I am in partial agreement with all the short story participants who have not said anything about this story.
Just when I thought I was starting to understand O'Brian's short stories, which are totally unlike any other short stories I've ever read, here comes THIS one: this one has a bit of a plot, it has a beginning, an event, and an ending. We get to know the character, his feelings, his fear, his desperate hope. This should have been our favorite story, right? Yet this one was unsatisfying. So far.
So I'll cast the first stone.
Why "happier than Lazarus!!!?" I never thought of Lazarus as particularly happy. Why not "pleased as punch," or "happy as a clam," or "as happy as a pig in one of Toni Morrison's books?"
Back to the short story. I'll get back to Lazarus in a minute. Here are the words/phrases that stuck out to me:
Theme: this story opens with "Snow had fallen . . .showing BRAVE in the sun . . . it was a LIVING PLEASURE to look at it."
This story is about bravery, yes, the theme is set. O'Brian often uses the phrase "lively pleasure." Living pleasure? Yes, the themes for this story are set. Bravery, living. The story ends, "He kicked the LAST snow from under his boots and ran down the grassy INNOCENT slope . . . down to the thorn trees and down safe and HAPPIER THAN LAZARUS . . . the real knowledge of naked fear had left him again."
How many of you readers have described a slope as "innocent?" I didn't think so. The slope wasn't the villain in the story. The setting was a foxhunt, but the fox wasn't as endangered as the narrator. Was the danger real, or just in the narrator's head? Certainly he could have fallen to his death, he misjudged the situation a few times, but the really dangerous part went away all by itself, and he kicked the last snow from under his boots.
"Lazarus" - means "God has helped." Everyone in this story came out alive, laughing in the sunshine, including, I suppose, the fox, since he did not seem to be in any trouble the last time we saw him. Was the narrator "happier than Lazarus" because he was resurrected from his danger? If so, why not "happy as Lazarus," why happier? "Living pleasure." Narrator was happy he was still living. Do you suppose Lazarus was NOT happy about being resurrected, he didn't ask for eternal life, but THIS man was happier than Lazarus because he WANTED to live?
Thoughts, my friends?
- Susan, puzzling
=====
"Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
Patrick O'Brian
Susan pondered.
I liked this story: its directness, its uplifting ending, its clear narrative line. Isn't Lazarus a premonition? And note that the word "pleasure" appears twice at the very start of the story.
This is one story I had in mind when I posted last summer about walking being a poor-man's yacht. The ceaseless, confused casting back and forth, the vagaries of the weather, the uncertainty of outcome are all shared by walkers and sailors (I imagine).
And though I have no basis by which to assess O'Brian's accuracy with regards to storms, ships and actions, I have scrambled up and down enough snowy foreboding slopes to know that he has this drawn very finely, and to give me confidence in the rest of his descriptions.
I think the danger was very real. Most falls kill after a long tumble down something steep, not a free-fall through space. The slipperiness of new wet snow over wet grass on a slope has to be experienced to be believed.
Scott
Two points.
The narrator's name is Brown. Brown is the color of things dying. Dead leaves, dead grass.
Two ravens flew out above him. Ravens are scavengers. They fly over animals that are dead or dying.
--- "P. Richman"
The narrator's name is Brown. Brown is the color of
things dying. Dead
leaves, dead grass.
Two ravens flew out above him. Ravens are scavengers.
They fly over
animals that are dead or dying.
Yes! So maybe the story is about life and death? Most
of these stories are, aren't they?
- Susan
===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
Susan Wenger wrote:
Just when I thought I was starting to understand
O'Brian's short stories, which are totally unlike any
other short stories I've ever read, here comes THIS one:
this one has a bit of a plot, it has a beginning, an
event, and an ending. We get to know the character, his
feelings, his fear, his desperate hope. This should have
been our favorite story, right? Yet this one was
unsatisfying. So far.
