The Dangerous Pleasures of Research
by Iva Polansky
The Boarding House for Single Gentlemen is on sale July 1-5
Research is not as hard as it used to be. Twelve years ago, when I wrote my first novel Fame and Infamy, set in the 1870s Paris, I was new at the game and I learned the hard way. I made a trip to Paris to scout for the locations of my story and to shop for books published in the 19th century. The physical effort of getting the books on the flight home also needs to be mentioned, along with the cost of overweight luggage. More old, out-of-print books kept coming via the mail. The expenses grew, and my husband began to grumble. I don’t blame him.
Today, I could do the same research from home without spending a red cent. For locations, I’d use Google Maps where I can indulge in a virtual visit of Paris, ambling along this street and that one, looking for details that could be there in the 1870s. The e-copies of books I paid hard-earned money for are available for free at the Gallica (French National Library) website. Not that I did not enjoy my Paris trip. The tastes, smells, and sounds of the city are sadly missing in electronic searching. What I’m saying here is that research no longer needs to eat your time and money.
In my recent novel, The Boarding House for Single Gentlemen, I’m visiting the late nineteenth century Paris again—and why not since I had made all that effort to get there?—and I need to create a new character: a retired world-famous hypnotist. Let me show you how it is done in an easy way.
I decided, for reasons I need not explain here, that the hypnotist will be an Austrian. He is a large man who needs a substantial name. Googling German names, I came up with Beckenheimer. My celebrated hypnotist will be professionally known as the Great Beckenheimer.
Next, I need to learn hypnosis. My only experience happened years ago when I saw an entertaining show in which a hypnotist made buffoons of a dozen volunteers. They remained hypnotized during the intermission when they mingled with the rest of the audience. What impressed me then was their genuine confusion when asked questions about their stage experience, and I’ll never forget the peculiar glassy expression in their eyes. Since then, I’ve held hypnosis in awe.
On we go in search of a course in hypnosis. The American School of Hypnosis website offers a 446-page hypnosis manual as a free download. I snap it up (not that I will read all of it now). Better yet, YouTube provides free live courses in hypnosis, including a technique called the instant induction. The instant induction is exactly what I need, and it takes only ten minutes to learn. Perfect.
The Great Beckenheimer needs a home. He is comfortably retired in a Paris suburb called Marnes-la-Coquette. I selected this location because I like the coquettish name. I go to Google maps and key Marnes-la-Coquette to choose a 19th-century villa to describe. This can take some time as I enjoy looking at the local architecture that favours the Norman style: mostly stone with a brick and white wood trimming. There is a quaint railway station too.
As a hobby, Beckenheimer grows orchids in his hothouse (I google orchids for gardening tips). Career nostalgia fills the old man’s living room. Here, I google 19th-century hypnosis and go directly to the images. The 19th-century advertising language is loud and shameless. I pick up several posters and click the links to the corresponding webpages. They lead to interesting articles and more images. At one time, I end up on a Russian website. No problem there. I click on the little black-and-white icon that appears close to the bookmark star, and the text is instantly translated into English. I’m glad for the Russian detour as I find a very interesting tidbit there about the hypnotic attack crimes. (Wow, what a trick to have up my sleeve for a future story!) If an image has no link to a website, I right-click on it and choose Search Google with this image in the drop-down menu. This will show me every website where this image is located. You can imagine the rich pickings.
With this minor effort, my knowledge grows. I’m getting ideas about how to improve the story in several ways, and they are ideas born from learning. The story begins to plot itself. Here, one can reach the dangerous point of addiction. I admit I’m a research junkie. After the publication of Fame and Infamy, I was left with a mountain of material, most of it unused. Saddened about all that waste, an idea came to me to offer this wealth of information to the public. After ten years of the site existence, four universities are now linked to my Victorian Paris blog. Recently, I published a collection of the blog posts in a 343-page illustrated ebook under the title Life in 19th Century Paris. There is no such thing as a useless knowledge and getting it can be entertaining… and addicting. Take this as a mild warning. :]
