Another chortleworthy 'experiment in style'
FRom the quill of Terry Freedman
Greetings!
One of the things I’ve been trying out is reworking a piece of text into a completely different style. A full exposition and explanation are given here:
For today’s experiment I’ve written the story using steampunk slang. What is steampunk, I hear you ask. According to Perplexity.ai:
Steampunk is a subgenre of science fiction and fantasy that blends an alternative history typically set in the Victorian era (19th century) with retro-futuristic technology powered mostly by steam. It imagines a world where steam engines and mechanical devices have developed to exciting, sometimes fantastical levels that surpass historical reality.
To be honest, I’ve never found it that intriguing. I’m more of a time travel afficionado myself. Still, there is some quite humorous terminology associated with steampunk, so I thought I’d try and use it in my story.
I’ve also used the framing device employed in a famous novel of the 19th century. If you think you know the name of this novel, please say so in the comments.
First, though, here is the original text on which these experiments or transformations are based:
The original (template) text
In the middle of the night, I woke up (if you can call being semi-conscious being awake), walked purposefully towards the door to go to the bathroom — and almost knocked myself out.
The reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was facing in a different direction from the one I thought I was facing. As a result, instead of walking through the door, I tried to walk through the wall.
The next few days brought nausea and headaches. After much prevarication I went to Accident and Emergency, where I waited petrified among people for whom “social distancing” means not quite touching you, and who wore their masks as a chin-warmer.
An hour and a half later I emerged into the twilight, secure in the knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I failed to do much writing, but I was pleased to have read a further 17% of my book.
Steampunk version
Yerret Manfreed had invited a group of us over to his abode because, he said, he had something exciting to tell us. We duly arrived for the appointed hour of eight of the clock. I preferred to stroll, combining the occasion with my predilection for an evening perambulation at that hour. Others arrived by Hansom1, omnibus or, like myself, on foot.
After a capital dinner, the menfolk were invited to partake of sherry and the finest cigars, which of course we did. When we were all settled, Manfreed called us to attention by tapping a sherry glass.
Gentlemen, he began. It now behoves me to thank you all for gracing my humble abode with your presence, and to delay the satisfaction of your curiosity no longer. There was a general murmur of agreement. Suffice to say that it is purely a matter of good fortune that I am able to address you this evening. Permit me to relate the strange events of a week ago.
I had been in my parlour of letters2 undertaking some quillwork3 when I suddenly felt on overwhelming need to drain the boiler4. I had been working quite hard, and was tired, so I staggered to the ablution chamber5 but, in my depleted condition, I careered into a brass bulkhead6 and banged my command dome7. It was quite a hard steampipe smack8 so I thought I ought to make my way to the nearest infirmary9.
I walked, but because I was a bit dizzy from the cogknock10 I was weaving all over the place. Indeed, so much so that a bluebottle11 stopped me and asked if I was blootered12. After I’d explained what happened he said “Very good, Sir”, and bade me farewell. I did not think it was very good at all, but felt it prudent not to argue.
When I eventually arrived at my destination, I perceived that almost nobody was observing the yard and a half rule13 or wearing a plume filter14, measures put in place because of the miasmic affliction15 known as ‘Covid’.
After a wait in which I managed to achieve a substantial degree of lenswork16 on my codex17, I heard my moniker18 being intoned. I looked up, and there before me stood a matron of the ward19. Our eyes met in a moment of magic. She instructed me to follow her.
After carryingout several tests, she consulted a leech20. She then assured me that no permanent damage had been done, but that I was suffering from a mild cranial overload21. That being the case, I was, in her words, to “take it easy”.
And that, gentlemen, is why during the last month or so you have received neither news nor epistles from me. However, I can assure you that all is well now.
We all agreed that he had had a lucky escape, and that we were looking forward to the time when he would once again delight us with his inkcraft22.
Yet that was weeks ago. Attempts to contact him have proved fruitless. Has he returned to the infirmary, perhaps to elope with his Florence Gearngale23?
I fear that we shall never know.
I hope you have enjoyed this version. If you’d like to dig deeper, I often write an ‘Experiments in style extra’ post to explain how a version came about, or how I did it. That’s for paid subscribers.
If you’re new to the series, you can see the index of my experiments here: Index.
As always, I’d love to hear your comments.
Hansom = A horse-drawn taxi.
Parlour of letters = Study.
Quillwork = Writing.
Drain the boiler = Pass water.
Ablution chamber = Toilet.
Brass bulkead = Wall.
Command dome = Head.
Steampipe smack = Bang to the head.
Infirmary = Hospital.
Cogknock = Bang to the head.
Bluebottle = Police officer.
Blootered = Drunk.
Yard and a half rule = Social distancing.
Plume filter = Mask.
Miasmic affliction = Mask.
Lenswork = Reading.
Codex = Book.
Moniker = Name.
Matron of the ward - Nurse.
Leech = Doctor.
Cranial overload = Concussion.
Inkcraft = Writing.
Florence Gearngale = Nurse.
I like steampunk. It's hilarious, and accurate. People back then really did think that machines could do anything. Just like today
Drain the boiler had me laughing out loud. 😂