I think that I liked this one more than Susan did, partly for the reasons
she gave. It was finally a straightforward story which I could accept and
understand at face value. My major complaint was that it seemed overly
long and tedious at times for the first reading. Somehow it improved upon
a second reading.
There were parts of the story that invoked memories of a few months ago,
when I went aloft on the Rose. The analogies are weak, and I don't pretend
that either the dangers involved or my fears at the time were at all
comparable to the "Slope", but there was just enough that I can
extrapolate the experience to appreciate the emotions of Brown on the
mountain.
The climb up the shrouds started out easily enough, but the higher I went,
the more difficult the obstacles became. Squeezing past the futtock
shrouds, I found that there were no more easy footholds. "They came to a
wall... It was worse the other side." I can remember all of the voices
talking inside my head. The youthful one, urging me on because it would be
fun up there on the topsail yard. The other one, reminding me that I was a
mature adult with responsibilities, and wouldn't I feel ridiculous if I
fell and splattered myself on the deck below. And then the voice of pride
asking how could I even consider shaming myself by backing down now that I
had reached this far.
Next came the moment on the topmast shrouds, gauging the distance to the
yard and the insubstantial footrope dangling beneath. A rational part of
my mind said don't try it, but I made that leap of faith anyway. For
awhile I was able to forget how high I was, but then came furling the sail,
in which I had to lean way over the yard, trying not to allow my eyes to
focus on the deck below. "He knew that he must not look down anymore, for
his courage was beginning to go, and with it his freedom of the terror of
the height."
When it came time to come down, I was concerned about having to repeat the
prior obstacles in reverse. But stepping off the yard went easily, and
then I was swinging off the shrouds onto the maintop, and confidently
descending the lower shrouds. "... in minutes, he threw away the height
that he had won with such pain."
Once on deck, I was jubilant with my triumph, quickly forgetting the
anxious moments and doubts. "...laughing like a boy ... happier than
Lazarus ... in ten minutes the real knowledge of naked fear had left him
again."
Don Seltzer
Thanks, Don, that's very nice - gets my verti-going. I haven't had time to
read and contribute to the SS thread, but this reminds me of the photos
posted of you Rose Topmen -- the hardest part for me might have been
climbing back off the yard to the top (assuming I didn't fall over trying
to furl the thang!).
Philip Sellew
Don Seltzer* wrote in part:
There were parts of the story that invoked memories of a few months ago,
when I went aloft on the Rose.
*which my fingers first typed 'Sweltzer,' which he ain't bad neither
--- Don Seltzer
Somehow it improved upon
a second reading.
Yes, they ALL do. That's how you know it's written by
the same Patrick O'Brian : }
There were parts of the story that invoked memories of
a few months ago, when I went aloft on the Rose. The
analogies are weak, and I don't pretend
that either the dangers involved or my fears at the
time were at all comparable to the "Slope", but there
was just enough that I can
extrapolate the experience to appreciate the emotions
of Brown on the mountain.
(snip)
Once on deck, I was jubilant with my triumph, quickly
forgetting the anxious moments and doubts.
"...laughing like a boy ... happier than
Lazarus ... in ten minutes the real knowledge of naked
fear had left him again."
Aha! I've said earlier that the short stories are
"interactive" - that the interpretation depends on the
reader's individual experiences. I hadn't had the right
experiences to "get" this story, but I think Don has
nailed it with his Rose experiences.
Great post!
- Susan
===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
"The Slope of the High Mountain" tells the seemingly straightforward
story of a fox hunt gone awry, and a potential tragedy averted. The story
begins with a description of snow: "Snow had fallen in the night and it lay
on all the ground above five hundred feet," it begins, "showing brave in the
sun and making the sky so blue that it was a pleasure to look at it." (p.38)
(Susan has already commented on the unusual usages of some of the words in
the opening sentence.)
