Vetchlings, must and a bain-marie

I'm currently reading the historical novel Imprimatur, by Rita Monaldi and Franceso Sorti. It's enjoyable, but rather hard going in places. Here's an extract in which the narrator, a serving boy at a tavern, describes a meal he has rustled up for the guests:

I made a special effort and prepared a little broth with eggs poached in bain-marie, together with vetchlings; to which I added an accompaniment of croquettes of soft bread and a few salt pilchards minced together with herbs and raisins; and, to complete the meal, chicory roots, boiled with cooked must and vinegar. The whole I sprinkled with a pinch of cinnamon; the precious spice of the wealthy would surprise the palates and refresh the spirits.

'Vetchling' is "a plant or species of the genus Lathyrus; the genus itself" (OED). This genus includes the sweet pea.

I'm not sure what 'must' is in this context; possible contenders (again from the OED) include "the juice of freshly pressed grapes before or during fermentation into wine" and "any of several varieties of apple used chiefly for making cider".

I didn't know what (a) bain-marie is either, but I imagine that most of the readers of this blog will do.

A Quiet Belief in Sandwiches

I'm currently reading - and enjoying - A Quiet Belief in Angels, by RJ Ellory. Here's a nice ambiguity from chapter 10 of the novel:

My mother said nothing of consequence. She asked if I'd left the sandwiches she'd made in Reilly Hawkins' truck. She asked if the doctor was going to make her headaches disappear.

So were the sandwiches made in Reilly Hawkins' truck, or left there? The latter, presumably, because making sandwiches in a truck is neither a common nor a simple operation...

Simile: 'Oozing charm like a runny sore'

Here's a short extract from the novel No Time For Goodbye, by Linwood Barclay:

Paula Malloy was there and she greeted Cynthia like an old friend, oozing charm like a runny sore.

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think the second simile works. After all, a runny sore doesn't ooze charm. Something along the lines of 'oozing charm like a sore oozes pus' might have been better.

We're going over the top...

I'd like to share a sad experience. On Friday I picked up a used copy of a fantasy trilogy I'd failed to get to grips with when I first encountered it in my teens (no, not Lord of the Rings, although some of JRR's later work was way over my head).

But when I settled down for a read last night I soon encountered the following:

• "Oh forsooth! I cannot believe you are so anile!"

• "he waved one penumbral arm"

• "still he catechized"

• "immitigable hate"

• "brandished his carious eyes"

• "a number of my chattel"

• "attar-laden voice"

• "the whole penumbra burst into flame like a skin of green tinder"

• "you shall have your guerdon"

• "the forest’s perpetual gloaming"

• "an exigent need for sleep"

The trilogy's going back to the charity shop – though I have determined to use the word "anile" on the next ageing non-male I meet.

'Acronym' in Simon Spurrier's novel The Culled

Since my discussion with 'Anonymous' over the meaning of 'acronym', I keep finding examples of writers using 'acronym' when others would prefer 'initialism'.

The latest example comes from Simon Spurrier's post-apocalyptic novel The Culled. I quote:

We reached the front of the queue and caused something of a commotion. For a start, Nate's branding could hardly be covered with a simple piece of rag – unless he was prepared to submit to blindfolding, which he wasn't – but it was the nature of the mark itself that really got them riled. They kept exchanging looks, clenching their jaws, wondering out loud if they should fetch the 'Em-Bee'.

More f***ing acronyms.

Obviously, this novel is written in the first person so it could be that the narrator's understanding of 'acronym' differs from the author's. MB (or 'Em-Bee') here stands for 'master of bids'. Oh, and the stars are mine – I try to keep the blog reasonably safe for work.



UPDATE 23/11/08: Thanks, Harry, for lending me this book in the first place!

Jeffrey Archer: the ultimate storyteller

In the advertising for his latest novel, A Prisoner of Birth, Jeffrey Archer is described as "the ultimate storyteller". Does this mean that once you read one of his books, you'll never want to read another novel?

The advertising also makes reference to "the ultimate crime". Writing A Prisoner of Birth, perhaps?



(Sorry; this is a screengrab from Archer's website. I wanted to take a photo of a poster I saw at my local station but it came down before I got round to it. And I have to say that I haven't actually read A Prisoner of Birth; I was just amused by the advertising.)