Titian Encryption

This has provided me with a perfect excuse to recycle shamelessly this parody which I wrote a few years back.

THE TITIAN ENCRYPTION
---------------------


A short story by Now Brand, the famous author.

Author's note: "All buildings and paintings in this story exist and are faithfully represented.
Furthermore, I did not make up any of the analysis or history whatsoever. None at all. Honest."


-------

Robbie felt confused. He'd been called at night to the National Gallery of Scotland in an emergency, but he couldn't understand why. An academic, he was dressed in his usual festive reindeer woolly jumper with leather patches on the elbows. He couldn't understand why he had been called in so urgently. Why have I been called in urgently? I don't understand it.

The gallery had a Titian (the famous artist) exhibition running, but had been emptied by police chief Vache due to an incident. Robbie entered the gallery, his Oxford Brogues with half-inch heel and carefully-tied laces resounding against the white marble stone floor as he walked at 72 steps per minute. Vache lead him into the gallery, which the forensic team had lit dramatically with spotlights perfect for the forthcoming film. On the floor lay a dead female deer, and next to it was written, in blood, the following legend:

3.14159
O DNA DATA: A CANINE!
(VIZ I NOTE A COLLIE)
R.S.V.P. ROBBIE BLAGDON KILLED ME

"Incriminate yourself" barked Vache.
"No." replied Blagdon.
"Here is Scaffy Nephew, our resident cruciverbalist."
Robbie's eyes moved across the room and met Scaffy's. Hastily putting them back in their sockets, Robbie shook her hand. Scaffy was like an Egyptian obelisk - she was tall, slim, attractive and moved with the lithe grace of a hummingbird.
"I will leave you alone for no good reason" said Vache, leaving them alone for no good reason.
"What does this writing mean?" enquired Robbie.
"The number is only pi"
"But pi is the divine number! That has symbolic significance of the highest order!"
"No it hasn't."
"But the words! All about dogs - we should look at local pet cemetaries for hidden messages on dogs' tombs!"
"No. They are anagrams. They say 'Tiziano Vecellio' and 'Diana and Actaeon'."
"The famous Titian painting! It's right here in this gallery!"
"What a coincidence."

They left the female deer carcass and moved to the famous painting. It depicts the myth of Actaeon hunting in the woods with his dogs and chancing upon Diana (Artemis in Roman myth) bathing with her nymphs in a stream. Diana was embarrassed to be seen naked, and changed him into a deer. His own dogs then chased and killed him.

"This painting has hidden meaning. Look from Actaeon's point-of-view - Diana is not recoiling but opening her legs to him! Renowned scholars consider these two as a couple. Also Actaeon's legs meet a nymph's legs at right-angles, signifying unity between the sexes - male and female in perfect balance, black and white, yin and yang, Torville and Dean. Actaeon is gesturing towards the stag's head on the pillar, suggesting how 'dear' Diana is to him. This entire painting is intended as a hidden message that Diana did not kill Actaeon, but was his lover."
"But I thought there were contradictory hidden messages in another famous paintings by the same artist? Doesn't this cause a major symbolic dichotomy?"
"A clash of the Titians? No - I ignore all evidence that doesn't support my claims. Perhaps the dead deer is a message from the mysterious Brotherhood of Oxfam"
"The brotherhood of what?"
"Oxfam - an ancient charity order with spurious links to freemasonry. Although everyone rightly thinks they are a great force for good, soon stupid people will believe they are evil because of the following blatant falsehoods."
"What does Oxfam mean?"
"Ox in Portuguese is 'boi' and 'fam' is a contraction of 'familiar'. Conspiracy nuts say it means 'familiar with boys' - suggesting this group may practice secret sex rites with children. Incidentally, Titian was once head boi of Oxfam, as were Renoir and Da Vinci. Also, Titian, Renoir and Da Vinci were in the group, as were Titian, Renoir and Da Vinci."
"So they painted and deflorated? Fascinating."
"So much in life is hidden in plain sight. Like the symbolic significance of tobacco packaging"
"But sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
"Shut up." Robbie sensed his incessant lecturing was losing people's attention.
"So, back to the message. What does RSVP mean?"
"RSVP is a mystical abbreviation used in brotherhood communication to confirm attendance at meetings."
"Wow - my grandfather used to call me 'Really Silly Villy Pilly' - does that mean this message is for me?"
"It must do - perhaps he is in the order!"
"I once saw him in a sex rite, but I just thought he was a pervert."
"For centuries Oxfam has concealed the secret that Actaeon and Diana married, and that their descendants are still alive today. They hid their family tree, called the Gruel, and one day they will use its secrets to fight all the other charities!"
"Gruella warfare?"
"The Gruel is like Pandora's box - it is just the tip of the iceberg, and when the ice is broken, a can of worms will be opened and all hell will break loose!". Robbie didn't tell the whole story yet to build dramatic tension.
"Where do we go now?"
"Someone has written 'Go to Teviot' on the wall next to the painting."
"Let's go!"