Next we learn of two men "walking fast up the
Nantmor road" to "a meet of foxhounds". Up ahead, they see "a dark figure,
dressed in black, incongruous among the rocks, and he was singing
passionately. It was a hymn in Welsh and he was a shepherd: presently he
vanished at a turning in the road, and although they heard his singing high
up among the stunted trees they did not see the man again." (p.38) This is
the last we hear of the mysterious shepherd.
Five paragraphs into the story (p.39), we find out the (last) names
of the two men: Gonville and Brown. (Note the order they're introduced.)
From the shepherd singing in Welsh and the names of the mountains they pass,
it's clear by this point they they are in the mountains of Wales. They come
at last to Hafod Llan, where they see the Master ("He was of an ancient
family, and his people had hunted this country above three hundred years.
He had a falcon's nose and eye, and his moustache curled with a magnificent
arrogance."), with hounds and other huntsmen lined up (p.40). They head
"off towards the Gallt y Wenallt, the mountain behind the wood." (p.40).
They are hunting for a while, when there comes a significant phrase:
"Brown talked to the huntsman, a young, tall Welshman who swore in English"
(p.41), significant because this is the first indication, on the last
paragraph of the fourth page of the 13 page story, that Brown (as opposed to
Gonville and Brown) is the story's central character. Then they see the
fox: "A dark brown fox was he, big and rangy, a long legged fox. He looked
up at the men far above him, and plainly they could see him deliberate as he
stood there, looking up and damning their eyes." (p.42) The fox runs away,
up towards the mountain, and the huntsmen and hounds chase after him. They
climb over a wall, up a "cruel slope" (p.43), through snow.
Brown decides to try a different way than the others. He sees
Gonville about to go back and is "secretly rather pleased" (p.44). He goes
over the snow-covered slope, at one point, slipping uncontrollably down,
but, out of sheer luck, is able to stop his fall before it proves fatal
(p.45). He continues to climb, at one point coming across the hounds coming
down, who "looked momentarily at Brown and went on." (p.47) They've
apparently had no luck catching the fox. Brown comes at last to "a
platform with a sheltering slab over it" (p.48), where he stays for a while,
exhausted and desparaging. At one point he sees Gonville walking quickly
far below. Then he sees two ravens, which make some noise and then fly off.
His spirits are somewhat revived by the warming sun. Then he makes his
"great discovery" and feels like a fool: the sun has melted the snow, and
now he can easily go down the slope. The story ends with him running "down
the grassy innocent slope laughing like a boy, down to the thorn trees and
down safe and happier than Lazarus to the lovely wood and the lake with the
blue sky over them, and in ten minutes the real knowledge of naked fear had
left him." (p.50)
There's several interesting things about this story. As with all of
the earlier stories, a man (or boy, presumably, in "Not Liking to Pass the
Road Again") takes a road into the woods, where he faces some sort of
challenge or danger. As with "The Happy Despatch" and "Not Liking", the
danger comes from going uphill. (Just as if you're an attractive young lady
in a slasher movie, you should never go outside or down into the basement in
your underwear, the lesson appears to be that, in an O'Brian short story,
never go uphill.)
From the names, it appears that Brown is English and Gonville
French, as such they are outsiders in Wales. There may be some significance
to Gonville's name (gone back to the ville? a hint of his early retreat),
but Brown is obviously the more significant character. As an Englishman in
a Celtic country, he much in common with Woolen from "Happy Despatch", and
even more in common with Joseph Aubrey Pugh from Testimonies. There are two
other significant meanings to Brown's name, which I'll get to in a moment.
First, let's look at the fox. Some of you may know the old Irish
song "Maderine Rue" ("The Little Red Fox"), in which the red fox eats a fine
fat goose. The fox in the song represents England and the goose Ireland, so
if we take the fox in "The Slope" as also representing England, we can see that
he has much in common with Brown: both Englishman in danger in a foreign
land. But of course the fox in "Slope" is not a red fox at all; he's a
BROWN fox. (Thus the second significance of Brown's name.) There is thus
an identification of Brown with the fox, and we can see that their stories
are much the same: both go up the mountain into danger, and, just as the fox
ultimately escapes, so too does Brown. The identification goes further: the
fox is personified: he is referred to as "he" (unlike the hound referred to
as "it" (p.41); although "her" is used for a female hound, "an English bitch
with a noble, judicious head" (p.40)). As for Brown, recall the scene where
the hounds see him as they are coming down. They stop for a minute and
stare before going on. Why are they looking? Do they see something of the
fox in him? (Remember in Post Captain, the dogs weren't fooled at all by
Jack's bear costume.)
