The Brontës and Glass Town Wars (Part 2) - Celia Rees

In a previous post, I described the genesis of my new novel, Glass Town Wars. In that post, I hadn't got much further than the initial idea. All writers know that, no matter how good an idea is, the proof of the pudding is in the writing.  

To re-cap, for those of you who either missed my post or who can't be bothered to click on the link, I'd had an idea for a book which would take a boy from the present and pitch him into the fantasy world of the Brontë siblings, a world which they called The Glass Town Federation and then Angria. I had a device for getting him there and I knew what I wanted to happen (he would meet the young Emily Brontë) but didn't have much beyond that. Crucially, although I knew something of Glass Town, Angria and Emily's later world of Gondal, I had yet to study the juvenilia in any detail. Cowardice on my part. I didn't want to discover that the idea wouldn't work and that I'd have to scrap it, especially as I'd more or less sold it to a publisher. 

I had my set up. So, now it was time to address the juvenilia. The Brontë siblings' early writing is contained in a number of tiny little handmade books (see my post, 18th October). Luckily, these have been collected, deciphered, edited and published in handy volumes, like Christine Alexander's Tales of Glass Town, Angria and Gondal.  

     

I began to read and found a world that was precociously brilliant, brimming with creative exuberance and dazzling, instinctive, natural talent: fascinating, elaborate, complex - and completely crazy. The Brontë siblings wrote from childhood into adolescence and young adulthood and they wrote a lot. They drew on anything and everything to make the worlds they were creating: current newspaper stories, events local and historical; they filched wholesale from writers they admired and liberally incorporated stories that they had heard: local legends and folk stories, fairies, ghosts, ghouls and witches. They peopled the world with whoever they wanted in it: dukes and duchesses, friendless young women and cigar smoking gentlemen, pirates, low life thugs and body snatchers, doctors, journalists and printers. Everything, anything, they wanted to happen, happened. One of their earliest inventions were the mile high Genii who could build cities in the middle of no-where, preside over the rise and fall of empires – the Genii, of course, were the Brontës themselves. 

Branwell's Map of Glass Town Federation and Angria 

They founded their world at the mouth of the River Niger in Africa with Glass Town as its capital, yet less than a day's ride away, Parrysland (Emily's territory) was suspiciously like Yorkshire, Rossland (Anne's territory) was like Scotland because they admired the work of Sir Walter Scott. And so on. Across their world, wars raged, revolutions erupted and were suppressed, characters were killed off and resurrected, love affairs conducted, marriage vows made and broken. All of this was written, not in story form but in reports, articles, announcements, poems and advertisements in tiny volumes that are really magazines and newspapers, written for, about and by the citizens of Glass Town. The whole complex fantasy grew from a box of wooden soldiers given to Branwell on his ninth birthday. The size of the miniature publications had been carefully calculated by him so that they were the correct dimensions for the original wooden soldiers. The body of writing changed as the siblings grew older but the books containing it were always small, the writing always tiny because this was a secret world. They were writing for themselves, not for anyone else. 

I found much to admire. I particularly loved the different forms their writing took but the anarchic nature of much of it meant the fantasy world lacked any kind of cohesion, internal logic, or discipline. They were children, writing like all children do, without hindrance and constraint, simply writing about what they wanted to write about, what they wanted to happen, as children might write fan fiction now. They were writing to please themselves, not an external reader. All young writers tend to have this is common and this way of writing often continues on through adolescence to young adulthood as it did with the Brontës, although that is probably the subject of a different blog.

 Page from Branwell's notebook

I admit to being a bit foxed. Even in fantasy there has to be internal logic within a story and there was none here. The only way forward, other than abandoning the enterprise altogether, was to embrace the craziness. Tom, my modern character, is my commentator: it doesn’t make sense to him, either. I looked past the writing to the young authors themselves. There was conflict there, especially between Branwell and Charlotte. As they grew older, their vision diverged sharply. They wrote against each other in rival Glass Town publications. Branwell's focus was on politics, war and fighting, Charlotte preferred palace intrigue and romance. I also detected rebellion in the ranks. At some point, Emily and Anne must have tired of being bossed by the older two and decided to found their own world of Gondal. That was the point where I would introduce Tom. Nothing written by Emily or Anne has survived, apart from some poems, so I had carte blanche. Rebellion would mean war in Glass Town and out of it. 

The young Brontēs had given me a fascinating world, not least the Great Glass Town, beautifully described in detail - they were talented writers even as children - and a fabulous cast of characters from the Dukes Wellington  and Douro to Branwell's lowlife 'rare lads': D'Eath, Sneaky, Tom Scroven, Dick Crack-Skull and Richard Naughty. A perfect villain in the person of the Duke of Northangerland aka Rogue. Haughty dark beauties, like Lady Zenobia Ellerington and the passionately independent Augusta Geraldine Almeida, A.G.A., Emily's character who will become Queen of Gondal. 

