Gansey Nation

I came across an interesting definition of magic the other day: “effects without causes”. Which has got me thinking. You see, I’ve tentatively started another novel (just 3,000 words so far), and I’ve decided I want it to be a proper fantasy – not set in the real world, but in a wholly fictitious world, as you’d expect from a fantasy novel.

Now, one of the key elements of a fantasy story is magic. This ranges from the tantalisingly low key (Gandalf in Lord of the Rings using his staff like an electric torch or setting pine cones on fire to drop onto prowling wolves) to the rather overdone (Steven Erikson’s mages operating in barrages like heavy artillery in World War 1). In fact, I think one of the most appealing aspects of the Lord of the Rings – and one that few of its imitators have taken on board – is that magic is at its most magical when it is used sparingly.

Interestingly, two of the best children’s authors who write about magicians – JK Rowling and Ursula le Guin – both just use magic as a backdrop, and their stories are character-led – so the magic remains, I suppose, magical. (Hmm. I think there’s an interesting question to be pursued here – all I need is a research grant and some grad students…)

So anyway, my challenge to myself is to come up with a form of “magic” that I can justify in terms of what I know about about the way our universe works (pretty limited, actually, based almost entirely on Brian Cox’s “Wonders of the Universe” but with a less bombastic soundtrack). But which is still magical.

Speaking of magic, it’s almost Easter, and that means lots of big pieces of classical music to listen to – Bach’s St John and St Matthew Passions, Wagner’s Parsifal (ah, you ask, but which version?). And that, in turn, means lots of time for knitting. So, as you can see, I’ve almost finished the first sleeve; I did wonder for a while if I’d actually manage to get it done, but then fortunately my sanity cut-off switch intervened! (I’m pleased to note that I’ve got my knitting callus back, just above the first joint on the ring finger of my right hand; all I need to do now is develop a martial art based around knitting in which you can deliver a lethal blow with one flick of your fingers…)

I decreased at a rate of 2 stitches every 6 rows all the way down the sleeve (one stitch either side of the seam), so I was left with 118 stitches immediately before the cuff. I decreased that by 10 stitches (approximately 10% of the total) to 108. The advantage of 108 is that it is divisible by 4, so it gives me exactly 28 ribs in the cuff (each rib consisting of 4 stitches in the usual way, k-k-p-p). As is my custom these days, I shall – eheu – knit a 6-inch cuff, so the wearer can adjust the length to suit (and on cold days can unroll it all the way down to make a sort of fingerless mitten).

This weeks’ bread is Richard Bertinet’s Ale and Yeast bread. Basically, you replace some of the water with ale (or in my case, Mexican beer) and the result is a nice, yeasty, slightly bitter tasting bread which is particularly toothsome dunked in a hearty soup. And you get to drink the rest of the beer after – it’s a win-win!

Going back to magic, I think there’s something interesting too in the thought that we seem to have a particular hunger for marvels – look at the success of Harry Potter, fantasy in general, and even “magic realism” in literary fiction; and yet when you think about it, we actually live in an age of marvels – iPads, iPods, digital cameras, even the fact that you are reading this now – all of which were, I guess, fantasy when I was growing up. So why aren’t we satisfied? What are we missing?

The clocks have gone forward an hour, so I guess it must officially be Spring. It certainly feels like it, what with having the windows open and (reader, avert your maidenly gaze) flourishing my upper torso brazenly in a t-shirt. (One week a Fair Isle sweater, the next shirtsleeves – it’s all very confusing.) At the same time I feel like I’ve been strapped to the machine from The Princess Bride, and aged several decades overnight, all thanks to waking up an hour early.

What news from the front? (Incidentally, did you know that the use of the word “front” for describing a war only came in after meteorology caught on in the late 19th century? Previously soldiers called it a “line”.) Well, the news from the line is, I’ve finished the back and – wonderful to relate – the neck too.

I had another of my brainfade moments on the back, when I knit an extra half an inch. (I don’t know why – I was convinced without checking that it was right. If I hadn’t noticed, who knows what might not have happened? Odds are, I’d have kept on going until the cardigan developed a train as long as a royal wedding dress, and Margaret would have had to wear it accompanied by a troop of pages just to lift it out of the dirt. Not that I didn’t think of it.) So that had to be ripped out and re-done too.

The back is joined to the front-plus-shoulder-straps by a 3 needle bind-off on the back. (The cast-off row on the back forms a ridge which equates to the ridge of 2 purl rows on the front. It’s not exactly the same, of course, but it’s close enough for jazz, as the saying goes.)

