There's no way around this: a novel set in a different culture and time is going to contain a lot that might confuse the reader.* I have tried to avoid too much use of Japanese in Sowing Ghosts—where a term is more easily rendered in English translation ("Arms Master" for instance, versus Bugu Bugyō) I've done so—but this hasn't always been possible.
So here is a list of some of the terms, names, and titles referenced in the story, with their meanings. I'll put a link to this post at the bottom of each bit of the story as it goes up, over the course of the next few months.
29 February, 2020
28 February, 2020
Sowing Ghosts: Japan in the Sengoku Jidai Pt. II
During the sengoku jidai, life in Kyoto (the inhabitants seldom called the city anything other than “the capital”), was uncertain for most people, whether they were members of the imperial family, the aristocracy, artisans, merchants or day-labourers. There was no law enforcement because there were no laws. (There were codes of conduct within samurai clans, but in the capital none was being enforced.)
27 February, 2020
Sowing Ghosts: Japan in the Sengoku Jidai Part I
What follows is an Author's Note explaining the historical background in which Sowing Ghosts is set. Normally such a note would appear at the end of the book, but I thought that for our purposes here it might better serve if it appeared first.
For
more than a century, between 1467 and 1580 CE, Japan was convulsed by a chaotic
period of civil war as the governing Ashikaga shōgunate fell apart. This sengoku jidai
(best translated as “period
of the country at war”*) is a tremendous source of stories. But it is also a
risky period for writers and readers, because much of what we think we know
about medieval Japan is not true for the sengoku.
26 February, 2020
Dialogue, Not Dialect
I mentioned in an earlier post that I refuse to use dialect to differentiate a character's dialogue. Having written this I have to admit that I'm using the word dialect improperly; in my defence it's how I was taught to describe the phenomenon in question.
What I'm really talking about is a certain authorial attempt to render, in prose, the sound of a different accent. That's the word linguists use to describe the way some people pronounce a certain language—though I should add that according to Wikipedia, some linguists do use the word dialect to encompass differences in pronunciation. And sometimes what I'm talking about here encompasses both pronunciation and vocabulary (and even grammar).
The reason I refuse to use this method of writing dialogue is that I think it's insulting and offensive. To say nothing of getting in the way of the reader's comprehension.
It is perfect possible for an author to convey a character's mode of speech without having to go phonetically berserk: if I write a person saying the phrase "That's sure enough right, Master," I think I am getting across the essence of the character more effectively than if I wrote "Thas sho' nuff raht, Massa." To say nothing of treating the character in question with a bit more dignity than the alternative would.
I once received a short-story submission, for an anthology I was co-editing, that featured such aggressively phonetic a dialect-cum-speech pattern for the main characters that I was forced to reject it even though the story was otherwise a good one. (And the author has since gone on to make something of a name for themself.) I suppose this falls under the category of Personal Preference, but it's a preference I feel quite strongly about. As a rule I don't read novels that do this to their characters.*
Does anybody actually write this way anymore?
*Not that I want to keep harping on Georgette Heyer here, but she has been providing a substantial portion of my fictional calories this month. And one of the books I reread this month, The Unknown Ajax, provides an excellent example of how to use grammar and vocabulary—Yorkshire, in this case—to show a character's manner of speech without being condescending. In fact, Hugo's way of speaking plays an important role in defining his character to the reader.
What I'm really talking about is a certain authorial attempt to render, in prose, the sound of a different accent. That's the word linguists use to describe the way some people pronounce a certain language—though I should add that according to Wikipedia, some linguists do use the word dialect to encompass differences in pronunciation. And sometimes what I'm talking about here encompasses both pronunciation and vocabulary (and even grammar).
The reason I refuse to use this method of writing dialogue is that I think it's insulting and offensive. To say nothing of getting in the way of the reader's comprehension.
It is perfect possible for an author to convey a character's mode of speech without having to go phonetically berserk: if I write a person saying the phrase "That's sure enough right, Master," I think I am getting across the essence of the character more effectively than if I wrote "Thas sho' nuff raht, Massa." To say nothing of treating the character in question with a bit more dignity than the alternative would.
