Thank you so very much to everyone who came out on Saturday, especially to Lauren (who drove 150 km to get here!) and to Sara, who brought me an amazing array of retro Nancy Drew postcards, and a tentacle in my favourite colour:

I didn't know I needed a tentacle-finger until I had one.

At parties, one of the first things I usually do is lose my drink, and this past Saturday was no exception. The difference was that I didn’t have a chance to locate it: instead, I spent the entire two hours talking. For me, this is sheer lunacy. (To give you an idea: there used to be days when I didn’t utter a word until my spouse came home from work.) And when I wasn’t gabbing, I was reading.

So thank you, thank you, thank you! I am exhilarated. I am exhausted. And I feel so much love in the world for Mary, James, and the Agency.

I am, above all other things, grateful.

Welcome to the last day of the Traitor in the Tunnel blog tour! Today, I’m talking about the Victorian Obsession with Opium, below. It’s a thrilling and multi-faceted story, and I hope you’ll agree.

Victorian Obsession: Opium

What do you think of when I say, “opium”? Poppies, addiction, maybe the British Empire or hookahs? Well, what about babies? Let me explain.

Opium was, of course, one of the great money-spinners of the British Empire. The British grew opium in British East India and sold it in China, where there was huge demand for it. That’s why the stereotype of the opium-addict is often that of a gaunt Chinese man lying beside a hookah. But, as with all stereotypes, that’s only part of the picture.

Opium use was totally unregulated in England until the Pharmacy Act of 1868. This means that the first half of the nineteenth-century was basically a free-for-all in terms of drug use: anyone could sell it, and anyone could buy it. And as in China, opium merchants in England did a roaring trade.

One of opium’s most popular uses was in an alcohol tincture called laudanum, popularly used to calm the nerves, help sleep, and generally soothe the user. It was considered totally respectable, so ladies as well as gentlemen felt free to take it – and that’s what the British did, in vast quantities. And since opium was so effective and pleasant for adults, they also gave it to children.

Some of the widely marketed “soothing syrups” for infants in the early nineteenth century were mixtures like Godfrey’s Cordial, which was made of opium, water, treacle (a sweetener), and spices. Other brands included Steedman’s Powder and Atkinson’s Royal Infants Preservative. These were immensely popular for use with ill babies. It makes sense: when children are ill, parents want them to feel better. Opium lessened the pain, and the sweetness of the syrups made sure the babies accepted them.

Obviously, opium syrups were not good for babies. Even ignoring questions of addiction and brain development, babies given frequent doses of these syrups tended to be small and stunted, and were often described as “wizened”, or looking like little old men. The reason? They were too sleepy to eat, and became malnourished as a result.

It’s impossible to know how many babies died of starvation as a result of opium syrups. But during the mid-nineteenth century, doctors suspected this was the case. Opium syrups were popular not just with parents of sick infants, but also unscrupulous nurses (who wanted children in their care to sleep a lot) and working-class parents (who were too exhausted from long working hours to deal with fussy babies). These are the most difficult deaths to trace, although it didn’t stop people from speculating.

And this is the double standard of Victorian opium use: you could sit in your elegant drawing-room and denounce the sinful ways of Chinese opium addicts, lazy nurses, and the working poor, all while sipping a glass of sherry-and-laudanum to help you get a good night’s sleep. It’s a bitter irony. Rather like the taste of laudanum itself.

For more neo-Victorian fun, I hope you’ll join me tomorrow, at my real-life launch party for The Traitor in the Tunnel. The details:

Saturday, March 3, 2012

from 3 to 5 pm

Novel Idea Books, 156 Princess St., Kingston

I hope to see you there!

Much of the time, though, I think I live in the nineteenth century – and even compared to the Victorians, I’m a bit of a Luddite. For today’s stop on the Traitor in the Tunnel blog tour, I’m at the Booksmugglers, talking about the Victorian Obsession with Technology. Yes, our techlove pales in comparison to theirs. Click on over and see for yourself!

Today, the Traitor in the Tunnel blog tour stops at The Story Siren, where I talk about Victorian funeral rites in all their elaborate glory. Go on – you know you’re curious about that photo, at least.

Also, southeastern Ontarians, you are warmly invited to my book launch party this weekend! The details:

Saturday, March 3, 2012

from 3 to 5 pm

Novel Idea Books, 156 Princess St., Kingston

I hope to see you there!