The neck consists of 246 stitches in the round, including the 20 stitches for the steek. The ribbing is the basic knit 2/purl 2, and the neck is some 13 rows, or just over an inch high. The tricky part is picking up stitches along the edges of the shoulder straps and, especially, along the edges of the decreases on the front yoke, where I indented the neck for a more rounded effect, a total of 60 stitches per side. (This isn’t really hard, but you have to concentrate to make sure you’re picking up the whole stitch, as well as evenly distributing your stitches along the edge, while making sure you pick up the right number of stitches. I got one side wrong first time and had to do it again. Sigh.)

Since I’m in the process of printing out sample chapters and synopses and sending them off to literary agents, I’ve also been doing some research into the odds of getting published. Turns out the average agency receives over 200 submissions a month. Of these, perhaps 6 will be invited to send a full manuscript; and only 2 of them, on average, will be accepted. That’s a 1% chance of getting accepted, folks – and even then the agent still has to persuade a publisher to take you on.

I’m starting to think it will be simpler just to place the waste-paper basket behind the printer, so the paper slides into the basket as it emerges from the machine. Well, at least that way I’ll save on the postage. And if you know anyone who’s writing novels just now, perhaps you could ask them to take up fishing for a few months, to give us other fellows a chance…

No bread this week, as we’re still living off our supplies from last week, with all the fresh yeast baking I did. And after taking account of the various observations on classes, my current thinking is, I’ll hire Margaret out for £300 a day, since she’s the one with the expertise, with the option of an additional £150 for me to come along too and tell jokes over lunch. I think that way all bases are covered…

After getting the first draft of the novel out of the way last week, this week has felt like being on holiday. No slogging away at the computer until my 2,000 words were done  – or, as it usually worked out, 1,500 words and then having to go back later to make up the difference. (For those who’re interested, 9.00-10.30, cup of tea, 11.00-12.00, take a break, then usually a couple of  hours later in the day to go over previous chapters and revise.)

Instead I’ve been able to relax, read, go for walks, and generally bask in the golden glow of a blooming early spring. What? Oh, right.

Edinburgh’s been basking in an Indian Winter, temperatures around freezing, strong winds, rain, sleet and snow. (Just after we’d returned the huskies to the rental shop, too.) At one point the flat was so cold I dug out my old heavy wool genuine policeman’s cape (bought decades ago for keeping warm between Morris dances) and huddled on the sofa like a collapsed marquee, fighting the urge to patrol the streets making citizen’s arrests with a novelty squeaking truncheon.

It was cold enough that my legs felt the chill whenever I lifted the body of the gansey to turn it over to knit a reverse row. (And no, I wasn’t wearing shorts. The court order was very clear about that…)

As you’ll see from the pictures, all this leisure time has brought on the cardigan a treat – the front is finished, including the shoulders, and I’ve started the back. The shaped neck went perfectly to order; I decreased 16 stitches over 32 rows on each side, a decrease rate of 1:2. The trouble started when I got to the shoulders.

Because this is being done to a Scottish pattern, we’ve opted for Scottish shoulders – panels based on the centre chevron design, knitted in full from the front, to be joined onto the back after the back body is finished (like the Hebridean gansey in the gallery). Fair enough, you think. Nothing complicated there. Unless – and this is a valuable lesson, so I recommend you pay attention – you attempt it with a migraine.

One panel went fine. The other… Lord knows what was going on. No matter what I tried I knitted when I should have purled, got confused between obverse and reverse rows, tried to correct the mistakes and made it worse, ending up with something like a printout of a transmission of deep space radiation. I tried ripping it out and dropped stitches. Picked up those stitches and somehow added a few that weren’t there when I started, thus defying several laws of basic physics. In the end Margaret just took it out of my hands and ripped the whole lot out while I had took some pills and lay down in a darkened room. When I awoke I redid the whole shoulder panel from scratch. (And just when you’d think it couldn’t get any worse, England beat Scotland at the rugby. Some days you should just stay in bed.)

Something else that didn’t quite go to plan – this week’s bread. It’s supposed to be a version of Iranian barbari – a kind of flatbread, with olive oil and honey. Except mine came out as a kind of roundbread. (Still tastes fine, though.)

Finally I leave you with a rather disturbing thought. Google “policemen’s truncheon” and the chances are most of the hits will be for adult novelty items, in which the words, hen, chocolate, party and bondage will appear. Which may go some way to explaining the latest crime figures…