I once received a short-story submission, for an anthology I was co-editing, that featured such aggressively phonetic a dialect-cum-speech pattern for the main characters that I was forced to reject it even though the story was otherwise a good one. (And the author has since gone on to make something of a name for themself.) I suppose this falls under the category of Personal Preference, but it's a preference I feel quite strongly about. As a rule I don't read novels that do this to their characters.*
Does anybody actually write this way anymore?
*Not that I want to keep harping on Georgette Heyer here, but she has been providing a substantial portion of my fictional calories this month. And one of the books I reread this month, The Unknown Ajax, provides an excellent example of how to use grammar and vocabulary—Yorkshire, in this case—to show a character's manner of speech without being condescending. In fact, Hugo's way of speaking plays an important role in defining his character to the reader.
In Such Good Taste
I continue to be fascinated with the online discourse recently about criticism and the role of critics. Especially as I find myself becoming much less (publically) judgmental than I used to was: at the risk of being repetitive I will mention that during my younger days I worked as a critic for newspapers and radio in a very broad variety of fields.
Including that of restaurant reviewing. It's not something I make much of, because my career didn't last very long: my doctor told me I had better stop dining out professionally if I wanted to reach the age of 40. But for a short period of time I revelled in the serious challenge of finding interesting ways to write about food and flavour.*
Which brings up today's discovery: a piece in the Guardian by Jay Rayner contrasting restaurant-reviewing styles between the UK and the US. This follows on something by Theodore Gioia† about what Gioia calls a "midlife crisis" in US restaurant reviewing. If I had to make a choice these days I think it would be for the UK style of criticism, as exemplified by Rayner. But really, food writing is a form of criticism that seems to me to have really suffered under the onslaught of the vox populi. Everybody eats, after all. And a surprising number of people seem to think their opinion of a restaurant will matter to anyone else.‡ For myself, ever since Chris Nuttall-Smith stopped writing for The Mope and Wail I have pretty much stopped paying attention to food writing, pro or otherwise.
Though I still enjoy listening when Lorna reads aloud some of the better examples of Rayner's epistolary eviscerations.
*And it is a challenge. Writing about food and eating is almost exactly as difficult as writing about sex and fucking. There's a reason some critics hold an annual celebration of bad writing about sex: the vocabulary available (when writing about sex or food) is extremely limited. Think about it: how many novels have you read, Gentle Reader, that contain actual descriptions of food or eating? (A list of dishes does not count.)
†Not, apparently, to be confused with the music critic Ted Gioia.
‡Lorna and I still dine out fairly frequently. And I wish restaurants would impose a special surcharge on any and every person who insists on taking a (flash) mobile-phone photo of every dish set down before them. If you need a visual reminder of everything you eat, You're Doing It Wrong.
Including that of restaurant reviewing. It's not something I make much of, because my career didn't last very long: my doctor told me I had better stop dining out professionally if I wanted to reach the age of 40. But for a short period of time I revelled in the serious challenge of finding interesting ways to write about food and flavour.*
Which brings up today's discovery: a piece in the Guardian by Jay Rayner contrasting restaurant-reviewing styles between the UK and the US. This follows on something by Theodore Gioia† about what Gioia calls a "midlife crisis" in US restaurant reviewing. If I had to make a choice these days I think it would be for the UK style of criticism, as exemplified by Rayner. But really, food writing is a form of criticism that seems to me to have really suffered under the onslaught of the vox populi. Everybody eats, after all. And a surprising number of people seem to think their opinion of a restaurant will matter to anyone else.‡ For myself, ever since Chris Nuttall-Smith stopped writing for The Mope and Wail I have pretty much stopped paying attention to food writing, pro or otherwise.
Though I still enjoy listening when Lorna reads aloud some of the better examples of Rayner's epistolary eviscerations.
*And it is a challenge. Writing about food and eating is almost exactly as difficult as writing about sex and fucking. There's a reason some critics hold an annual celebration of bad writing about sex: the vocabulary available (when writing about sex or food) is extremely limited. Think about it: how many novels have you read, Gentle Reader, that contain actual descriptions of food or eating? (A list of dishes does not count.)
†Not, apparently, to be confused with the music critic Ted Gioia.
‡Lorna and I still dine out fairly frequently. And I wish restaurants would impose a special surcharge on any and every person who insists on taking a (flash) mobile-phone photo of every dish set down before them. If you need a visual reminder of everything you eat, You're Doing It Wrong.