These bloggers have also reviewed Traitor, if you’re curious: Melissa at I Swim for Oceans calls it a “maze of a mystery that will keep you on your toes“, and Kristen at the Bookmonsters says it’s “a must-read“. Thank you so much, bloggistas!

Finally, The Traitor in the Tunnel officially goes on sale today! I ran into my local indie bookseller yesterday, and he told me the copies had JUST arrived. I may just have to prowl downtown today, purely to admire them on the shelves. If you happen to see Traitor in your travels, please give it a fond pat from me!

Read about the Victorian Obsession of Phrenology, my favourite pseudo-science, at I Swim for Oceans.

You probably know what your animal sign is (calculator here, if you don’t), and wikipedia does a reasonable job of summarizing each animal’s characteristics. Although I have only a passing curiosity in astrology, I began to wonder what zodiac animal Mary Quinn is. Although her precise date of birth is unknown, she was born in 1841, making her an Ox. (Probably. If she was born before January 25, 1841, though, she’d be a Rat.)

So if you’re a believer in Chinese astrology, you’d say that Mary Quinn should be “dependable, ambitious, calm, methodical, born leader, patient, hardworking, conventional, steady, modest, logical, resolute, and tenacious. Can be stubborn, dogmatic, hot-tempered, narrow-minded, materialistic, rigid, and demanding” (description from wikipedia). Hm. I don’t see “impatient” in that list of traits…

As for James Easton, he was born in the summer of 1839, making him a Pig. (Mary could have told you that the first time they met, right?) Apparently, pigs are “honest, gallant, sturdy, sociable, peace-loving, patient, loyal, hard-working, trusting, sincere, calm, understanding, thoughtful, scrupulous, passionate, and intelligent. Can be naïve, over-reliant, self-indulgent, gullible, fatalistic, and materialistic.” Again, the description misses one of James’s main characteristics: arrogance. Tsk, tsk.

What’s your astrological sign, and how accurate do you think it is?

The shoot took place in New York. The severe black gown is part of Mary’s uniform as a housemaid at Buckingham Palace. Her hairstyle is equally plain, to suit her assignment.

Oh, that vexing apron. Aprons are meant, in theory, to protect your dress from the muck and filth of housework (open fires, stone-flagged floors…). Yet white aprons show every bit of dirt and wear, so they’re incredibly difficult to keep clean and crisp. Yes, Mary finds this annoying.

The model is photographed against a white backdrop.

Afterwards, her image is placed into context: this time, it’s a drawing room at the Palace.

From these images, to this:

And that’s the cover story! What do you think?

What’s up with me?

As a reader:

My husband just gave me a copy of this book.

If you know how I feel about Claire Tomalin and Jane Austen, you will know that I am over the moon and can’t wait to rip into it (figuratively, figuratively). But he outdid himself this time, because he gave me this edition:

Did you hear my scream of delight? I’m torn between sleeping with it under my pillow, locking it away under archival conditions, and reading it in one sitting while children scream and my life crumbles around me. Ahem.

As a writer:

Tomorrow, I’m appearing at Kingston WritersFest with YA author Adwoa Badoe. We’ll be reading and talking to memoirist Susan Olding on the subject of “Life Lessons”. This is my first literary festival as an author, rather than as reader and fan, and I’ve been looking forward to this for ages!

I’ll also be skyping in to Lethbridge, AB’s Word on the Street festival this Sunday. I’m very excited for this, too, and glad that I’ll never know how big my head looks on a projection screen. If you happen to see it, don’t tell me, okay?

As a human being:

My three-year-old’s been singing his favourite fall song, Hawksley Workman‘s “Autumn’s Here”, without consideration for parental feelings of musical satiety. The child is merciless, so I’ve decided to inflict it on you, too. This link takes you to a superlong live rendition.

How are you all? What are you up to? What did I miss, while I was not really here over the summer?

First, A Spy in the House has been nominated for the Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s brand-new John Spray Mystery Award! Can I possibly hold my breath from now until the winners are announced in October?

Second, I’ll be reading, signing, and talking about the Victorians at the Mississauga Public Library on August 27, as their Teen Summer Reading program concludes. I’ll post more details here closer to the event.

And finally, I’m absolutely overjoyed to announce that there will be a fourth and final Agency novel. Its working title is Rivals in the City. There’s no publication date yet (I have to finish the book first!), but I’m so thrilled to be immersed in Mary Quinn’s world, one last time. I hope you’ll agree.

Happy long weekend, Canadian and American readers!