Hank (holding up an issue of the paper): The headline of this issue says: “Woman Gives Birth To A Baby Who Looks like a Chimp.” But, um, this is a chimpanzee in a diaper.
Editor: And so?
Hank: It’s not a baby. It’s a chimp.
Editor: Well, the woman said she gave birth to it, and she says this is a picture of it, and that it looks like this.
Hank: Maybe so. But clearly, it’s actually a baby human. It’s a chimp in a diaper.
Editor: Who are we to say?
SO reds and readers, it continued, but you can see where this was going. Nowhere. In the end, we just ran the whole thing.
But as the wonderful Barbara Monajem, (a dear pal from Sisters in Crime Guppies, yay) says—this is not a new phenomenon.
(And I might ask: Is “political cartoon” redundant? But that might be pushing it.)
It’s How You Look At ItBy Barbara Monajem
Do you read the tabloids at the supermarket? (Assuming you even go to the supermarket now. But if you do. Or used to.) I don’t, or at least not usually. I’m more likely to roll my eyes at the absurdity of the headlines, or get outraged at what seems like obnoxious, even disgusting, intrusion into the private lives of famous people.
In contrast, I enjoy the English caricaturists of two or three hundred years ago.
Imagine a combination of political cartoonist and tabloid photographer, add some moral commentary and/or sexual titillation, mix well, et voilà! Caricatures were printed from etchings or engravings and distributed all over England.
Wealthy patrons might have subscriptions, while others purchased copies at stationers or printshops, and even illiterates benefitted from the artists’ spin on current affairs (double meaning intended), as the prints were displayed in shop windows, and a literate onlooker might helpfully read the captions aloud.
I couldn’t resist putting a caricaturist in a story. Years ago, I was writing short, sexy Regency novellas for Harlequin. In To Rescue or Ravish, a wealthy, well-bred lady being forced to marry against her will is rescued in a timely and dashing fashion by her first and only love, who whisks her to safety in a nearby tavern.
Amongst the convivial crowd is a caricaturist named Bird. The heroine drinks too much mulled wine and is tipsily indiscreet about her escape. Bird seizes on this—such a coup will make his fortune—but the hero is his friend. Together, they spin the story so the resulting caricature will show her in the best possible light, and her persecutors in the worst. Tabloid journalism at its purest!
I delighted in the character of Bird, so when my new Regency mystery series needed a caricaturist, I wondered about resurrecting him. But he wasn’t right for the story, so I cooked up someone new and dubbed him Corvus, which is Latin for crow, so he’s my darling Bird but not really. His caricatures mock the British ruling classes—their capriciousness, their immorality, their mistreatment of the lower classes, etc.
Corvus is not his real name, of course. He must remain anonymous, because if his cover is blown, most of his opportunities to dig up unique dirt on the rich will vanish. If he’s a gentleman, he’ll be shunned, and if he’s a servant, he’ll be sacked (or flogged and then sacked. Or worse… Hmm… Please forgive this author’s imagination, which has a tendency to wander).
I admit it, I’m totally in love with Corvus, and to me, he’s mostly a good guy. What surprises me is that I find modern tabloid journalism anything from despicable to just plain dumb, but go back two hundred years, and the same sort of thing seems admirable. Maybe it’s because much of Corvus’ mockery is valid, or because his victims are imaginary. Maybe it’s because he needs the money (as Bird did). Or maybe I should have him satirize me or someone I care about, and see whether I still adore him. ;)
So…what do you think of tabloid journalists and paparazzi? Are celebrities fair game, simply by virtue of being public figures, or should their private lives be allowed to remain private? Do some celebs consider the tabloids useful publicity? Does utter nonsense qualify as free speech? Are there any novels that portray modern-day tabloid journalists or paparazzi in a positive light? (Since I read mostly historicals, I truly don’t know.)
HANK: Ah. I’ll just say one thing, and then sit back and let you talk. Hasn’t covid made it clear how silly the fascination with “celebrity” is?
What do you think, Reds and readers?
Lady Rosamund Phipps, daughter of an earl, has a secret. Well, more than one. Such as the fact that she’s so uninterested in sex that she married a man who promised to leave her alone and stick to his mistress. And a secret only her family knows—the mortifying compulsion to check things over and over. Society condemns people like her to asylums. But when she discovers the dead body of a footman on the stairs, everything she’s tried to hide for years may be spilled out in broad daylight.
First the anonymous caricaturist, Corvus, implicates Lady Rosamund in a series of scandalous prints. Worse, though, are the poison pen letters that indicate someone knows the shameful secret of her compulsions. She cannot do detective work on her own without seeming odder than she already is, but she has no choice if she is to unmask both Corvus and the poison pen.
Will Corvus prove to be an ally or an enemy? With the anonymous poison pen still out there, her sanity—and her life—are at stake.
Rumor has it that Barbara Monajem is descended from English aristocrats. If one keeps to verifiable claims, however, her ancestors include London shopkeepers and hardy Canadian pioneers. As far as personal attributes go, she suffers from an annoying tendency to check and recheck anything and everything, usually for no good reason. Hopefully all this helps to explain her decision to write from the point of view of a compulsive English lady with a lot to learn about how the other ninety-nine percent lived in 1811 or so.
As for qualifications, Barbara is the author of over twenty historical romances and a few mysteries, for which she has won several awards. On the other hand, she has no artistic talent and therefore is really stretching it to write about an artist who draws wickedly good caricatures. But she’s doing it anyway, because he’s irresistible. To her, anyway. Not so much to the aristocratic lady. Or at least not yet.
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B087BBLLNL/
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B087BBLLNL/
Amazon Canada: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B087BBLLNL/
Amazon Australia: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B087BBLLNL/
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lady-rosamund-and-the-poison-pen-barbara-monajem/1136829963
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/lady-rosamund-and-the-poison-pen
Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/lady-rosamund-and-the-poison-pen/id1507264864
Social media links:
Website: http://www.BarbaraMonajem.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/barbara.monajem
Twitter: http://twitter.com/BarbaraMonajem
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3270624.Barbara_Monajem