Sowing Ghosts: Kyoto in 1528
I had never made a map for any story I wrote, until I came to finish Sowing Ghosts. In this case I came to the conclusion that readers might find it useful to be able to check for themselves the locations of some of the scenes in what follows.
The map I created, shown below, was based on a variety of sources. The primary reference, though, is Mary Elizabeth Barry's The Culture of Civil War in Kyoto. To give readers some idea of the extent of the devastation the capital suffered during the Sengoku Jidai, reflect that on the map below, streets which are shown with a dotted outline are streets along which most of the buildings were burnt in the years prior to 1528... and had never been rebuilt. Most of the destruction, in fact, happened during the Ōnin War, which ended in 1477. That's half a century during which the capital of the country was in large part a ruin.
Note that items in blue on this map are either invented by me or speculative (I could not find any source that would pinpoint the site of the East Market during the period of this story); all other items are as true to the historical record as I can make them.
The map I created, shown below, was based on a variety of sources. The primary reference, though, is Mary Elizabeth Barry's The Culture of Civil War in Kyoto. To give readers some idea of the extent of the devastation the capital suffered during the Sengoku Jidai, reflect that on the map below, streets which are shown with a dotted outline are streets along which most of the buildings were burnt in the years prior to 1528... and had never been rebuilt. Most of the destruction, in fact, happened during the Ōnin War, which ended in 1477. That's half a century during which the capital of the country was in large part a ruin.
Note that items in blue on this map are either invented by me or speculative (I could not find any source that would pinpoint the site of the East Market during the period of this story); all other items are as true to the historical record as I can make them.
25 February, 2020
Introducing "Sowing Ghosts"
Yoshino Hiroki doesn’t want to be in
Japan’s capital, he wants to be home and killing someone. Anyone. Hiroki has
spent nearly two decades running from his aristocratic past, becoming samurai.
But “samurai” means “to serve,” so when ordered to investigate a murder he
knows he must obey.
Instead of returning to his predictable ―
if not safe ― provincial life, Hiroki is drawn deep into the treacherous world
of the burned and barricaded capital. He is guided by Katsumi, a tea-shop girl
with poetic ambitions, and threatened by enemies and friends, all of them
dangerous. Worse, his investigation threatens to revive his dead past, and
brings him face-to-face again with the woman who destroyed his old life: His
mother.
Could she be the killer? Or is it the
adolescent, descendant of a powerful family and seeking his own power? The
secretary who wants to wield a sword, not a brush? Hiroki must learn more than
spy-craft to deal with what could be domestic violence ― or a political conspiracy
that will engulf him and the empire.
Sowing Ghosts is a murder mystery set during the Sengoku Jidai, the age of the country at war. It's not fantasy, nor is it alternate-history.
And before I start serializing the book itself, I'm going to post a few items that I trust will help readers understand the period, and possibly help in keeping track of the characters. The novel itself begins on this site on Monday 2 March.
This Is Officially the Most Canadian Meme Ever
The sentiment is all over the interwebs at the moment, but I like this way of putting it the best:
(From "This Hour Has 22 Minutes")
(From "This Hour Has 22 Minutes")
24 February, 2020
The Care and Feeding of Supporting Characters
A while back a member of SF Canada wrote a request for advice about writing dialogue, with specific reference to how to make dialogue for specific characters seem individual to them. I never got around to replying (and I doubt my opinion was missed) but it did make me think about the way I write dialogue.
And it gave me a focus for this year's Heyer Project: how did Georgette Heyer's supporting characters help the stories she told?
My reason for thinking this way is my conclusion that in fact I don't go out of my way to give my protagonists a distinctive mode of speech. Seems to me this is only going to get in the way of what these characters are in business for. Or to put it another way, how they say things doesn't matter nearly as much as what these characters say.
Where I do spend some time exploring ways of making dialogue distinctive is in the supporting characters. These individuals don't have to worry about carrying theme and plot and all those fictive parts of a balanced breakfast, so how they say things can be allowed to occasionally take prominence over what they say. So I gave Hachette, in A Tangled Weave, certain vocal mannerisms I would not have considered for Victoire. Likewise Congressman Reynolds, in The Bonny Blue Flag, has a consistent mannerism I might even call a vocal tic and Cleburne has some (possibly stereotypical) Irish sentence constructions and cadences, whereas Stuart and Patton speak in roughly similar voices.