Northangerland aka Rogue

I'd take my cue from the Brontës - anything goes. In the background is the gaming that got Tom into this in the first place. Got him in, but can’t get him out again. Fantasy Past meeting Fantasy Present. But fantasy doesn't exist in time and space. So if a character from one world can enter another, why not the other way round? Anything can happen, right? So if a boy from the present can go to Glass Town, why not take Emily Brontë into our fantasy worlds: Apocalypse, Zombies, Grand Theft Auto, Gotham City? I don't think she'd have been phased by it, not one little bit. 

Celia Rees

www.celiarees.com

Glass Town Wars and the Brontës - Celia Rees

I've got a new book coming out on November 1st.

With any luck, I'll be asked to talk about it and will have to answer that most commonly asked of  questions: 'Where do your ideas come from?': I've been trying to remember. When was that first seed planted? What other ideas, experiences, added to it? Nourished it? Allowed it to grow out of and over all the other ideas that never got as far as becoming a book? 

I think I've found the 'first cause'. In the 1990s, I worked part time at a Further Education College in Coventry to supplement my meagre earnings from writing. I was teaching Wuthering Heights to a group of Malaysian students and as part of the course we went on a trip to The Brontë Parsonage and Museum in Haworth. I'd never been before and I was as excited as any of the students. I love visiting writers' houses and have written about it here before. Indeed, that post details some of the fascinating things owned by the Brontës and on display at the Parsonage, but that post was based on a much later visit. What intrigued me most that first time was the tiny little books that the Brontë siblings had written as children. 

In those days, you could buy facsimilies of the miniature books. I remember buying two of them but, of course, when I really wanted them, needed them, I couldn't find them anywhere. They elude me to this day. The little books contain the writing that they did as children and adolescents about the imaginary world that they created and peopled.  The world that they called Glass Town. 

A few years later, I was in Yorkshire again, visiting The Salts Mill Museum, outside Halifax, not  far from Haworth, There was a street market and on one of the stalls was a porcelain figure of a soldier, a Rifleman in a green uniform.

I can't really say why I was attracted to him, maybe I remembered something about Branwell Brontë being given a set of toy soldiers and that being the starting point for the stories the Brontë children began to make up, but I don't think it was anything as conscious as that. Maybe I just liked him and thought there was a story in him somewhere. Whatever the reason, I bought him and took him home and he lived on the shelf in my study while I got on with writing other things.

Charney Manor

Years later, I was at a Scattered Authors' Retreat at Charney Manor in Oxfordshire. Different people were discussing ideas for books and stories. Some History Girls, past and present, may have been there. One person described something she'd been thinking about for a book about the Brontēs. I remember thinking, I wouldn't do it like that. Time travel but not back to the Brontës in their Parsonage in Haworth but pitched into their fantasy world and it would be a boy, not a girl making this journey. But how? Why? What could happen next? I didn't have those answers yet. A few more years went by and I found the idea again, or it found me. Another retreat at Charney and I wanted to start something new. I remembered the Brontë idea and thought I might work on that while I was there, so I bought Christine Alexander's: The Brontës: Tales of Glass Town, Angria and Gondal to take with me.

One of the traditions at Charney is the Three Minute Read, when writers read from their work in progress. The proof of the writing is in the reading. The piece I wrote is now in Glass Town Wars, substantially unchanged. It gave me the How? and the Why? Boy in a coma.  Let's call him Tom. Best friend is a computer whizz (let's call him Milo) with the ultimate virtual gaming gizmo, a small, thin sheet of graphene small enough to fit in the ear. It allows you to actually live in the game. Only problem is, it's experimental. No-one knows where you'll be going, no-one knows how you'll get back...  

I knew where Tom would go. I knew he would go there as a soldier, a Rifleman in a green uniform, I knew he would meet Emily Brontë, or her persona in the Brontës fantasy world, but what would happen then? That was going to be the hard bit...

(To be continued...)

Glass Town Wars by Celia Rees is published by Pushkin Press, 1st November, 2018 

Celia Rees

www.celiarees.com

Ten Things You (Probably) Didn't Know About Branwell Brontë by Katherine Clements

Branwell Brontë, self portrait

This year marks the bicentenary of Branwell Brontë's birth. The Brontë Parsonage Museum is celebrating with a fantastic new exhibition dedicated to ‘the forgotten Brontë’, curated by Simon Armitage. With this, the recent BBC biopic To Walk Invisible, which focuses heavily on Branwell (read my review here), it seems much is being done to rehabilitate Haworth’s failed literary bad boy. While his reputation as dissolute alcoholic, opium addict and failed artist might hold truth, his place in the Brontë legacy remains fascinating and crucial. Here are ten nuggets I’ve recently learned about him:

1. He was ambidextrous. It’s said that Branwell could write equally well with either hand and could even write two different letters at the same time.