Now we come to the third significance of Brown's name, and this is
the most intriguing of all: if his name is Brown, what are his initials? B
is the end, of course, but what are the complete initials? Could it be --
JSB (the protaganist from "The Return")? I've already speculated that JSB
is the unnamed man from "The Dawn Flighting", so there's a possibility that
the same character has appeared in all three stories. Consider: JSB from
"The Return" is "[g]rinning like a boy" (p. 11) when he kills his fish; the
man from "Dawn Flighting" stares at the bird he's killed "with an unconcious
grin of pleasure" (p.32); and now Brown is "laughing like a boy" (p.50) as
he comes down the mountain.
There were two more interesting things I noticed. First, there's a
lot of religious words in the final sentence ("innocent", "thorn",
"Lazarus"), as well as possibly in the scene with the mysterious shepherd,
who is singing a hymn. Finally, O'Brian uses alliternation of the "s"
sound in the final paragraph ("slid", "scrambled", "second", "slope", etc.),
hearkening back to the sound of "snow", the story's opening word.
John Finneran
John Finneran wrote:
Now we come to the third significance of Brown's name, and this is
the most intriguing of all: if his name is Brown, what are his initials? B
is the end, of course, but what are the complete initials? Could it be --
JSB (the protaganist from "The Return")? I've already speculated that JSB
is the unnamed man from "The Dawn Flighting", so there's a possibility that
the same character has appeared in all three stories.
Could it be the same JB whose initials are scratched into the wall of the
nunnery, where Jack Aubrey and the crew of the Ariel are held prisoner? :-)
What confuses me a bit is the nature of this fox hunt. Men on foot instead
of horseback? Do the men just chase after the dogs who chase the fox?
What do they do they do when they catch up to it? I would think that if
the dogs caught the fox on the open treeless slope of the mountain, there
would not be much left when the men arrived. And what is the role of the
Master, who seems to be travelling separately from the larger group of men?
Is everyone a "Huntsman" or just certain individuals?
Don Seltzer
In a message dated 10/21/99 11:55:18 PM, jfinnera@CONCENTRIC.NET wrote:
It was a hymn in Welsh and he was a shepherd: presently he
vanished at a turning in the road, and although they heard his singing high
up among the stunted trees they did not see the man again." (p.38) This is
the last we hear of the mysterious shepherd.
John's analysis is lovely, dark and deep. Vy convincing. Everything posted so
far about this story is well-taken.
Just a couple of additions to some of the comments already made:
There's vy little question as to the identity of a Good, Hymn-Singing
Shepherd in a story of death averted by a writer raised in the Christian
tradition.
"Happy as Lazarus": There are two Lazarii in the bible: the beggar who sits
amid his sores outside a rich man's door but ends up happy in Abraham's
bosom; and the dead man raised by that same Shepherd. We might consider Brown
(and of course his doppelganger the fox) as coming close to being raised from
the dead. Wch shd make them both happy.
The ravens--symbols of death--Twa Corbies--fly away.
All that snow, and its importance. Consider the use of snow one of the great
short stories: Joyce's "The Dead," wch ends...
"...as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly
falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the
dead."
Joyce is the master of symbolism (unless Melville wants to fight him for the
honor) and in these stories we see POB working in that same symbolic
direction, as so many writers of that time did: nowadays he's far subtler,
far more mature, in his use of symbols in the canon.
Charlezzzz, noting that there's even a minor character named Browne in
"The Dead." It's the short story of the world, so it is.