Heyer does this as well. While I'd be hard-pressed to tell her protagonists' dialogue from one novel to the next, the supporting characters are often instantly identifiable: there is no way I'd confuse Camille d'Evron (Cotillion) from Lady Bellingham (Faro's Daughter) from Eugenia Wraxton from Lord Bromford (both in The Grand Sophy). And that's just what supporting characters ought to be like. While they might not carry as much of the plotting weight, in a comedy of manners they have to carry an exceptional amount of comedic baggage.
So it's a good thing for a supporting character to have an exaggeratedly sweet way of talk, for example, or to be prone to babbling incoherently. The writer can afford to experiment more with the dialogue and voices of supporting characters, because the dangers posed by failure are so much smaller.
One thing I will not do, however, is write in dialect. And that's a subject for another time.
And it gave me a focus for this year's Heyer Project: how did Georgette Heyer's supporting characters help the stories she told?
My reason for thinking this way is my conclusion that in fact I don't go out of my way to give my protagonists a distinctive mode of speech. Seems to me this is only going to get in the way of what these characters are in business for. Or to put it another way, how they say things doesn't matter nearly as much as what these characters say.
Where I do spend some time exploring ways of making dialogue distinctive is in the supporting characters. These individuals don't have to worry about carrying theme and plot and all those fictive parts of a balanced breakfast, so how they say things can be allowed to occasionally take prominence over what they say. So I gave Hachette, in A Tangled Weave, certain vocal mannerisms I would not have considered for Victoire. Likewise Congressman Reynolds, in The Bonny Blue Flag, has a consistent mannerism I might even call a vocal tic and Cleburne has some (possibly stereotypical) Irish sentence constructions and cadences, whereas Stuart and Patton speak in roughly similar voices.
Heyer does this as well. While I'd be hard-pressed to tell her protagonists' dialogue from one novel to the next, the supporting characters are often instantly identifiable: there is no way I'd confuse Camille d'Evron (Cotillion) from Lady Bellingham (Faro's Daughter) from Eugenia Wraxton from Lord Bromford (both in The Grand Sophy). And that's just what supporting characters ought to be like. While they might not carry as much of the plotting weight, in a comedy of manners they have to carry an exceptional amount of comedic baggage.
So it's a good thing for a supporting character to have an exaggeratedly sweet way of talk, for example, or to be prone to babbling incoherently. The writer can afford to experiment more with the dialogue and voices of supporting characters, because the dangers posed by failure are so much smaller.
One thing I will not do, however, is write in dialect. And that's a subject for another time.
13 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 20.2
Previous First
[concluding chapter 20, and finishing the novel]
Part of him had been dreading this; part of him couldn’t wait to leave. Either way, it was no longer possible to put it off. Patton dismounted and tied up his horse—a parting gift from the Republic of Texas, and a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve—and then walked to where Stewart and Cleburne waited. For a moment he entertained the idea of having one of the slaves watch his horse. It was an idea quickly abandoned, though; no help was really necessary to watch over the handful of things that were all of Patton’s possessions that had been recovered from the battlefield.
[concluding chapter 20, and finishing the novel]
6 JUNE 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
Part of him had been dreading this; part of him couldn’t wait to leave. Either way, it was no longer possible to put it off. Patton dismounted and tied up his horse—a parting gift from the Republic of Texas, and a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve—and then walked to where Stewart and Cleburne waited. For a moment he entertained the idea of having one of the slaves watch his horse. It was an idea quickly abandoned, though; no help was really necessary to watch over the handful of things that were all of Patton’s possessions that had been recovered from the battlefield.
12 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 20.1
Previous First
“Am I being bloodthirsty?” Stewart turned to Cleburne. “I probably ought to go straight back to General Lee… but after all that’s happened I think I owe it to myself—and to everyone who died because of him—to stay here to see William Walker hanged.”
“Then I’d say you weren’t so much bloodthirsty as, well, thorough.” Cleburne smiled and clapped him on the back. “Justified, too. I’ve no interest in seeing another man hanged—got more than enough of that in my travels—but it might make an interesting story for you to share with your uncle.” Stewart laughed, but even to himself the laugh sounded flat, even bitter.