"The Teviot Row House building is a renowed and historic building, built as a building for students as a student union building. It is the oldest purpose-built student union building in the world." explained Blagdon as they entered the building. Robbie looked tense. He looked at Scaffy and saw that she was just as tense as he was. This made him feel equally tense, and when she noticed she also became as tense as him, which made him similarly tense.
"I have an idea" said Robbie, tensely. He lead them upstairs to the canteen and joined the queue for lunch (it suddenly no longer being night). After a long wait, he arrived at the counter and was served some venison pie.
"I told you pi had some significance! Pi sounds like pie, and Venison is deer meat. Also, pi comes from circles, and this pie is circular! Pi is an an irrational transcendental number, and my arguments are irrational and transcend logic. The symbolic links are irrefutable! I am very clever indeed!"
Scaffy didn't look impressed. They took the pie to a table and sat down. Cutting open the pastry, Scaffy pulled out a filled pancake from inside.
"I have seen these before! My grandfather cooks them. They are very difficult pancakes to open and contain hidden messages. It's a crepe-tex! But why would Teviot have them?"
"Perhaps they are in the conspiracy as well! Maybe they are funded by Oxfam? Or the Freemasons?!"
Robbie was excited now.
"There is a note inside the pie:"

GO AWAY YOU NOSEY BITCH

"The meaning of this is obvious - a bitch is a female dog, and black Collies have long noses, and if you tell them to go away, they do! The password is definitely Collie! This is easy!"
"A collie-dog's cakewalk?" Scaffy carved 'Collie' into the pancake using a knife, which then opened. So did the pancake. Inside the crepe-tex was another note:

I AM SICK OF ALL YOUR POINTLESS ANALYSES SO SHUT UP
V.P.L. LOOK UNDER THE MOOSE

"So, what is the symbolic meaning of that then, smarty-pants?"
"Erm, I'm not sure. We should consult Surly Teabag, the renowned English stereotype."

They walked downstairs to a large, mounted, moose's head. Underneath was a handful of off-white, gooey mess stuck to the wall.

"Ah, one of Oxfam's secret methods to hide documents, having symbolic meaning referencing the sacred feminine deer. Diana and Actaeon were united as humans, but also as deer, and Oxfam use the feminine deer as a symbol of unity between the two gods".
Scaffy pulled the sticky mess off the wall and found a note underneath.
"But why use this floury goo to attach things to walls?"
"The symbolic links are obvious. Dough adhere: a female deer".

At that moment, Bishop Ringaringaroses, international man of ministry, burst through the door with his sidekick Silage, who snatched the message from Scaffy's hand and gave it to the Bishop.
"Hahahaha! I have the gruel", shouted the Bishop, enunciating his words like the report of a Heckler & Koch MP5/10A1 submachinegun (the special version chambered for a 10mm hollow-point round rather than the usual 9mm with full-metal-jacket) in three-round-burst mode.
"But this is not enough - please sir, I want some more! Give me the crepe-tex" said the Bishop, taking the pancake from Scaffy. "Thank-you Silage. Have some cognac". Silage drank from the proffered flask, and collapsed on the floor.
"He is fatally allergic to the carpet-fluff I put in the cognac. I am from the RSPCA and want to take the Gruel from Oxfam and use it against them!". He opened the slip of paper.

SILAGE IS OF THE BLOOD OF ACTAEON

"You fool, you just killed the only surviving descendant of Diana and Actaeon. The holy bloodline is lost forever".
"Oh well. Anyone fancy a game of pool?"


EPILOGUE
--------

And so, with the pointless destruction of thousands of years of history, the holy and wholly holey plot comes to an abrupt end. Silage lies dead, Robbie and Scaffy look lovingly into each others' eyes in a crude attempt at inserting romantic undertones and Ringaringaroses continues his cunning diagonal moves. Tune in next week for "Cherubs and Imps", an identical adventure by the same author starring Robbie and some snazzy upside-down writing. Now the mysteries of Titian's paintings remain hidden in plain sight, waiting to be discovered again.

