Some Voices
Joan of Arc heard voices, but hers were supposedly angelic. Most people, I think, will talk about "that little voice inside." They mean their conscience, and so do I, but what I wonder is whether everybody experiences "that little voice inside" as a set of definite personalities. Let me explain...
First of all, my sense of propriety is governed by the Duchess and the Lady. The Duchess is very Victorian and wears too many petticoats. She is the one who says "smile" and "be polite" and "sit up straight," in a stern, impeccably George V tone. I dislike the Duchess, but I recognize that she is good for me, just as, supposedly, castor oil is good for me.
The Lady is an entirely different matter. She is grace and graciousness personified--not a fairy, you know, but a tall white-skinned person, who always brings calm and fragile green and rhythm to chaos. Her voice is rich: dark, shining. I want to be like her, but the fact is, she and the Duchess are really one person. The Lady is the principle, the why. The Duchess is the practical, the how. If I want to become the Lady, then I have to obey the Duchess. But I still wish that the Duchess wouldn't wear hoop-skirts and all those yards of lace. It's so stuffy!
These two between them manage my outward behavior during school hours and at social functions, although the Lady is much more prominent for banquets, balls, and big parties. I guess the Duchess knows that, having gotten me into a formal dress, she shouldn't stretch a point by tormenting my life away... Or maybe it's just easier to remember etiquette with white silk gloves on.
Then, you know, there is the Ancestor. Don't worry... I don't worship him. His voice is Duty and Courage: avuncular, bracing, but terribly firm. The Ancestor asks me, "Why are you standing there hesitating? Where is your courage, child? Have you forgotten your House and Name? Have you forgotten that you are a Viking and a Scot?" His is the voice that stings me when I am being a housebaby, afraid of something silly, or afraid of something quite serious which must nevertheless be done. It was the Ancestor who made me get back up on a horse right after I fell off. It was the Ancestor who kept me silent and steady across the stream in Montana. It is the Ancestor who takes me through the PHC wind with a laugh rather than a chattering of teeth.
There are several more, too many to describe now. Most people seem to think that I have a Fairy voice, or a Muse voice. I don't, really. I write by listening to various characters talk together in my head. I take dictation more than anything else. This is, of course, only to be expected from a vivid imagination combined with auditory sensitivity. Lewis wrote from pictures that formed in his mind: the picture of a faun in a wood, or a lamppost. I write from people who wander in and out of my imagination, as they live their lives, giving monologues or dialoguing with others. But these are transient. The Lady, the Duchess, the Ancestor, and others, remain.
First of all, my sense of propriety is governed by the Duchess and the Lady. The Duchess is very Victorian and wears too many petticoats. She is the one who says "smile" and "be polite" and "sit up straight," in a stern, impeccably George V tone. I dislike the Duchess, but I recognize that she is good for me, just as, supposedly, castor oil is good for me.
The Lady is an entirely different matter. She is grace and graciousness personified--not a fairy, you know, but a tall white-skinned person, who always brings calm and fragile green and rhythm to chaos. Her voice is rich: dark, shining. I want to be like her, but the fact is, she and the Duchess are really one person. The Lady is the principle, the why. The Duchess is the practical, the how. If I want to become the Lady, then I have to obey the Duchess. But I still wish that the Duchess wouldn't wear hoop-skirts and all those yards of lace. It's so stuffy!
These two between them manage my outward behavior during school hours and at social functions, although the Lady is much more prominent for banquets, balls, and big parties. I guess the Duchess knows that, having gotten me into a formal dress, she shouldn't stretch a point by tormenting my life away... Or maybe it's just easier to remember etiquette with white silk gloves on.
Then, you know, there is the Ancestor. Don't worry... I don't worship him. His voice is Duty and Courage: avuncular, bracing, but terribly firm. The Ancestor asks me, "Why are you standing there hesitating? Where is your courage, child? Have you forgotten your House and Name? Have you forgotten that you are a Viking and a Scot?" His is the voice that stings me when I am being a housebaby, afraid of something silly, or afraid of something quite serious which must nevertheless be done. It was the Ancestor who made me get back up on a horse right after I fell off. It was the Ancestor who kept me silent and steady across the stream in Montana. It is the Ancestor who takes me through the PHC wind with a laugh rather than a chattering of teeth.
There are several more, too many to describe now. Most people seem to think that I have a Fairy voice, or a Muse voice. I don't, really. I write by listening to various characters talk together in my head. I take dictation more than anything else. This is, of course, only to be expected from a vivid imagination combined with auditory sensitivity. Lewis wrote from pictures that formed in his mind: the picture of a faun in a wood, or a lamppost. I write from people who wander in and out of my imagination, as they live their lives, giving monologues or dialoguing with others. But these are transient. The Lady, the Duchess, the Ancestor, and others, remain.
posted by Praelucor at 10:56 AM
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