2. He was a Freemason. Championed by family friend John Brown, Branwell was inducted into the Three Graces Lodge on 29th February 1836. He was young – not yet nineteen – but with John Brown’s recommendation he thrived, rising to Master Mason and becoming Secretary in 1837.

3. He was a member of the Haworth Temperance Society. His father, Patrick, was key in establishing the Haworth branch and acted as president from 1834. Branwell became secretary for a time and would have signed the pledge, ‘We agree to abstain from Distilled Spirits, except for Medicinal Purposes and to discountenance the Causes and Practice of Intemperance.’

4. As a child, he collaborated with all three sisters on their writing, spending many hours in the creation of the Angrian and Gondal sagas. Some have argued that Branwell was the key creative force in the household. Scholars have identified clear threads in the Brontë novels that link back to their childhood stories (in fact, they never really stopped inhabiting the fantasy worlds that they created as children), leaving us to wonder if the sisters would have become the writers they did if it hadn’t been for their brilliant, imaginative brother.

5. Branwell hoped to become a painter and planned to study at The Royal Academy. A note, found among his papers, reads: ‘Sir, Having an earnest desire to enter as a probationary student in the Royal Academy, but not being possessed of information as to the means of obtaining my desire, I presume to request from you, As Secretary to the Institution, an answer to the questions – Where am I to present my drawing? At what time? And especially, Can I do it in August or September.’ We don’t know if a final draft of this letter was ever sent, though both Charlotte and Patrick mentioned the plan in other correspondence. It’s not clear whether Branwell ever made the trip to ‘present his drawings’ – there are no letters on the subject in the archives of The Royal Academy.

6. He did, however, give us the only surviving portrait of his sisters – the now famous image that hangs in The National Portrait Gallery, as well as the fragment (usually said to be Emily) that hangs beside it. Originally a portrait of all four siblings, painted sometime around 1834, Branwell subsequently replaced himself with a pillar. No one knows why.

Branwell's portrait, with his own image painted out © National Portrait Gallery

7. In 1837 he wrote to the poet, William Wordsworth. After an unsuccessful stint as a professional portraitist in Bradford, Branwell transferred his ambitions to poetry. Wordsworth never replied to the lengthy epistle, though he did mention it to fellow poet Southey (to whom Charlotte had similarly written for advice), expressing disgust at Branwell’s audacity and saying that the letter contained ‘gross flattery and plenty of abuse of other poets.’ The letter survived and is currently on display at the Parsonage, on loan from the Wordsworth Trust.

8. Branwell is said to have read part of an embryonic draft of Wuthering Heights aloud, as his own work, in a pub near Haworth. Local poet, William Dearden, recalled the event many years later and the story was corroborated by a mutual acquaintance. Both claimed that Branwell’s tale was so similar that when Wuthering Heights was published they recognised it immediately. There are several theories as to how this could have happened but, as Daphne Du Maurier points out in her biography of Branwell, the seeds of Heathcliff can be traced back to the Angrian stories and the siblings often borrowed from each other’s work. As Charlotte put it, Wuthering Heights was ‘hewn in a wild workshop, with simple tools, out of homely materials.’ Could it have been based on Emily’s collaborations with Branwell?

9. He couldn’t hold down a job. He left a position as tutor for the Postlethwaithe family of Broughton House under a cloud, was dismissed from his post as station master at Luddenden Foot over discrepancies in the accounts and was sacked from a position as tutor for the Robinsons at Thorpe Green where, it's often claimed, he had an affair with the mistress. Branwell’s mental downfall is often attributed to this last doomed romantic entanglement, but whether it really happened, or was a figment of his imagination, has never been proven.

10. He probably never knew of his sisters' publishing success. By the time his three sisters had their first novels published in 1847, Branwell was already seriously ill, suffering from alcohol and opium addiction, and increasingly mentally unstable. The sisters famously kept their identities secret, even within their close circle, and may have decided that it was best to keep Branwell in the dark, for fear of a volatile reaction. Though hard to believe, there is no evidence that he ever knew. It is a sad demonstration of the chasm that had opened between Branwell and his sisters as their stars ascended and his health declined.

A drawing by Branwell, of death at his bedside.

The cause of death on Branwell’s death certificate is ‘chronic bronchitis and marasmus’ (wasting of the body). It’s likely he was suffering from tuberculosis – the same illness that was soon to take both Emily and Anne. Branwell last left the Parsonage on 22nd September 1848. He was found in the lane between the church and the Parsonage, unable to walk home. He was put into the bed he shared with his father and died two days later. 

Charlotte said of her brother 'I seemed to receive an oppressive revelation of the feebleness of humanity; of the inadequacy of even genius to lead to true greatness if unaided by religion and principle. When the struggle was over … all his errors, all his vices, seemed nothing to me in that moment … he is at rest, and that comforts us all. Long before he quitted this world, life had no happiness for him.'

Mansions in the Sky is on at the Bronte Parsonage Museum until 1st January 2018.

My previous post about Charlotte Brontë.

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