Titian Pish.

Other projects

The purpose of this blog is to explore and flesh out unfinished ideas, and to experiment with different writing tasks. Ages of Man is feeling pretty fleshed out now, and while it could do with some re-examination (and editing!), I have a pretty clear concept of how I want it to develop. At some point I will start writing it in full, which I do not intend to post on a public forum such as this (neglecting the obvious lack of readership...).

It thus falls to think about some other ideas that I have kicking around. I saw this article on BBC News, describing a group of people who genuinely believe that the Earth is flat, and in a worldwide conspiracy to convince us otherwise. The human mind is capable of believing in pretty much anything rather than discard its own axioms, and it is quite clear that these people would subscribe to the most ludicrous explanations imaginable - especially as regards evidence - rather than discard their underlying axiomatic belief in a flat Earth. This link demonstrates something similar- of people searching for evidence to prove their ideas, despite rejecting similar and overwhelming evidence that disproves them. We do not worry about the Flat Earth Society because they are a harmless minority - but what if they were actually dangerous? How would we cope with them?

This brings me onto the idea of someone committing unspeakable atrocities with only the purest intentions, albeit in the name of misguided piety in a (preferably) fictional religion. What if Hitler/ Stalin/ Pol Pot did what they did in a genuine belief that they were benevolently acting in the best interests of mankind and/or their god? Given the lengths to which people are capable of deluding themselves, this is not beyond the bounds of credibility. Such a character would raise some interesting and pertinent questions, and would probably be well suited to a musical/opera of the most dramatic and emotional kind.

Ages of Man IX : Back on the shelf

(Badly need Edward to develop some depth and elicit some sympathy from the readers. This is also the scene where the main idea in the book is first hinted at)

After the rehearsal, the orchestra had decamped en masse to the nearest pub, where they promptly overwhelmed the cook with a massive backlog of food orders. It was the kind of pub with numbered tables in a strictly regimented layout; the orchestra had fragmented into a series of small groups. Most groups had pushed their tables together (to the disapproving glares of the landlord), but Edward and George now found themselves at a small table some distance from the rest of the orchestra.

Edward was a Social Drinker. To him, this meant that he had the occasional drink when out with others "to keep them company". To everyone else, it meant that he quickly became drunk on booze that he wasn't used to, and trampled blindly into awkward conversations. He was attacking a pint of the local brewery's stronger ale with suicidal enthusiasm. George had once tried a sip of wine when he was ten and hadn't liked it. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since and was horrified at the mere thought of further experimentation. He was making the most of still being too young to drink legally in pubs; goodness knows what excuse he would be compelled to resort to after his birthday next month. He nursed a lime cordial as though it was served in the Holy Grail.

"You and Ellen seemed to be getting on well."
"Er, we've only really introduced ourselves. She seems very friendly."
"You sly old dog. I bet you have the pick of the girls at school!"
"No more than anyone else - it's a boys' school."
"In the holidays? Lots of nice local girls - they must be fighting over you!"
George paused; the conversation was getting painfully close to the nerve. "Not really, I don't tend to get out very much in the holidays. Mum needs a lot of help decorating and so on."
"Oh, so you're not a ladies' man?"
"I wish. Maybe after I start university?"
This derailed Edward somewhat. His own love-life was a complete non-starter, and he had it set out in his mind that youthful advice from a young stud like George would be just right to set him on the road to success. He was determined that the tour was the perfect time to 'score', and that he should get some guaranteed hints as soon as possible. Finding out that George was clearly even more clueless was something of a disappointment. Not being one to change his mind, he ploughed on ahead anyway.
"I was rather hoping for your help. It's been a long time now since Marjorie passed on. Since your father left home all those years ago it's just been the two of us in that big house, and without her I'm just rattling around on my own. I think it's about time I found someone else, someone I could settle down and enjoy my retirement with."
"Sounds like a wonderful idea. I know Mum & Dad would be delighted if you found someone else."
"I know it sounds silly, but I don't want to be one of those people you read about who die in their sleep, but no-one notices and their corpse lies in their bed for weeks on end before it gets found."
"That's a bit morbid! Surely you don't have to worry about that at your age?"
"I know, I know, but it scares me. I don't get a lot of visitors, so I do worry about it. I've never lived on my own before. It was nice at first, having all the freedom, but now it just seems like the house is a great big empty hole waiting to swallow me up." Edward had a singular ability to sound cheerful even when saying these things.
"Well a nice companion for you would do you a lot of good. I'm sure it's what she would have wanted" George was beginning to worry what was coming next.
"I agree. Trouble is, between you and me, Marjorie was, well, she was my sweetheart in the sixth form, and you got married young in those days. She was the only girlfriend I've ever had, so it's 45 years since I was last, well, in the market as it were."
"I'm sure it will all come flooding back to you. I expect it's like riding a bicycle - you never forget how."
"I wish." said Edward, who actually had forgotten how to ride a bicycle.
"Are there any single ladies in the orchestra?"
"Actually quite a few. I talked to Ted Coote, who sorted out all the hotel bookings, and there's a surprising number of potential targets. Quite a few girls around your age too."
The two of them exchanged a look, and in that moment they realised that they weren't so different. George looked away first, stifling a smile of newly-kindled optimism. Edward didn't get the hunting tips that he wanted, but at least he had a hunting partner of sorts. He felt better already.

