Guest Blog: Erastes

This week, we're welcoming historical novelist, Erastes, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, MERE MORTALS, available now in print and ebook from Lethe Press, Amazon and just about everywhere. Here's the blurb:

Author Erastes' historical romance novel, Mere Mortals, is a beautifully written, haunting story about three young men who are taken in by a mysterious benefactor to live in the lap of luxury at his English countryside estate, Bittern’s Reach.

Orphaned Crispin Thorne has been taken as ward by Philip Smallwood, a man he's never met, and is transplanted from his private school to Smallwood s house on an island on the beautiful but coldly remote, Horsey Mere in Norfolk. Upon his arrival, he finds that he's not the only young man given a fresh start. Myles Graham and Jude Middleton are there before him, and as their benefactor is away, they soon form alliances and friendships, as they speculate on why they’ve been given this new life. Who is Philip Smallwood? Why has he given them such a fabulous new life? What secrets does the house hold and what is it that the Doctor seems to know? Trust acclaimed author Erastes to tell a moving story in the field of gay historical romance.

What makes your recent release, MERE MORTALS, an unusual historical?

Thanks for having me!  Well, for starters it’s set on The Norfolk Broads in England, and that’s an area that isn’t much covered by historical fiction. And it’s a gay historical which automatically gives it an “unusual” label, as despite there being hundreds more than there were five years ago, it’s a drop in the ocean when it comes to historical fiction in general.

Can you tell us a little about it?

It’s set in 1847, from November onwards. It’s told from the point of view of CrispinThorne, a rather disingenuous orphan who has been suddenly taken ward by a rich man who lives deep in the Norfolk countryside. Crispin has no idea what prompted this guardianship, as he’s never met or heard from the man before—and when he arrives at Bittern’s Reach, Philip Smallwood’s home, he finds two other young men who are also orphans, and who have more in common with Crispin than first meets the eye. The story is one of discovery, as they gradually learn more about their surroundings and their guardians character and motivation.

What inspired it?

Well, I was driving home one day and there was an interview on the radio on the BBC’s “Open Book” programme about a well-known writer (and for the life of me I can’t remember her name) who wrote a book about cloning, way back in the sixties, when cloning was still science fiction.  She said that she wasn’t really being original in the idea as the recreation of the perfect woman thing had been riffed on since the Greek Tragedies.  I’m always thinking of plots, and I suddenly thought how I could also use the idea but from a homosexual perspective.

I also wanted to shine a light on the fact that life was so cheap in Victorian (and obviously many other) times. The fact that Philip could literally take these young men out of schools because they had become an embarrassment, and take them away, and that no-one was going to check up on their welfare, made my hair stand on end.

How important are class distinctions to you when writing about your characters? For instance, the boys in Mere Mortals come across as being lower on the social scale than their benefactor. Likewise Rafe and Ambrose in Standish are from different social levels. Do you find that adds a dimension to their relationships?

When you are writing about historical periods, especially in England, it’s absolutely impossible to ignore class. Every interaction is coloured by it. If a landowner speaks to his gatekeeper you have to write it in keeping, if a vicar speaks to a peasant, then again. The young men in Mere Mortals are (probably, because it’s not explained, but they’ve all been sent to middling schools) nicely bred and they’ve had the company of their peers to teach them how to behave, but they all would feel like women did of the time, that they had no stability and their lives belonged to others. It’s not that I deliberately write unequal partnerships, but unless it’s Lord and Lord, you can’t avoid it. (and even in that case, one Lord would consider himself superior to the other.) It’s so ingrained in my English consciousness that I can’t help but be aware of it.

With your writing, which came first, the M/M or the historical?

The m/m I suppose, I started in Harry Potter fandom, but once I’d decided to write original fiction (about 2 months after starting writing in fandom) I knew that I had little interest in writing contemporary (not knowing the “scene” these days, or fantasy or sci-fi (everyone doing it far far better than I could!)

Are there any periods of history that you find so distasteful that you would never write about them?

No! LOL. Or subjects. I don’t understand writers who feel that some subjects shouldn’t be written about, such as slavery or incest or cannibalism—obviously these things should not be glorified or written for titillation (and it annoys me hugely to see slave rape done to arouse) but to ignore the problems we as humans have created in the past, and just shoving them under the mat is a grave error. If one doesn’t wish to read unpleasant subjects, that’s fine, but one should never say that a writers shouldn’t have the right write them.

I must admit, though, that I am now having a real problem with hygiene. Having watched the tremendous “Filthy Cities” recently with Dan Snow I will find it difficult to write any city/town based story prior to the 1900’s without seeing the massive amount of poo and rubbish that used to lie inches deep on the streets!

Thank you, Erastes. Please leave a comment to win a copy of MERE MORTALS!

