Fairborough - Part 1

This user has been banned and her works removed from YWS.

My dear, we have a rule here at yws, or rather a ratio. 2:1
This means that for every piece you submit, you must review two other people's pieces. I'll give you this freebie because a few months ago I was new too. But if you want a decent number of reviews, ump them out in turn!

Mr Howard was a fearsome creature, of turns, of chops and changes, all rankles and grumbles and, over all, disappointment

I find this sentence too choppy, I would advise that you lose the "of turns", as it would streamline a sentence otherwise too full of ideas.

He was of a grand old age, and not shrunken or mellowed by his years; rather, he grew fiercer annually, like a good wine grows richer

awesome

and caused an irritable bout of vexation

this sits oddly on the end of the sentence. I would reformat it, "causing" rather than "caused".

often contained mud than water

contained more mud, or mud rather than water.

At society events, that he was obliged to attend,

only keep the second comma if the focus of the sentence is on the word "obliged".

Fairborough, in those

lose the comma

the winding room

are you sure

winding

is the word you want? It is the traditional adjective of the hallway, or the staircase.

When he missed his wife, so long ago departed, or his children who had since moved away for families of their own, he had only to look at these objects of the past.

This sentence hangs oddly. perhaps "he had only these objects of the past to look at"? Or perhaps " he had only to look at these objects of the past to (feel revived, happy, joyous etc)"

nostalgia arrested the young man

a lovely turn of phrase

he thought bad things of the past

he thought badly of the past

Now six dogs, of which the young man had known from puppies, ran past him and to the water-edge.

this reads as though puppies had told the young man about the six dogs. replace "from" with "since they were", the turn of phrase you're tying to use is ambiguous here.

earth as the bounded off

as they bounded off

a face as lined as cat’s scratching board.

another brilliant comparison

his thick, leathering skin

you could get away with this, but he seems so leathery already that to be any leatherier he would be hanging in a tanner's. Perhaps "leathery" instead of "leathering"?

and he knew the place better than the back of his own hand.

he's blind, how well does he know the back of his own hand? No, seriously, this imagery has been used, it is a cliche, don't ruin your piece with it.

of dust, at times

you're beginning to overuse commas. it makes sens, but is unnecessary.

many a time

the turn of phrase sits oddly. if you want to keep it, do so.

with Simon, and instead, walked the grove

lose these commas, they break up the flow of the sentence

and went of to the house

"off"

This is wonderful, beautific! The points I've picked up are so infinitesmal in their meaning to the entire piece, and I hope you can see that. You've managed to capture the attention to detail so critical to realism, as well as the personal inclination and humanity that is required of believable characters in any genre.

Lauds to you,
Rubric

PS if you need help navigating the site, send me a personal message.

Thank you, Rubric. I wondered why nobody reviewed

You have really helped. I guess I am a little over-zealous with the ol' commas.

lhighton,

First of all, welcome to the site, though you cannot be called entirely new to it now, aye? Anyway, onward with your critique.


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Mr Howard was a fearsome creature, of turns, of chops and changes, all rankles and grumbles and, over all, disappointment.
I liked that, actually, but the end: over - above?


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He was of a grand old age, and not shrunken or mellowed by his years; rather, he grew fiercer annually, like a good wine grows richer.
Take out the “a” before “wine”.


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and glaring down and beyond, to the sights surrounding him, which rarely pleased him, often provoked him, and caused an irritable bout of vexation.
“(…) and glaring down and beyond” - that is a question, of sorts, and one expects an answer. You do give one, but it’s so very complicated that I got last. The part from: “which rarely pleased him” should be a separate sentence or at least simplified, I think, and an “answer” should find its way into the vacancy (or the simplification, obviously). Hmm. Or, wait, the comma after “beyond” should be taken. That’s for sure. “Ones” added before “which”, and rephrase: “ones which rarely pleased him and often provoked him, and caused (…)”.
Hmm.


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And when his wife died, in a quiet way,
“in a quiet way” - specify. In her sleep?


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He owned a house on the flatlands of Kent, near a wiry stream that more often contained mud than water, and was mostly in his study, reading books with words that hurt his eyes and left no impression on his mind.
Rephrase after second comma. “(…) and it” - add that “it”, “(…) no impression on his mind, that he stayed.” ‘course, think of something better’n stayed, but you get the idea.