Charles Munoz wrote:
"...as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly
falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the
dead."
Sheesh. And here was I thinking that snow was just snow. Right, Two Sheds?
Scott
Don Seltzer wrote:
What confuses me a bit is the nature of this fox hunt. Men on foot instead
of horseback? Do the men just chase after the dogs who chase the fox?
What do they do they do when they catch up to it?
There are some other walking fox hunts in the stories that will answer
some of your questions. With regards to foot, I don't imagine the
majority of hunting in Wales in the 50s was done by resplendent mounted
squires: most of us have to walk.
Reminds me of an old Punch cartoon about the enjoyment of the hunt. First
come the mounted gentry, frowning and severe. Then a jolly but lower
class who had got hold of bicycles and asses and nags. Then the
hoy-polloy, running in their brogues, suits and trilbies, joy bursting
from their grinning faces.
Scott
John Finneran wrote:
From the names, it appears that Brown is English and Gonville
French, as such they are outsiders in Wales. There may be some
significance to Gonville's name (gone back to the ville? a hint of
his early retreat) ...
On a point of pure fact, both names are absolutely English, but whereas
Brown is the most common after Smith, Gonville is very rare. Maybe that
is the sole significance in a binary exercise.
Probably the only connotation of "Gonville" is as part of the name of a
quite large and famous college at Cambridge University, Gonville &
Caius. As a Hall of the university, this was founded by Edmund
Gonville, rector of Thelnetham in Suffolk in 1348, but it was John Caius
(1510-1573), an English physician and scholar, who studied to become
M.D. at Padua, taught anatomy in London and then practised in both
Shrewsbury and Norwich, who elevated it to the status of a college. He
was physician to Edward VI, Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth I, and the
spelling "Caius", pronounced "keez", is a Latinised form of the name
Kayes or Keys. The latter was a Roman Catholic, who remained one amidst
the political confusion of the Reformation.
English names ending in -ville are traps and may well conceal the word
"field". For example, Enville is also Enfield, the place in Middlesex;
(de) Glanville may represent the Anglo-Saxon "Clanefeld" and derive from
Clanfield in Hampshire, Wiltshire or Dorset, but it also indicates
Glanville in Calvados (Normandy). The name Gonville, however, while
properly Norman in deriving from Gondouville in the Seine-et-Marne
départment, is paradoxically not a French surname at all and must be
regarded as completely English.
I leave it to others to make what they can of this exegesis. I confess
that while I very much like POB's "Testimonies" for its evocation of the
mountain country of Wales and believe that more generally he was trying
out his poetic voice in prose as an English gentleman through his love
of English country pursuits in Celtic settings, I find it difficult to
relate to his short stories with sympathy and I have been deterred by
their coldness and suppressed cruelty from taking part in this exercise.
Anthony
I'm still trying to figure out if there's really a dozen words for it in
Yupik, but I have some of my own:
Cold snow
Greg "Two Sheds" Henrikson
-----Original Message-----
Sheesh. And here was I thinking that snow was just snow. Right, Two Sheds?
Scott
Don Seltzer wrote:
What confuses me a bit is the nature of this fox hunt. Men on foot instead
of horseback? Do the men just chase after the dogs who chase the fox?
What do they do they do when they catch up to it? I would think that if
the dogs caught the fox on the open treeless slope of the mountain, there
would not be much left when the men arrived. And what is the role of the
Master, who seems to be travelling separately from the larger group of men?
Is everyone a "Huntsman" or just certain individuals?
In hill country such as North Wales or the Lake District fox hunting was
usually carried out on foot. The famous John Peel of the song "D'ye ken
John Peel" hunted on foot.
As in fox hunting on horseback, the hounds chase the fox and if they
catch it, they kill it by tearing it to pieces, often before the hunt
catches up. This is one of the reasons why the banning of fox hunting is
being urged by Tony Blair.
