Lucy Ribchester is an Edinburgh-based writer whose novel Murder Ballad (also set in Edinburgh) is now out in paperback. Drawing on historical facts about the 18th-century capital and what life would have been like for a female musician of that era, Ribchester weaves together class tensions between two women to create a compelling story. The novel follows Isobel Duguid and Marie Eliza as their paths collide in Edinburgh’s music world, leading to an unexpectedly fruitful outcome.
Murder Ballad explores an Edinburgh heavily dominated by men, with sleazy underground elements that shape the experiences of working women – in this case creative working women. Ribchester creates a fictional world that considers sexual, gender, and class tensions, crafting a novel that dedicates more attention to the music itself than to the men who sit within its pages.
Isobel Duguid and her friend Clessidro, a castrato, are stars of the Edinburgh Musical Society, though many are put off by Isobel’s unconventional approach to staying in tune. Determined to maintain her lifestyle, Isobel will go to amazing lengths – which eventually entangles her with composer Marie Eliza and her companion, Wennie.
Lucy spoke with SNACK about how her novel evolved during the writing process, as well as what interests her as a writer.
Where did the inspiration come from to write Murder Ballad?
Lucy Ribchester: With Murder Ballad, like a lot of my books, it shape-shifted. They start off as one thing, and then they kind of grow arms and legs or fork off in different directions. I’m really interested in an era because of its art or its performance, or the literature associated with it. With Murder Ballad I was drawn to the 18th century, the gaudy glamour of the opera scene. I’ve always been interested in the lives of people who live in this in-between state, like journalists and musicians and artisanal people who can move in different echelons of society, and particularly with musicians who are allowed a glimpse of this incredible, wealthy world, this world of opulence, but aren’t actually able to possess it. They’re essentially there as service staff. I was drawn to that, and the picaresque of the era, as well as [to writers like] Tobias Smollett. And I was initially really, really interested to explore what the life of a female composer might have been like.
So I went digging in the British Library for scores written by forgotten female composers, and I came across a few. I became curious as to whether a woman had ever written an opera at that time but couldn’t find any, apart from one Danish composer who was connected to the royal family. It was while I was researching female classical composers that I read an academic essay, written by a historian, about street-ballad singers and how common it was for those singers to be women, for a variety of reasons.
It’s a bittersweet tale but with feisty and dominant characters. Were there key people who drove those? Isobel and Marie Eliza both fight for the role of central character in this novel. Tell us more.
Murder Ballad then shifted from its first incarnation, which was primarily about a female classical composer – the Marie Eliza character – into Isobel being allowed in through the back door. Isobel then sort of took over, which I was very happy about, because the intersection of these two musical styles struck me – particularly at a time when classical music was starting to borrow from or appropriate folkloric/folk music and traditional. It became an interesting tension to explore: those two musical worlds and how they were colliding.
It’s interesting that Marie Eliza has come through strongly, because she did start off being the focus of my curiosity, but then Isobel came in and took over. I think I was far more interested in [Marie Eliza], particularly at the beginning of the book; I was interested in her trajectory. I wanted more to explore the intersection of gender and class, really, than the idea of women fighting against men in that era. And how that tension of class in music could be played out within a female friendship. Isobel, by the brutality of the society she’s entered, has learned opportunism, though she’s also bruised by the way in which Marie Eliza has treated her. So there’s that shift in power there.
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And would street-ballad singers have been orange sellers, as well?
I wanted Isobel to have an inroad into the theatre, and Robert Fergusson, the great 18th-century Edinburgh poet, wrote about orange sellers at the Canongate Playhouse. And to me it seemed like the sort of job that Isobel would do. I really wanted her to be a sort of self-starter, a ducker-and-diver and opportunist.
It’s interesting that you give the main male character the nickname ‘Wennie’, bringing him down a peg in the novel – was that the intention?
I have this idea, particularly of men in that era – we stick them on pedestals. And there’s the great Edinburgh Enlightenment, this pantheon of glorious men. The Enlightenment did a lot of good in terms of broadening our scientific ideas, our philosophical ideas, but it was very selective in who it helped advance. I find pomposity quite tickling, and I’m always keen to stick my pin in that. I think it’s absolutely still true today. When you think of the way in which entitled men have been able to get away with such atrocious behaviour – I feel I must give them nicknames like Wennie.
Murder Ballad is out now in paperback, published by Black & White