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He valued himself to be an intellect, far above any of his acquaintances in mind, but it was apparent to anyone who knew him too well, that he strove to be clever, idealised to be clever, rather than was simply clever himself.
No comma before “that”.


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At society events, that he was obliged to attend, he could comment that of course he had read War and Peace, and many years ago, at that.
Title should be in italics. First “that” a “which”. “Could” - “would”?


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they were untitled and unimportant, but they kept their heads, at least.
“but had kept their head, at least”. Also, this sentence? He should “claim” that, too.


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There were portraits of leading figures of the family - only copies but treated with such delicacy and care.
The “but” makes me expect something. Question-answer, again. With such delicacy and care that “what”?


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It was a proudness that led him to do it
Pride, no?


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When he missed his wife, so long ago departed, or his children who had since moved away for families of their own,
“who had long since” - though how you cope with the fact that there is “long” a bit above, I do not know. Change one of them for a synonym. “moved away to for families of their own” - “form” does sound awkward, but you understand what I want, in general.


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She had done so much, been through such sorrow, the poor dear, and only as a child;
I do not understand the “child” part.


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Mr Howard was not a sentimental man by nature, however. By nature, he
Repetition. If meant to emphasize something, it did not work.


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Occasionally, he bent to look at the reflections in the water, and the agile boatsmen that glided along, unaware.
“he would”, and boatsmen - boatmen. And unaware of what? State that.


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nd, if it had been double the width,
If the width had been doubled.


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Often he thought bad things of the past, and he hardly ever remembered to acknowledge the good things.
Add “had”, in reference to the sentences that come next.


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In Fairborough’s piddling stream, he remembered that you were lucky to catch a newt.
You - one.


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The flowers grew parched in the heat, and hung limply like traitors.
I don’t like that comparison.


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The only things that flourished in the garden were the dogs,
Flourishing dogs?


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The young man watched them with a spirited eye –
“Young man” again, and it stand out, the repetition.


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The old man sighed to himself at the dogs.
“The” - “that”.


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their paws thudding on the hard earth as the bounded off; their barks ringing out across the fields.
Semicolon unnecessary.


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he had always been at Fairborough; perhaps he was as old as the walls themselves.
I’d get rid of this one, too, and put a plain “and”.


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Simon had, also, designed the gardens’ layout himself, and he knew the place better than the back of his own hand.
First two commas unneeded.


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He dug up the vegetables in the allotments, he planted and watered the numerous flowers (he was more fond of shrubbery and vegetables than pretty flowers, but Mr Howard had a mind to keep colour in the garden, as memory to his wife) and he cared for the dogs.
Add: “had” up there - different tense. The part in parenthesis? Place that between dashes.


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But Simon had an attachment to them.
Had grown attached.


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He had never been good at talking to folk, and he especially never spoke to the aristocracy who cluttered up the place in summertime, but animals were his friends, for they expected nothing and they didn’t stick around.
If you want to keep “but”, then last comma becomes a semicolon (cut out for).


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As a small, wide-eyed boy, too hemmed in to know the world, the young man who I have talked of was frightfully scared of Simon.
That is the first time you indicate that first person.


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It had seemed to the young man – who was then a young boy –
Little. Variety. Stop the “young man”, “young man”.


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The young man did not stop to speak with Simon, and instead, walked the grove three times over,
No comma after ‘instead’.


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It was a woman, but the young man was not interested for long enough to find out.
“not interested long enough to find that out”. Or rephrase yours and mine, and find something in between.


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he was feeling horrendous pity, as well.
No comma.


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The sadness struck the young man, and lowered his mood, too.
That “too” kills the atmosphere.



Okay, done with the line by line. Your style reminds me of classics, you know? I liked it, but you do have to be careful to maintain it all throughout the story.

There is not much to say, as not much has been told, but what I saw, I liked. The characters were crafted carefully, and it does show. I’m looking forward to the next installment, and perhaps then I shall be able to give you a more constructive review, aye?

Right, so this is my first story to be submitted - so please don't be too mean! Er, so it's a bit contrived, I guess, and pretty hard-going for the average Joe. My Stuff And Rambles are usually kept hidden away from critical eyes, so yeah... Thank 'ee!