Do I really want to go back to Virginia? The thought was unexpected, and it forced Stewart to look around him.
6 JUNE 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
“Am I being bloodthirsty?” Stewart turned to Cleburne. “I probably ought to go straight back to General Lee… but after all that’s happened I think I owe it to myself—and to everyone who died because of him—to stay here to see William Walker hanged.”
“Then I’d say you weren’t so much bloodthirsty as, well, thorough.” Cleburne smiled and clapped him on the back. “Justified, too. I’ve no interest in seeing another man hanged—got more than enough of that in my travels—but it might make an interesting story for you to share with your uncle.” Stewart laughed, but even to himself the laugh sounded flat, even bitter.
Do I really want to go back to Virginia? The thought was unexpected, and it forced Stewart to look around him.
11 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.7
Previous First
“I won’t be going to Hampton Roads,” Stewart said, wincing as he sat upright and his leg protested. “My place, sir, is with General Lee, and my intent is to assist him in the defeat of the conspiracy within our government and army. They have the influence and reputation to see that justice is done. And they have the love of country that will compel them, I think, to do whatever is necessary.”
“That might be sufficient,” Travis said. His eyes narrowed, and Stewart got the impression of a man distracted by a sudden idea.
“If you have a message you wish delivered to our government,” Stewart said, “I can do that for you through General Lee.”
“A message.” The words were more expelled than enunciated. “Yes, I think I might want to send a message to your country from my country.”
[concluding chapter 19]
“That might be sufficient,” Travis said. His eyes narrowed, and Stewart got the impression of a man distracted by a sudden idea.
“If you have a message you wish delivered to our government,” Stewart said, “I can do that for you through General Lee.”
“A message.” The words were more expelled than enunciated. “Yes, I think I might want to send a message to your country from my country.”
10 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.6
Previous First
“I don’t believe I have properly thanked you, Captain Stewart, for all you have done to help us this week,” Travis said. “Please let me do so now. The Republic of Texas is most grateful, sir.” The secretary closed the door to his office and pointed Stewart to a chair. Then he sat behind his desk, opened a decanter and sloshed Bourbon into two glasses.
“I was only doing my duty, sir.” However little some people back home might regard it as my duty, he added silently. He sat, grateful for the opportunity to ease the pain in his leg, and took the glass offered to him. “If I might ask, sir, what are your plans for Captain Patton? He really is not much more than a schoolboy, sir. I am at least in part at fault for letting himself get in over his head.”
“Think nothing of it. Captain Patton is small fish to me. To us. I believe his brother is prepared to take him in hand, and the republic will be happy with that.” Travis sipped his drink, and the lines of his face seemed to harden. “How much more are you prepared to say? About your duty.”
[continuing chapter 19]
“I was only doing my duty, sir.” However little some people back home might regard it as my duty, he added silently. He sat, grateful for the opportunity to ease the pain in his leg, and took the glass offered to him. “If I might ask, sir, what are your plans for Captain Patton? He really is not much more than a schoolboy, sir. I am at least in part at fault for letting himself get in over his head.”
“Think nothing of it. Captain Patton is small fish to me. To us. I believe his brother is prepared to take him in hand, and the republic will be happy with that.” Travis sipped his drink, and the lines of his face seemed to harden. “How much more are you prepared to say? About your duty.”
07 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.5
Previous First
“I’m glad you feel that way, young man,” said a voice from the doorway. Patton turned to see Secretary Travis entering the room. He struggled to get up, and was grateful when Travis waved him back down. “This is an interrogation,” Travis said, “but I don’t think we’ll make it too formal. You being treated well?”
“Thank you, sir. Yes. My head hurts, but that’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“I’d love to know how you obtained your wound,” Travis said with a thin smile. “You appear to be one of the few prisoners we took who wasn’t injured by our single artillery piece.”
[continuing chapter 19]
“Thank you, sir. Yes. My head hurts, but that’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“I’d love to know how you obtained your wound,” Travis said with a thin smile. “You appear to be one of the few prisoners we took who wasn’t injured by our single artillery piece.”
