Clasps and Buckles and Buttons, Oh My!
For those who haven't seen it yet, our very own Hoyden, Isobel Carr, was interviewed last week by the Wall Street Journal-- in order to mention unmentionables. (Yay, Isobel!)
In short, historical undergarments.
It may sound like a laughable topic, but it's no joke to historical novelists, in the attempt to recreate the minutiae of every day life. I remember laughing over the scene in Elizabeth Peter's The Love Talker in which two characters come up with a mock bibliography of historical undergarments, including Edward Hightower-Smythe's Clasps, Buttons, Buckles and Other Methods of Joining Together Garments During the Period Between 1415 and 1418 and that respected, learned journal, the Zeitschrift fur Studien der Untergarmenten. It was incredibly amusing-- until I found myself searching for the equivalent, and not in jest.
It's not just about accuracy for accuracy's sake. I had a drama teacher back in the day who used to have us wear long skirts to rehearsal long before we made it to costume point, because, she said, you move differently in a skirt. If you're on stage in sweatpants, you can't be an eighteenth century poetess or Lady Macbeth. You're not going to move the right way.
Similar principles apply to writing historical fiction, although it has more to do with imagination. (Honestly, I don't write in a corset. Trust me, you don't want to know what my writing outfit looks like.) What the hero and heroine are wearing will impact the way they move, what they can do, how they interact with the world around them. The lovely Karen White recently sent me a Gothic novel she wrote many years ago, set in 1860s Louisiana. What struck me was the description of the heroine's failed attempt to rescue her son from drowning. She jumped into the water, but her skirts were too heavy; they dragged her down. In that case, clothing isn't just a matter of scholarly interest; it's a plot point.
Clothing is a versatile tool. It can be used as a shorthand for character (how many heroes have we met who scorn brightly colored waistcoats?) and an indicator of national origin. My upcoming book, The Garden Intrigue, is set in France in 1804, where the dresses were much skimpier than their English counterparts and my Parisienne heroine scandalizes her American cousin by wearing open sandals with diamond rings on her toes.
You can see the contrast between French and English fashion even more clearly in a cartoon that the artist Joanne Renaud drew for me a couple of years ago, based on a scene from my first book, The Secret History of the Pink Carnation.
You can guess who the English are.
Readers, do you notice clothing descriptions in novels? And writers, do you have any interesting costume stories to share?
In short, historical undergarments.
It may sound like a laughable topic, but it's no joke to historical novelists, in the attempt to recreate the minutiae of every day life. I remember laughing over the scene in Elizabeth Peter's The Love Talker in which two characters come up with a mock bibliography of historical undergarments, including Edward Hightower-Smythe's Clasps, Buttons, Buckles and Other Methods of Joining Together Garments During the Period Between 1415 and 1418 and that respected, learned journal, the Zeitschrift fur Studien der Untergarmenten. It was incredibly amusing-- until I found myself searching for the equivalent, and not in jest.
It's not just about accuracy for accuracy's sake. I had a drama teacher back in the day who used to have us wear long skirts to rehearsal long before we made it to costume point, because, she said, you move differently in a skirt. If you're on stage in sweatpants, you can't be an eighteenth century poetess or Lady Macbeth. You're not going to move the right way.
Similar principles apply to writing historical fiction, although it has more to do with imagination. (Honestly, I don't write in a corset. Trust me, you don't want to know what my writing outfit looks like.) What the hero and heroine are wearing will impact the way they move, what they can do, how they interact with the world around them. The lovely Karen White recently sent me a Gothic novel she wrote many years ago, set in 1860s Louisiana. What struck me was the description of the heroine's failed attempt to rescue her son from drowning. She jumped into the water, but her skirts were too heavy; they dragged her down. In that case, clothing isn't just a matter of scholarly interest; it's a plot point.
Clothing is a versatile tool. It can be used as a shorthand for character (how many heroes have we met who scorn brightly colored waistcoats?) and an indicator of national origin. My upcoming book, The Garden Intrigue, is set in France in 1804, where the dresses were much skimpier than their English counterparts and my Parisienne heroine scandalizes her American cousin by wearing open sandals with diamond rings on her toes.
You can see the contrast between French and English fashion even more clearly in a cartoon that the artist Joanne Renaud drew for me a couple of years ago, based on a scene from my first book, The Secret History of the Pink Carnation.
You can guess who the English are.
Readers, do you notice clothing descriptions in novels? And writers, do you have any interesting costume stories to share?
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