There are times in cricket matches where a batting side is struggling to avoid a follow-on and the probable heavy defeat that follows. Two hapless tail-enders find themselves at the crease knowing that all their best batsmen have failed, and that they are facing 90mph deliveries whistling past their noses. It is only a matter of time before they have their stumps torn out, yet they soldier on, pluckily offering weak defensive prods at the incoming onslaught. Spectators of both teams tend to enjoy watching these gladiatorial passages of play, partly because they admire the bravery, but mostly out of schadenfreude. George and Edward were to womankind what these beleaguered tail-enders were to Brett Lee, but without the protective padding.

Pretty Women

I've been listening again to Sweeney Todd (the Cariou/Lansbury recording) and was again struck by the brilliance of one particular scene. Todd has the hated Judge in his chair; they exchange ordinary barber-customer conversation as Todd lulls his victim into security, through with the audience's tension gradually mounts in expectation of Todd fulfilling his obvious murderous intentions. Sondheim then, quite brilliantly, has them sing Pretty Women, a tender duet about the only thing they could possibly have in common (the Judge pursued Todd's wife and is shortly to marry his daughter) - Todd gets wrapped up in the moment and almost forgets himself. However much they hate each other, and however bitter and twisted they both are, they still share this same warmth; expressing it in this way - and, almost as a by-product, ratcheting up the tension almost unbearably - and at this time nothing short of genius.

It also reminded me how powerful musicals/opera can be. I'm trying to switch from libretti to a novel, and there are a lot of things which are much easier in novels, but there are also some things which simply cannot work on paper. The above is, for me, a definitive example. I recognise that I could not write anything approaching this no matter what the medium (frankly, few people can), but it has reminded me that while I have a stack of new tools at my disposal, I have also put a stack of others away. Ages of Man could never work as a musical and would require a rather different approach to work as a play, but a few musical numbers in the novel would solve a few problems!

Ages of Man : Comments

I've had a look back over the initial character descriptions I wrote, and in both cases my perception of how they will be has shifted. Not hugely - the basic idea is still the same - but enough to warrant a re-write of the description! One of the reasons for experimenting like this on a blog is to solidify such things before I start writing proper, so I suppose it is serving its purpose. I had previously expected that Edward would be on at least an equal footing with George, but I'm increasingly thinking of George as the lead.

As for plot, I'm keen on the idea of George unsuccessfully pursuing Ellen, unaware of the fact that she is way, way out of his league. I think that she might end up having a little soft spot for him simply because he is brave enough to try, and is probably quite different from the rest of the small subset of men who are brave enough to hit on her.


One problem that has to be addressed is making sure that the readers sympathise with both the characters. George is quirky, shy, and naive, whereas Edward is tactless and inconsiderate. Trying to make them both likeable in spite of this is difficult. The story is essentially a coming-of-age tail, with the spin being that there are two of them doing it at very different times of life. If people don't like the characters 'before' then they aren't going to stay interested long enough to enjoy 'after'.

Another note on characters; no character of any significance is based on a single real person, but I definitely draw inspiration from real life. Generally this is blending together several people I have known, exaggerating some features and discarding others, arriving at someone who is not the same as anybody, but is (hopefully!) nevertheless believable, interesting, and deep. I find Edward more difficult to write, perhaps because I don't/didn't particularly like the people he is drawn from!

I really hate the working title now. Will have to think of something better. I'm also starting to think that the parents will not appear at all, except perhaps over the 'phone.