Lhighton I was looking through all your stuff, your writing is amazing. You write in the amazing old dialect that I adore! I too write in that dialect badly though, nowhere near as good as yours . And you're obsessed with classics , snap I read nothing other than classics




Part 1



Mr Howard was a fearsome creature, of turns, of chops and changes, all rankles and grumbles and, over all, disappointment. I disagree with the past reviewers. I don't think that it's too choppy. Perhaps it is choppy, but I think it works well that way. He was of a grand old age, and not shrunken or mellowed by his years; rather, he grew fiercer annually, like a good wine grows richer. Wonderful language you use His brows turned grey, his hair whitened and I might suggest that you use a comma between whitened and thinned, so as not to repeat and. thinned and began to fall out, but his face absorbed austerity and command. He gained a stark posture, raising himself up above his wife’s little, uncomplicated head, and glaring down and beyond, to the sights surrounding him, which rarely pleased him, often provoked him, and caused an irritable bout of vexation. Yay! Jumps up and down with glee. Your style is so amazing. I find it so refreshing to find someone that writes in non-modern day language. And when his wife died, in a quiet way, causing her soul to quickly wither away and depart, fantastic imagery. his eyes grew more trained to find faults, and that was how he remained.


He owned a house on the flatlands of Kent, near a wiry stream that more often contained mud than water, and was mostly in his study, reading books with words that hurt his eyes and left no impression on his mind. He valued himself to be an intellectshould it be intellectual or intellect? I think they both work so it's just a matter of personal preference., far above any of his acquaintances in mind, but it was apparent to anyone who knew him too well, that he strove to be clever, idealised to be clever, rather than was simply clever himself. At society events, that he was obliged to attend, he could comment that of course he had read War and Peace, and many years ago, at that. Most were satisfied; some were not. The truth is that Mr Howard did not care – or, at least, he was indifferent to it. Mr Howard saw fault in everyone but himself.


Mr Howard claimed to be a loose descendant of the famous Howard family. The line splintered at some time in the turbulent history of England, and the luckier Howards got away – they were untitled and unimportant, but they kept their heads, at least. :lol: That sentence was hilarious, moreover it was interesting as well Whether this was true, or simply wishful thinking on behalf of his ancestors, Mr Howard kept the idea alive. The house – it was called Fairborough, in those days – had a dear, little shrine to the days of brilliance. The Howard coat of arms hung proudly and intimidating on the wall, hovering over unworthy heads. There were portraits of leading figures of the family - only copies but treated with such delicacy and care. Mr Howard enjoyed taking a weekly stroll through the winding room, admiring what he knew was there already. It was a proudness that led him to do it – a place for him to savour. When he missed his wife, so long ago departed, or his children who had since moved away for families of their own, he had only to look at these objects of the past. Katherine Howard’s large, doe-like, pitying eyes soothed him – he had, since childhood, likened her to the Virgin Mary. She had done so much, been through such sorrow, the poor dear, and only as a child; a child in his eyes, anyway.


If any of Mr Howard’s acquaintances had heard his mind at times, ticking with sympathy over his ancestors’ souls, they would have exclaimed, ‘Good God, Walter, are you quite all right? You are rather sentimental all of a sudden.’ Mr Howard was not a sentimental man by nature, however. By nature, he surrounded himself with people and objects that would never arouse any passionate feeling. And when, at times, his mind did sink into some sadness, he never hesitated to cover it up with cold, hard facts and figures.




-*-



It was an intolerably hot day in May when a young man walked the length of the stream in Fairborough. Occasionally, he bent to look at the reflections in the water, and the agile boatsmen that glided along, unaware. The young man, at one point, took off his stiff, uncomfortable top hat and kneeled before the water. It was admirably clear today – more than he had ever remembered it – and, if it had been double the width, it would perhaps have made a pleasant watercolour. Lazing one slack finger in the stream, nostalgia arrested the young man. Often he thought bad things of the past, and he hardly ever remembered to acknowledge the good things. As contained and restrained as his childhood had been, there had been immense beauty to admire, and constant peace. The young man had not once experienced cruelty or inequality within Fairborough’s walls – only boredom, and lack of experience. He did nothing exciting, and that is why, like a housebound flower that grows to the nearest spot of light, the young man had strained for freedom. I adore your descriptions.


The stream could not interest him for long. From a distance, he saw it in a new light; it was shrivelled and thin and didn’t really go anywhere. It had no comparison to the great lakes at Hollyrose, where the young man lived. In those lakes, there were trout and cod. In Fairborough’s piddling stream, he remembered that you were lucky to catch a newt. With a smile for the past, the young man walked onwards to the grove.