Excerpt Thursday: Erastes

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical novelist, Erastes, as she celebrates the release of her latest novel, MERE MORTALS, available now in print and ebook from Lethe Press, Amazon and just about everywhere. Join us Sunday, when Erastes will be here to talk about the novel and give away a copy! Here's the blurb:

Author Erastes' historical romance novel, Mere Mortals, is a beautifully written, haunting story about three young men who are taken in by a mysterious benefactor to live in the lap of luxury at his English countryside estate, Bittern’s Reach.

Orphaned Crispin Thorne has been taken as ward by Philip Smallwood, a man he's never met, and is transplanted from his private school to Smallwood s house on an island on the beautiful but coldly remote, Horsey Mere in Norfolk. Upon his arrival, he finds that he's not the only young man given a fresh start. Myles Graham and Jude Middleton are there before him, and as their benefactor is away, they soon form alliances and friendships, as they speculate on why they’ve been given this new life. Who is Philip Smallwood? Why has he given them such a fabulous new life? What secrets does the house hold and what is it that the Doctor seems to know? Trust acclaimed author Erastes to tell a moving story in the field of gay historical romance.

***

“How long have you been Smallwood’s ward?”  

I’d expected something more personal, something impossible to answer, and the question took me by surprise. I answered him, relieved that I did not have to start my acquaintance with this man with a lie.

“I was told about it a year ago, sir.” Not for worlds would I explain the cir-cumstances of that discussion with a stranger. Just the memory—and shame—of my interview with the headmaster was enough to freeze the tongue in my mouth.

The headmaster had had his back to me, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me, and from what he’d just called me, and the expression on his face as he’d listened to my side of the story; it was clear he was revolted.

“Normally you would be sent home…in…cases like this. Archeson has al-ready been packed off and it will be up to his parents to deal with his…aberration.”

I paled. I’d met George Archeson’s father, as tall and broad and commanding as Archeson himself was slender and blond and shy—they couldn’t have been more different. I held my thumbs tightly, hoping against hope that Archeson wasn’t suffering. Wondering if we’d ever meet again, and doubting it.

“Truly, sir, you shouldn’t blame Arch.”

The headmaster rounded on me. “I do not.” The inference was clear, and I flinched under the fury of my headmaster’s gaze. “As you don’t have a home to go to, and your education is paid in full until you leave I have no alternative but to keep you, as much as I regret it.” The man returned to his desk, pulling open a drawer and removing a sheet of paper. He handled with much distaste-- as if I had written a de-scription of what Archeson and I had been doing when caught, although in truth it was little enough. “I have a letter here from Mr Smallwood, who has asked for, and has been awarded your guardianship. He wishes you to remain here for the remainder of the year.”

I felt as confused now as I had that day in the headmaster’s study. Smallwood? Who was this man? Why had he decided to become my guardian? Was it he who had paid for my education? If so, why? I had asked the headmaster these questions but the man had nothing more to tell me, or had decided not to tell me any-thing, either for reasons of his own or from sheer bloody malice.

Baynes dug a sharp elbow in my ribs. “There, lad. On your right. There’s your first sight of the Reach.” I struggled to my feet as the boat slipped quietly to-wards a wooden jetty in the distance, and gradually a house emerged from the screen of bare willows. In the year since I’d been told about a guardian I’d never met, I had imagined many houses that the man might live in: everything from a smart, four-storey townhouse in Mayfair, to a sprawling moorland farm, isolated in some bleak rolling landscape. I had not expected a huge elegant red-brick mansion with curved ornamentation to the gables. As the boat neared the jetty it became clear that behind the house the river widened considerably into a large lake, or a broad, I realised I should call them.

“Do you sail, Mr Thorne?” Baynes asked

“No, sir. That is, nothing much more than rowing. A little punting once or twice.”

“Well, you’d best learn,” Baynes said, “You can’t see it from here, but the Reach is on its own island. Boats are the horse, the carriages and carts here. You’ll find that out soon enough.” Baynes held out his hand and I shook it, gladly. “Good luck, boy.” He settled back down in his seat, leaving me no recourse but to say my farewells and to clamber ashore as gracefully as I could manage to watch the strange black boat slide away into the broad. No one waved to me from the boat, so I turned my attention to the present. My luggage was already on the jetty, such as it was, and I was about to drag it along with me when a shout sounded from the direction of the house.

“I say, leave that there, I’ll have Witheridge send someone for it later.” I turned to see a young man of a similar age to myself walking along the short path from the archway of the house. “Thorne?” The newcomer had a wide, friendly smile and as he neared the jetty he held out a hand, bare in spite of the cold, to be shaken. I did so, feeling some pleasure in at last seeing someone who seemed to be happy to see me. “Come in, you must be frozen.”

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