Short Story / Arthur Rackham diary
Dear Diary,
Still, waves come and go, tumble and fall. Father had warned me of the tiresomeness of sea travel, he called it, ‘a good tonic for the constitution, but a stern test of patience.’ I do not know where I would be without my jolly old paint box though, that modest, silent, convenient companion. We capture the same horizon so frequently that we cling to rare moments, like the howling of a dolphin or a splatter of phosphor from between the stars.
My fellow travellers are such sun-worshippers, they watch it rise and they watch it set; they curse it when it burns their necks and they mourn it on cloudy days. They ask me to paint their portrait for some niece or godson, always asking, ‘could you be sure to get that beautiful sunset in the background?’ I feign enthusiasm so as not to offend. If I am honest, all I see is an empty setting, a void without a story.
I have come to realise that with every entry into this journal, my arrival in Sydney draws ever closer, which raises my spirits ten-fold. I am optimistic that this voyage will restore my health sufficiently for me to study in Australia, each day I condemn a persistent ailment to the plank and see it washed away by the foam. The slants and splashes of plant-life will delight the senses; clean from salty storms and sour limes. Finally, my brushes will taste reds, yellows and browns, as well as familiar blues and greys. My world will purr with warmth and comfort, far removed from this damp heap of timber.
3 January 1884
Dear Diary,
When I least expect good things to happen they seem to materialise, from now on I predict nothing but misery! Weeks have passed since I saw beyond the foot of my hospital bed. I had resigned myself to the shame of death atop a bedpan, when a divine manuscript fell into my lap. I only wish I had eloquence to match Mr. Graham so I may wholly express my gratitude for his benevolent commission. Adding colour to his wonderful words has been an unexpected, agreeable distraction; I can only hope to live long enough to see its publication.
Stories have given me a dreamer’s life. I am at a stage when there is much more to remember than there is to look forward to; even the strongest memories mesh with visions of Wonderland, the hallucinations of an expiring lunatic. I have nothing but admiration for those mad men, the virtuosos of us dreamers.
Illness aside, my weightiest cross is the knowledge that I never fully pursued the finer arts; my love of words diverted me from their disciplines. I would love to look upon a work knowing that it had been conceived purely within my imagination. However, regret is a terrible vice; I should celebrate this journal with vibrant colours and energetic brushstrokes, and quite a few gallons of paint.
6 September 1939
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This was really well concieved. I love Rackham’s illustrations (I have a collection stored on my computer). He had a way of conveying the magic within a story – Alice in Wonderland was magnificent – and it set Caroll’s words, fixed the images for readers in a way that is still perpetuated today. He is the quintessential illustrator to me.
Your story was well written with some great lines and images, within which I got a sense for the human dimension of this artist eg `agreeable distraction’.
`hallucinations of an expiring lunatic’
Other great expressions abound – `...damp heap of timber…’ – great. And this sentence: `The slants…and sour limes.’ – excellent.
The design of this story ie diary entries beginning and end was a neat way of condensing impression and perspective. I wonder at ` I would love …within my imagination.’ for surely `imagination’ – the conceptualisation/visualisation of the words – was the work of his imagination. Did he really think this ie from research?
`realise’ – with a `z’ (not american english)
I wish I could be more critical but I can’t. You should be pleased with this – congratulations.
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This is charming—I don’t know anything about Rackham beyond his wonderful illustrations (which inform my own fictive imaginiation, quite frequently.) What gave you this idea? Are you planning to write a novel based on his life?
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Interesting I am not really sure if I get it really but it reads nicely
This is pretty impressive really. You managed to get the tone of a reaal voice, and give it a slightly antiquated air without making it unintentionally comic, which is no mean feat I think. My big question would be a wider one. How many of these will you need to convey a story. It’s sort of in the nature of diary entries that there is a lot of mundane stuff. That will need to be well handled if you’re going to keep readers interested in the progression of a narrative and some deeper insights. It might end up being quite long. Do you have a piece of writing in mind as a model for this kind of thing?
I like this a lot, I think you have found an interesting story to tell and I think you should develop this a little more.
I enjoyed your writing style and turn of phrase – ‘condemn a persistant ailment to the plank’ is an excellent line. It can be tricky to create a consistent and authentic historical voice and you have done well to create an impression of a time period without resorting to cliche.
Well done and I look forward to seeing more of this.
PS Do dolphins howl?
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