Friday, October 6th, 2017...2:46 amkailabasile

playing with pov-the dance from miss ivors’ pov

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Lancers were arranged. Miss Ivors could barely suppress a laugh when she was partnered with Gabriel, thinking the two of them must have looked odd standing next to each other. Even his clothed screamed west Briton to her, and she could not help but notice his gaze meeting her brooch with some suspicion. She wondered if he touched it, would he feel the burn of the culture he chose to ignore?

“I have a crow to pluck with you,” she half-joked. She admired Gabriel, had known him for awhile, could see the yearning to be Irish in his wife that perhaps he still had in him.

“With me?” He seemed shocked a woman could pluck a crow. She feigned complete seriousness. “What is it?”

“Who is G.C.?” She looked at him squarely, and could feel him squirming and blushing under her female gaze. “O, innocent Amy! I have found out that you write for the Daily Express! Now aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” The two danced, but awkwardly, Gabriel a little heavy-footed.

“Why should I be ashamed of myself?”

“Well, I’m ashamed of you. To say you’d write for a rag like that. I didn’t think you were a West Briton.” Her eyebrows raised. Her look could convict him, if it were a trial.

He seemed shocked that her accusation was an accusation, that she didn’t wax poetic about Robert Browning. His flustered stare seemed to ask why she didn’t want to be part of England. She could feel the panic as he tried to keep his steps, tried to keep a comfortable distance of her that did not come off cold, nor intimate. She enjoyed his panic, though she wouldn’t say it out loud.

“Of course I was only joking. Come, we cross now.” The two crossed, and as her skirts shuffled across the floor she felt victorious. He may not have agreed to go to the isles, but the west Britons were certainly not smarter or quicker on their feet than her. She could almost hear him tripping, still perplexed by the sharpness of her tongue. Next time, she would bring up the University question, and see how he flaunted his English wisdom.

 



2 Comments

  • I really think your post embodied a fascinating reading of Miss Ivors. I really loved the rhetorical question that you pose at the end of your first paragraph. I think it creates an interesting parallel between Gabriel and Miss Ivors. Gabriel retreats to himself and fiddles with his clothing whenever he becomes nervous. Miss Ivors seems to do the opposite and sees her clothing as an extension of her own identity. She proudly wears brooch and displays a level of self-confidence that Gabriel never can.

  •   Professor Seiler
    October 11th, 2017 at 8:34 pm

    Kaila, I share Michaela’s enthusiasm about the sartorial and rhetorical details of this post. I’ll add that I find your idea that Miss Ivors sees Gretta’s longing for Connacht/the west of Ireland really touching… Tapped into her Irishness, Miss I. sees Gretta more clearly than her husband in your post.

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