The Master was usually the gentleman who sponsored the pack and was in
charge of the social arrangements, the Huntsman (or men) were paid Hunt
servants who looked after the pack and controlled it during the hunt.
There are other field sports such as beagling where the dogs are
followed on foot rather than horseback. Sometimes its the problem of
riding a horse in the topography in the Welsh mountains, sometimes its
the size of the followers' purse which dictates the use of feet!
--
The ravens--symbols of death--Twa Corbies--fly away.
This recurrent linkage between ravens and death makes me wonder if the
European variety or corvus corvu is different from the kind we have here.
Does anyone know if the ravens in that neck of the woods talk? Ours will
get in major conversations, gibbering away in a strange language to each
other. I can see crows as an image of death, but ravens deserve better.
Greg "Two Sheds" Henrikson
Sorry. Corvus corax. I knew that was wrong, but being wrong rarely stays
my hand.
Greg "Two Sheds" Henrikson
Anthony Clover wrote:
On a point of pure fact, both names are absolutely English, but whereas
Brown is the most common after Smith, Gonville is very rare. Maybe that
is the sole significance in a binary exercise.
Anthony,
Thanks for the additional information on Gonville. Re: my thought that the
name was French: looks like I was wrongville!
John F.
P.S. Perhaps you can explain what a-hermeneutically means?
From: PLeenhouts@AOL.COM
In a message dated 10/22/99 9:21:26 PM EST, ghenrikson@CUSTOMCPU.COM writes:
but I have some of my own:
Cold snow
To which I'd add - "boilerplate", that which results from rain on top of snow
( makes skiing quite interesting). And "poweder", of course. I like Greg's
g-d snow tho.
Pete
Don Seltzer quoted me and wrote:
their coldness and suppressed cruelty...
I like that description.
I much appreciated the review quoted.
I have qualms of conscience! I feel I was harsh about POB's short
stories, which really I ought to try and read with the attention to
detail that you others are giving, and that is the great benefit you are
conferring on the wilfully benighted such as me. Keep it up.
They are sharply observed and the language is honed down with a power of
concentration to which many readers would not be prepared to give a
corresponding attention.
I suspect that my own unease is due to the fact that I tried writing
like this once upon a time and sense that they are principally the
output of a young man, who is both translating his early experiences to
the page and experimenting with language as much as he was testing his
courage, stamina, nerve, even ruthlessness in many of these stories
through practising traditional English field sports. Thus, at about the
age of eighteen I wrote a description of the death of a wasp truncated
at the waist; it was what might be called "finely observed" but in
reality more akin to the dispassionate dissection of a surgeon. There
was another about climbing Tryfan (3,010 feet, which is mentioned in
POB's "The Slope of the High Mountain") and running down the mountain
afterwards towards the deep, black tarn which adjoins the A5, the old
Roman road to Anglesey. In it I compared the sensations with what I
imagined it must be like to be running semi-weightless on the moon, but
nauseous and sick with fatigue after an over-strenuous day of climbing.
In those days, I did a great deal of winter fell-walking and
rock-climbing, including the 1,000 foot of Lliwedd, which POB also
mentions here: this is near vertical, it has to be done roped up in
about half a dozen pitches, and the whole was then classed as severe.
The entire area he describes is about one square on the Ordnance Survey
1:250,000 scale maps or (say) 25 square miles, and it includes the
Snowdon Horseshoe and the crags of Glydr Fawr and Glydr Fach. Although
by Alpine standards these are not high - the highest, Snowdon itself, is
no more than 3,560 feet - these are all compressed into a small compass,
through which the Llanberis, Nant Ffrancon, Nant Gwynant and Aberglaslyn
passes carved out by tumbling streams, the last two of which he
mentions. Thus he does not exaggerate when at one point he talks of a
slope of 55 degrees - if anything, this is the norm - and I can also
relate to the stone slabs because, more than once, taking the best one
and using it as a toboggan was the tireless way of climbing down quickly
for the seductive reward of a spine-chilling swim in one of the
bottomless lakes or tarns that dot the landscape.
