It’s often distressing to read 19th century advertisements. Our great-great grandparents were just as desperate (and gullible) when it comes to certain aspects of the human condition. Hair loss, for example.
Weight-loss was just as big a topic back then as it is now, though body image was not quite so awful.
Nobody likes a crying baby. Parents don’t like their kids to be in pain or distress, and strangers are often pretty intolerant. Do a google search and you’ll see that this is a perennial problem with no easy solution. Sometimes babies just cry. Sometimes babies get really sick, and they scream. Sometimes overwrought caregivers are driven to extremes. There is no excuse for that, but it happens. It happened then, too.
What’s most disturbing about the 19th century is how unaware they were of the dangers of doping their children. Have a look at this handy dandy cure for the crying baby available at every drugstore.
It’s a challenge to stay in the mindset of your characters when you’re writing historical fiction. An intelligent, sensible person who truly believes that there’s nothing dangerous about smoking, or a little laudanum is just what the baby needs, that is sometimes hard to pull off. I consider it a kind of anachronism to pretend a character understood something that was just not knowable at the time, but I struggle with it.
Of course there were quacks who knew very well that what they were selling would do nobody any good. For instance this cure for male weakness. Note the positioning.
This is the first feedback from one of my beta readers on the first 3/4 of Where the Light Enters.
I think I will have to have it framed and hung right where I can see it when I look up from the screen.
If you put the space shuttle scene this early in the book, I’m not sure what Jack is going to do for the rest of the second act. Killing zombies is only going to hold the audience’s interest for ten or so pages at a go. I’ll have more observations as I get further in, but I will add that this is the best time travel scene I’ve ever read. A lot of authors have tried to describe the idea of a fourth dimensional space, but you nailed it here.
If you could step into a time machine and go back to Manhattan in 1884, this is what you’d find where today the New York Public Library stands.
The Croton Distributing Reservoir was the above-ground reservoir at 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue that provided the city’s drinking water for much of the 19th century. From Wikipedia: “The reservoir was a man-made lake 4 acres (16,000 m2) in area, surrounded by massive, 50-foot (15 m) high, 25-foot (7.6 m) thick granite walls. Its facade was done in a vaguely Egyptian style.”
The reservoir was a favorite destination for tourists because the view from the promenade was excellent:
In 1844 Edgar Allen Poe recommended the promenade:
When you visit Gotham, you should ride out Fifth Avenue, as far as the distributing reservoir, near Forty-third Street, I believe. The prospect from the walk around the reservoir is particularly beautiful. You can see, from this elevation, the north reservoir at Yorkville; the whole city to the Battery; and a large portion of the harbor, and long reaches of the Hudson and East Rivers.
Just across from the reservoir on Fifth Avenue was Rutger’s Female College, which was founded about 1840 (as a female ‘institute’) on the lower east side.
In 1860 the institution was upgraded to a college and moved to the buildings at 487-491 Fifth Avenue, built in 1856 as an early attempt at luxury apartments.