The Fredösphere

Eight months ago, the wifeösphere was convalescing after a pair of hammer blows in the form of a brain tumor and bacterial meningitis.  Reading was the only thing she could do without discomfort.  I was tasked with finding books she would like.  Naturally, I turned to Literature Map and entered a name, probably Madeline l'Engle.  Up popped Dorothy Sayers.  I went to the library and swept the shelves clean of her.

Later, wanting to join the Sayers club the quick and dirty way, I borrowed DVDs of BBC adaptations of Sayers' detective stories.  Sayers' answer to Sherlock Holmes is Lord Peter Wimsey.  He's the monocle-wearing son, but not heir, of a Duke; he's rich and sophisticated, and thus enjoys all the advantages and few of the obligations (beyond military service) of nobility.  He's also always the smartest (in every sense) person in the room, yet somehow not too arrogant.  He's Sherlock Holmes without the opium addiction or the misogyny; in short, he's perfect.

He's also perfectly portrayed by actor Ian Carmichael, who makes it impossible to imagine Lord Peter with any other face or voice.

I'll focus on The Nine Tailors, which the wifeösphere and I watched last week.  The title refers to the practice of ringing nine "tailor" or "teller" strokes of one church bell to announce the death of a parishioner.  Much of the mystery (involving some stolen and never recovered emeralds) revolves around the belfry of a certain country church, which boasts eight great bells. The rector fits the stereotype:  he's a scrawny dork infatuated by his ambition to ring an especially complicated change, all permutations of which require nine hours to complete.  Naturally the omnicompetent Lord Peter is an experienced ringer, so he participates in the ringing.

Ringing a change of any complexity requires certain manual skill:  one initiates the pull of the rope a second or two in advance of the moment the bell must ring, so the timing is tricky.  In addition, one must count carefully and keep track of the permutations, maintaining one's concentration over a long time.  This especially is what makes a change such an impressive feat, especially when one considers what an unappreciated feat it is.  (Surely only the ringers themselves ever keep count, or notice if a mistake is made.) 

Bell ringing is one of the purest examples of the matchstick cathedral mentality, especially when one considers the cost of the bells.  Like any geek pursuit, it intimidates with its arcane terminology:  "Kent Treble Bob Major," "cross and stretch," "calling up" and "calling down," etc.  Of course, in the age before electronic communication, church bells served an important function, as is shown in the final scene of The Nine Tailors where ringing of the bells warn townspeople to seek high ground before an impending flood.  They also play an important role in the denouement of the story; I wish I could give away the surprise, which is exquisitely calibrated by Sayers to illicit horror and amusement all at the same time.

This story reminds us that the hyper-mathematical impulse behind minimalism and its Eastern influences is not unknown in the West.  Perhaps we forget because we never quite thought of ringing the changes as music.  Silly of us, what.

Labels: Fiction