his book he describes several common types of shoe, and goes into attention-span-taxing detail on how the leather was prepared and sewn, if you’re into that sort of thing. Shoes, sandals, leggings with stirrups like the 1990’s, the ancient Irish had it all.
I discovered Ahcuah’s post while looking for more information about barefoot Irish warriors, though. I knew the ancient Celts went barefoot at least some of the time, way back when. It was a proof of hardiness, and a way to be stealthier in the hunt. That, too, continued on much later than I’d thought, according to this very entertaining article by Katharine Simms https://www.jstor.org/stable/41219649?seq=1
She describes a medieval Irish fascination with going barefoot, possibly more as a nostalgic practice than as a practical way of dressing every day. Apparently, before any warrior could enter the legendary band of Finn’s Fianna, he had to pass a number of tests, including that “without slackening his pace he could with his nail extract a thorn from his foot.” So Finn’s spiritual descendants would have felt some pressure to keep up the tradition.
Simms associates the medieval barefoot warriors with a period of collective nostalgia for their own mythical past (retelling of ancient stories, rebuilding of feasting halls, etc.). This makes sense to me, kind of the way some people today are out to re-make John Wayne movies in real life, never mind the fact that John Wayne movies were never real to begin with.
I do think barefoot pairs well with breechless and a kilt, so I hope it was, in fact, common. I’m writing it that way.
Also from Joyce’s book, this nice diagram of what (he says) is a fairly common archaeological find: leather or metal shoes joined together so as to be completely unusable for anything other than sitting or standing in place.
He says nobody knows what purpose these may have served, but there have been enough of them found that it must have been something fairly well-understood to contemporaries.
My theory is that it was an early medieval Mother’s Day gag gift, something like this:
I can picture barefoot medieval guy giving his wife a pair of stationary silver shoes and a new wineglass, and they have a good laugh together about how she never does any housework, and then she tells him to go fill her new wine glass, and he argues it’s not his job, but then he goes ahead and does it, because divorce was already legal in Ireland in those days, and she would have kept 60% of their sheep.
Look at me, with a blog! All experts agree I need a blog, to promote book sales. Problem is, here’s my novel, at the moment:
Actually, that’s my third full-length historical romance novel. Fourth, if you were to count my first effort, which I do not.
The last two novels are out a-querying right now. (Call me!)
I’m intrigued, intimidated, and confused by the whole “sales” prospect. But whether I ever sell any of these books or not, I’m enjoying writing them. For three main reasons:
I love romance novels. It’s fun to get to make up my own. And since I get so very little romance in real life, this is a nice creative outlet.
I’m a history enthusiast, especially medieval. Having a writing project gives me an excuse to research all sorts of random things, and buy loads of books I otherwise couldn’t justify to my conscience.
I always liked school, and learning how to write *correctly* has been, and continues to be, so much fun. There are a ton of free and cheap writing lessons to be had, and I’m taking advantage of as many as I can.
So, even though I can’t post any Amazon links (yet), there are three things I might like to blog about. And I feel I should. I’ve never had a blog. It’s time I caught up to the way people communicate in the 1990’s.
Under topic #2, I want to share a book that’s got me all geek-stoked this week: Medieval Dress & Fashion, by Margaret Scott.
Writing in any detail about life in medieval Europe is hard. I’m told there are guidebooks for the Regency and Victorian eras, like specialized encyclopedias that authors can reference to answer pretty much every day-to-day question that comes up. If such a thing exists for the Carolingian era, I’ve yet to find it.
Clothing is an especially hard topic for an amateur like me, especially women’s clothing. Very little of it survives today, and most of the pictures from the period were drawn by monks, who weren’t experts in women’s clothing, one hopes.
So I am loving this book. Margaret Scott is an expert dress historian, and she’s packed every page with information, huge detail pictures, and fascinating tidbits. For example, apparently a French count started the pointy-shoe craze in an attempt to hide his bunions.
The pictures and accompanying explanations are great:
I love this lady, possibly a queen:
She does not look dressed for a day of hunting. And that dog looks pissed. I don’t know why she’s poking it with a stick.
If you know of any other awesome early medieval style books, please let me know.