I’m giving away a free copy of The Magpie Lord in the electronic format of your choice! Just leave a comment below, naming your favourite Victorian thing to enter the draw! (Anything Victorian – building, social innovation, person, book, sewage system, monarch…actually, maybe not monarch.) Contest closes 9am GMT 21 August.
GIVEAWAY FINISHED. Thank you to everyone who took part.
Victorian England: not boring.
Friend: So what’s your book about?
KJ: It’s a Victorian gay fantasy mystery romance with magic, sex and violence.
Friend: Well, anything to make the Victorians less boring.
We all know the Victorians are dull, right? They never had sex, and they put frilly bloomers on their piano legs. They hassled fallen women and gay men and countries that didn’t belong to them. They wrote gigantic novels about politics and bonnets. Some of them built an iron bridge, or maybe a canal. Yawn.
Well, people are misinformed. Here are some of my favourite facts about Victorian England.
The Victorians were mostly high, or drunk, or both.
You could buy as much opium as you liked from the chemist. Mrs Beeton advised housewives to stock up on both powdered and liquid forms. Teething babies got a mixture of opium and black treacle. Florence Nightingale took it regularly (smack that nurse up), while the Prime Minister William Gladstone got buzzed on laudanum, a mix of opium and booze, before making speeches. John Sutherland writes of Wilkie Collins
“During attacks [of venereal disease] his eyes were described as looking like “bags of blood”. Secretaries left his employment because they couldn’t stand the screams that punctuated his dictation. His medicine of choice was laudanum, which he consumed by the pint, with bottles of champagne as chaser (“refreshing”, he said). He claimed to have written chunks of The Moonstone so stoned that he didn’t recognise his work.”
Victorian England used arsenic like it was…um… not arsenic.
It was used in wallpaper, playing cards, the binding of children’s books, dresses, hat decorations, toys. This was not ignorance, just a robust attitude to Health and Safety and a keen sense of aesthetics. Toxicologist Alfred Taylor was a little narked to learn that his baker’s shelves were painted with arsenic-laden colours that flaked off onto the loaves. The painter admitted that the paint was deadly, but “without arsenic it is impossible to get a good green.” Oh, well, that’s all right, then.
Victorian England had a press much like modern Britain. Sadly.
Snapshots, concealed cameras and the like came in from the 1880s. Queen Victorian got papped at the Diamond Jubilee in 1897. Penny Pictorial Magazine ran a regular page of photographs headed ‘Taken Unawares: Surreptitious snapshots of celebrities.’ (They hadn’t really got the headline thing down.)
The first tabloid Shock Paedo Sting took place in 1885 when crusading journalist WT Stead bought a prepubescent girl from her mother as a stunt, then ran a massive campaign against the sex trafficking of children. He called it ‘The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.’ (See what I mean about headlines?)
Victorian fiction is nuts.
Think it’s all spinsters in bonnets discussing the vicar? Oh, no, my child, this is what Victorian England was reading:
Lady Audley’s Secret by ME Braddon: bigamous heroine deserts her child, pushes first husband down a well, plots to poison second husband and attempts to kill off enemies by arson. A huge hit.
Poor Miss Finch by Wilkie Collins. A young blind woman temporarily regains her sight while finding herself in a love triangle with two brothers, one of whom is blue. No, not depressed, the colour blue. Yes, all over. Don’t ask.
Ayala’s Angel by Anthony Trollope: Heroine refuses to marry hero because his first name is so absurdly ridiculous that she’s embarrassed even to mention it. His name is Jonathan. (This is actually a fantastic romance novel. It’s young, modern, charming, funny, and the author has style.
Armadale by Wilkie Collins (again). This book has four characters called Allan Armadale. One of them very reasonably changes his name to Ozias Midwinter (because he’s on drugs) before falling in love with a woman who tries to murder him with poison gas (because she’s on drugs). Did I mention that Wilkie Collins was permanently blitzed?
The Victorians loved sex toys.
And one for a dildo, or Wife’s Consolation.
Yes, you also got some delightful devices to discourage erections, like this:
Just looking at it would work, I should think. But there’s little evidence they were actually used. Even less that they were used twice.
Victorian England had its very own Twilight.
The Sorrows of Satan by Marie Corelli. Just consider:
- A massive, record-breaking popular bestseller, critically despised
- Includes a female character for whom the author invented a new name. Everyone ever called Mavis was named after the heroine of this book. (Not great, I know, but still better than Renesmee.)
- Features a devastatingly attractive supernatural being who is supposed to be a powerful evil force yet is effortlessly conquered by the unassuming ‘Who? Little me?’ heroine.
- Chronic case of Mary Sue. The Mavis Clare character, who sadly does not get dragged screaming to hell at any time, is a blatant surrogate for Marie Corelli (same initials, both popular novelists despised by the literary establishment, both smugger than is humanly tolerable).
You can download it from Gutenberg, but I take no responsibility for the consequences. This is the face of a man who actually finished The Sorrows of Satan.
(Actually, it’s an artist’s impression of an inveterate masturbator. Bet those spiky devices seem a better idea now, eh?)
The Victorians did not put bloomers on piano legs.
Total myth. Never happened. They really didn’t need to put clothes on furniture to suppress their lustful thoughts: they were on opium, not E. Or acid.
Sorry, should I have tagged that NSFW?
Prince Albert did not actually have a Prince Albert.
You win some, you lose some.
My first book, The Magpie Lord, is set in Victorian England! Woo! As if that’s not enough, it also has gay romance, mystery, magic, sex, violence and none of those bear trap devices at all, and it comes out on 3 Sept with Samhain Publishing.
A lord in danger. A magician in turmoil. A snowball in hell.
A Charm of Magpies, Book 1
Exiled to China for twenty years, Lucien Vaudrey never planned to return to England. But with the mysterious deaths of his father and brother, it seems the new Lord Crane has inherited an earldom. He’s also inherited his family’s enemies. He needs magical assistance, fast. He doesn’t expect it to turn up angry.
Magician Stephen Day has good reason to hate Crane’s family. Unfortunately, it’s his job to deal with supernatural threats. Besides, the earl is unlike any aristocrat he’s ever met, with the tattoos, the attitude…and the way Crane seems determined to get him into bed. That’s definitely unusual.
Soon Stephen is falling hard for the worst possible man, at the worst possible time. But Crane’s dangerous appeal isn’t the only thing rendering Stephen powerless. Evil pervades the house, a web of plots is closing round Crane, and if Stephen can’t find a way through it—they’re both going to die.
Warning: Contains hot m/m sex between a deeply inappropriate earl and a very confused magician, dark plots in a magical version of Victorian England, family values (not the good kind), and a lot of swearing.
I’m a writer of romance, mostly m/m, often historical or fantasy or both. I also have a contemporary thriller coming out soon. I like to mix it up.
I’m a commissioning editor in my daily life and I blog about writing and editing at kjcharleswriter.wordpress.com.
I live in London, UK, with two kids, a tolerant husband and an even more tolerant cat.