06 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.4
Previous First
A dark-complexioned woman replaced the cloth on Patton’s head, and after a momentary sting the cool damp felt as soothing as his mother’s touch. He sat in a comfortable, wood and canvas chair in a garden behind Travis’s house on the outskirts of Washington-on-the-Brazos, and a soft evening breeze plucked at the loose cotton shirt and trousers they’d given him to wear while someone washed the blood and grime from his clothes. He had been bathed, and his head wound cleaned and bound. Droplets of condensation clustered on the side of a mug filled with a punch of rum, water, and lemons—just enough rum to help numb the pain in his head without getting him drunk.
[continuing chapter 19]
05 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.3
Previous First
You’re a Virginian, Patton reminded himself. You may be at fault here, but you’re still a Virginian. You can’t let them think you’re licked.
They had taken him from his litter and sat him in a chair on the porch of a farm or plantation house. His head ached almost unbearably, the injury and the damp, stifling heat of the day making him feel sick to his stomach. Under the circumstances it seemed ridiculous to be contemplating how to put on an appearance of competence and pride without seeming cocky or arrogant. Ridiculous, save that the reputations of Virginia and the entire Confederacy might be riding on the way these Texans responded to him.
“I apologize for my appearance, sir,” he said to the man who’d just introduced himself as William Barret Travis, the Texan secretary of state. “In both senses of the word.”
[continuing chapter 19]
They had taken him from his litter and sat him in a chair on the porch of a farm or plantation house. His head ached almost unbearably, the injury and the damp, stifling heat of the day making him feel sick to his stomach. Under the circumstances it seemed ridiculous to be contemplating how to put on an appearance of competence and pride without seeming cocky or arrogant. Ridiculous, save that the reputations of Virginia and the entire Confederacy might be riding on the way these Texans responded to him.
“I apologize for my appearance, sir,” he said to the man who’d just introduced himself as William Barret Travis, the Texan secretary of state. “In both senses of the word.”
04 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.2
Previous First
At first, Walker didn’t comprehend who it was who stared at him. He had stopped thinking when the soldiers took him, grateful at the last for being relieved of any further responsibility for anything. The night march had been peaceful, the temperature blessedly cool. His life—what was left of it—was in God’s hands. When they told him to march, he marched. When they said to stop, he stopped. They’d driven him, and the few officers who’d stayed around to be taken with him, down the road toward the Texan capital, where the government’s officials were no doubt eagerly waiting to pass judgment on him. The staring man was standing behind a stone fence; Travis wouldn’t have noticed at all had his march not been halted so that two other Texans could come and fuss over the wounded Patton.
[continuing chapter 19]
03 February, 2020
Bonny Blue Flag 19.1
Previous First
“You know what you’ve done, don’t you?”
Travis turned to the newspaperman. “I hope I’ve saved the republic, Russell.”
They sat on a stone fence alongside the road into Washington. Behind them somewhere, Susan Reynolds, white-faced and thin-lipped with shock and anger, supervised a makeshift hospital. Travis had commandeered the Reynolds place; it was only fair, and Thomas Reynolds was unlikely to ever appear to complain about it.
“Oh, aye,” said Russell. “That goes without saying.” Russell seized Travis’s hand, and shook it. “But you’ve also guaranteed yourself the presidency, should you want it. We voted for Mirabeau Lamar, after all, and all he did was beat a bunch of sleeping Mexicans at San Jacinto—and most would agree that you and Bowie had more to do with San Jacinto than he did. Ah, Travis, but you—you have defeated a desperate invasion by well organized and equipped white men. And you did it virtually by yourself.”
1 JUNE 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
Travis turned to the newspaperman. “I hope I’ve saved the republic, Russell.”
They sat on a stone fence alongside the road into Washington. Behind them somewhere, Susan Reynolds, white-faced and thin-lipped with shock and anger, supervised a makeshift hospital. Travis had commandeered the Reynolds place; it was only fair, and Thomas Reynolds was unlikely to ever appear to complain about it.
“Oh, aye,” said Russell. “That goes without saying.” Russell seized Travis’s hand, and shook it. “But you’ve also guaranteed yourself the presidency, should you want it. We voted for Mirabeau Lamar, after all, and all he did was beat a bunch of sleeping Mexicans at San Jacinto—and most would agree that you and Bowie had more to do with San Jacinto than he did. Ah, Travis, but you—you have defeated a desperate invasion by well organized and equipped white men. And you did it virtually by yourself.”
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