There is absolutely no question of using horses to hunt the fox in this
area: the limit I know of is the girdle of mountains west of Pretoria
through which de Wet took his commando to escape from the British in the
Boer War or some of the hills north west of Stirling on the Highland
Line through which Robert the Bruce fled using his clever garrons (from
the Gaelic "gearran", which the OED nastily explains as a small and
inferior kind of Irish or Scotch horse) - there must be similar American
stories from the West. But what you can do is otter-hunting, splashing
around in the ice-cold rivers with hounds very similar to those POB
names in this story. This, I believe, with the march of PC progress in
Britain has been "phased out".
Anthony
John F. quizzed:
Perhaps you can explain what a-hermeneutically means?
It was a nonce word I made up with a certain irony. I suppose it ought
to have been an(h)ermeneutically, or non-hermeneutically - to be (only
marginally) less pedantic.
Anyhow, I had wryly or self-mockingly used the word "exegesis" or
practical explanation earlier on, when I gave you my spiel on the name
Gonville. I was only saying that I was not going to take the extra step
of indulging in hermeneutics i.e. interpretation of the text or
scripture, because I was leaving that to you, out of pure cowardice.
Such "discourse" leads to ghastly jargon, don't it? It's a bad thing to
have to explain one's bad jokes.
Anthony
Here's new info on "The Slope of the High Mountain"
In Dean King's biography of O'Brian, he states that in an
author's note accompanying the story in Harper's Bazaar,
O'Brian informed his American readers that there were two
types of hunting in Britain: the familiar sport of "pink
coats on high horses," which were very different from the
hunt on foot as practiced in Wales. The latter was a
purer sport, "ancient and magnificent . . . strenuous
beyond belief," and beyond reproach for snobbery, for
while a fool might dress up in a coat and buy an
expensive horse to make his social statement, "even
English snobbery will not induce him to scramble over
twenty or thirty miles of wild, perpendicular country on
foot, dressed in old gardening clothes and hobnailed boots."
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Tue, 19 Oct 1999 22:03:12 -0400
From: Don Seltzer
Date: Tue, 19 Oct 1999 21:19:47 -0500
From: Philip Sellew
an admiring if decidedly grass-combing lubber at or near
45 00 N 93 10 W
Date: Wed, 20 Oct 1999 05:00:54 -0700
From: Susan Wenger
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Thu, 21 Oct 1999 23:54:52 -0400
From: John Finneran
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 10:04:44 -0400
From: Don Seltzer
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 13:31:11 EDT
From: Charles Munoz
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 12:39:06 -0000
From: sdwilson
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 12:39:17 -0000
From: sdwilson
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 19:49:01 +0100
From: "Anthony D. Clover"
[a-hermeneutically]
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 18:21:57 -0700
From: Greg Henrikson
Wet snow
Icy snow
Crunchy snow
God damned breakup snow
61:18:77 N, 149:88:90 W.
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 22:10:21 -0400
From: Adam Quinan
Adam Quinan
'Grab a chance and you won't be sorry for a might-have-been'
Commander Ted Walker R.N.
Somewhere around 43° 39' 0"N, 79° 22' 48"W
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 18:33:21 -0700
From: Greg Henrikson
61:18:77 N, 149:88:90 W.
Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 18:40:26 -0700
From: Greg Henrikson
61:18:77 N, 149:88:90 W.
Date: Sat, 23 Oct 1999 02:12:43 -0400
From: John Finneran
Date: Sat, 23 Oct 1999 08:32:49 EDT
Wet snow
Icy snow
Crunchy snow
Date: Sat, 23 Oct 1999 14:24:41 +0100
From: "Anthony D. Clover"
Date: Sat, 23 Oct 1999 15:05:11 +0100
From: "Anthony D. Clover"
Date: Wed, 8 Mar 2000 05:40:35 -0800
From: Susan Wenger
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