Critique #44 — Tib Hamilton
Kevin Andrew Murphy August 2nd, 2006
She did look strange, dressed in evening dress in the broad daylight.
Peggys blue dress stuck out like a childs muslin frock; North was still a brown-eyed cricketing boy.
But there was a sound of voices; a scent ofcigar smoke; the gentlemen were upon them. How long is itsince we broke the swing together at Oxford? But there was a sound of voices; a scent of cigar smoke; the gentlemen were upon them.
She did look strange, dressed in evening dress in the broad daylight. So youve done no work thisweek again, Kitty!
But just as she cleared her throat, Mr Pickford swept his papers together and rose. The sun, crossing the Channel, beat vainly on the blanket of thick sea mist.
The whole Opera House leapt into life again with its faces and its diamonds and its men and women.
In Spain it was all parched and shrivelled.
He fell against a lamp-post to which he clung. He held a little black spot in front of him. There was the magnificent car waiting, and the chauffeur held the door open with a rug in his hand. He turned to Morris; they discussed the situation inthe Balkans. My brother-in-law, Edward, Celia explained, takes these delightful tours.
Suddenly she saw the only point thatwas of any importance. The lights opened in the middle of the house.
He turned to Morris; they discussed the situation inthe Balkans. He got up as she came in and introduced her to a stoutish, white-haired old man in a dinner-jacket. The great ladies manner charmed MrPickford; but it irritated Martin, she knew.
Then they stopped at the chemists; but there they had to wait, because the lotion was notyet ready. Hes got a nestin the steeple, said Peggy. Oh, hes at the top of his tree, said Morris. They all think they know everything, Kitty thought, smiling at his air of private information.
The curtains fell apart and were held back by tall footmen in knee-breeches. She put down the glasses and leantback in her corner.
The sun, crossing the Channel, beat vainly on the blanket of thicksea mist. A young man who came into a room with shavings in his hair
Tib,
I think your sample had some form of accident with a wordprocessor. There are all sorts of spaces missing in places, and likewise apostrophes missing.
You’ve repeated some sentences in various spots, I’m not certain if for effect or just did a copy-and-paste and forgot to delete the original copy.
Anyway, there are some pretty descriptions here, but there’s an odd disjointed feel to the whole thing. I’m not certain I like it. I’d turn the page if just to figure out what’s going on, and there are certainly some tantalizing hints, but if the puzzlement continued very long after, I’d put it down.
Tib,
It looks like you’ve got quite a complicated stream of consciousness going here. You’ve even managed a reference to James Joyce’s Ulysses with your mention of going to the chemist shop only to find that the lotion (bar of lemon soap) isn’t ready yet. However, I don’t yet see any reference to sf or fantasy. Will that be coming later?
I enjoy reading stream of consciousness, although it does tend to leave me feeling as if I just stepped out of a blender. However, you need to create more of a solid narrator to hold the piece together. This will allow the reader to slip more easily into the rhythm of thoughts and images that flit through the narrator’s mind. Otherwise, all we experience is a blur of pretty but meaningless images.
Also, Kevin has a very good point about the use of punctuation. Even though this is stream of consciousness, you still should add spaces between all of the words and slip in apostrophes where appropriate.
It sounds to me like Tib’s focus character is drunk, struggling to avoid a mind-meld, or dying. Tib, if that’s your intention, you’ve done an excellent job at conveying a mind struggling to stay focused against nearly impossible odds.
I like this piece so far and would turn the page.
It as yet doesn’t have a genre connection, but one might well lurk.