As said, it was a hot day – sticky and humid and airless. The flowers grew parched in the heat, and hung limply like traitors. The only things that flourished in the garden were the dogs, which hurdled out of the barn at one point. Breaking into a run and a chorus of barking, they headed for the stream, which had, a minute before, been still and idyllic. Now six dogs, of which the young man had known from puppies, ran past him and to the water-edge. They drank from it with such vigour that it was as though they had not drank for days. The young man watched them with a spirited eye – he knew them individually; their names were imprinted on his mind. But the dogs, if they saw him through their determination, only knew him as a stranger on the land. Another face; a face among many others.


The dogs had been let out by an old, gnarly fellow with a developing hunchback and skinny, shaking legs. The old man sighed to himself at the dogs. His sight was near gone but he heard them – their paws thudding on the hard earth as the bounded off; their barks ringing out across the fields. Again; your imagery is incredible.


The old man was Simon – he had always been at Fairborough; perhaps he was as old as the walls themselves. I love the originality of your ideas too. Who would describe someone being as old as walls? Not many people because your creativity is obviously far above the usual I adore it The young man could not remember him without a grey mop of hair and a face as lined as cat’s scratching board. He had kind, blue eyes, very distinct against his thick, leathering skin that was strongly tanned. The young man could not know this, but in his blindness, Simon’s eyes had dimmed and mellowed, and sat on his face with a simple serenity. Simon did not mind his lack of sight, for he knew plants by touch and texture, and could differentiate between them by their rich, heady smells. Simon had, also, designed the gardens’ layout himself, and he knew the place better than the back of his own hand.


Simon had spent the best part of his life in Fairborough’s gardens, both for work and pleasure. He dug up the vegetables in the allotments, he planted and watered the numerous flowers (he was more fond of shrubbery and vegetables than pretty flowers, but Mr Howard had a mind to keep colour in the garden, as memory to his wife) and he cared for the dogs. The dogs were not at all sensible or clever – they ran about chasing after clouds of dust, at times. But Simon had an attachment to them. He had never been good at talking to folk, and he especially never spoke to the aristocracy who cluttered up the place in summertime, but animals were his friends, for they expected nothing and they didn’t stick around. There was nothing better, to Simon, than a fleeting friendship; one that had its uses but went before vexation set in. Wonderful imagery again.


The young man knew Simon to be a reserved sort, who blushed and squinted under the strain of conversation. He’d say ‘nah, thank ’ee’ at the offering of tea, for he had ‘too much work on the old shoulders for idling.’ As a small, wide-eyed boy, too hemmed in to know the world, the young man who I have talked of was frightfully scared of Simon. He did not speak to Simon, but had witnessed him many a time, mumbling to himself and cussing all that got in his way. It had seemed to the young man – who was then a young boy – that quiet people were not calm and sweet-tempered as stereotype had it, but quite dissatisfied with the world. I dare say the young man never understood Simon, for Simon did not even understand himself.


The young man did not stop to speak with Simon, and instead, walked the grove three times over, only stopping at the sight of a figure far off, too distant to be recognised. The figure was cloaked in shocking red, and part of the fabric swayed softly in the slight breeze. It was a woman, but the young man was not interested for long enough to find out. The young man shrugged off suspicions, knowing that much had probably changed at Fairborough in nine years, and went of to the house, which was cloistered by sadness. The sadness struck the young man, and lowered his mood, too. Before, he had been bag of nerves, and now, at his endeavour’s conclusive moment, he was feeling horrendous pity, as well.


Narrative voice.
Fantastic. Really, it was. Well developed and thought out. Your language is magical, simply magical. I really applaud you for that.

Characterization.
I loved the characters. They were well developed and interesting. What can I say? Seriously, the books you read are reflected in your writing, it's incredibility is far beyond the ordinary. Your characters are not the possessors of stupidity. They have brains in their heads, and so too do you.

Grammar.
There wasn't a single mistake. Not a single one.

Plot.
It wasn't cliched. Interesting, endearing, captivating, intriguing... everything a good plot should be. I do hope that there is more of this story.

Dialogue.
Although there wasn't much it has potential to be as incredible as the rest of your story. It will be I am sure.

Overall.
You obviously do not possess obtuse intellect. Your writing is sophisticated and interesting. I adored it. My favourite factor has to be imagery and description, it was mind-blowingly good.

-Kirsten xxx