Zelda Fitzgerald and the advent of “sportswear” are just around the corner. Zippers are coming on strong, and the art of handmade buttonholes is going down the drain. The dresses are exquisite, but technology is changing everything. But we also follow Tess as she learns about the high-fashion business in New York.
The last third of “The Dressmaker” relies heavily on genuine transcripts from government hearings, and we learn a good deal about what it was like when the ship went down. The American public is not in a forgiving mood. Once the survivors are safely on land, tears and recriminations ensue. There’s also another couple - with a husband who has escaped by draping himself in a tablecloth and pretending to be a woman.
Lucile and her husband have escaped in another boat, from which it turns out they have pushed off non-swimming unfortunates. Tess is lucky enough to get in a lifeboat, on which she - along with the Unsinkable Molly Brown - makes good use of the oars. Lucile is still trapped in overly elegant gowns made of satin and chiffon, each one graced with a dreamy and pretentious name such as “Sighing Sound of Lips Unsatisfied” or “Frenzied Song of Amorous Things.” She’s the most famous dress designer in the world, but some upstart named Chanel is out there snipping her scissors with murderous intent. A number of rich people are traveling on this behemoth, including Sir Cosmo Duff Gordon and his wife, Lucile. We’re talking about the Titanic, remember, and how it perished after hitting an iceberg on its maiden voyage. The better-groomed the characters, the more morally dubious they are. The young protagonist, Tess, notices a handsome young sailor: “His hair was unruly, but swept aside with careless confidence,” and his eyes were “indeed as blue as the sea.” Their love interests have blue eyes and unkempt beards. All the young girls worth knowing wear their hair carelessly unpinned I suppose it shows their willingness to cut loose and party down, no matter what the century. “The Dressmaker” has all the required girlie-tropes. Which brings up an interesting aspect of “making history,” particularly the kind that Virginia Woolf used to talk about: the flocks of girls with bits of sewing in their laps, chattering about men, defining them, often by bursts of rude laughter. The dress seems to bunch up under the arms, and you can spend several minutes figuring out how someone put the thing together. journalist Patricia O’Brien under the pen name Kate Alcott, it’s an unashamed girlie-book with a woman’s attractive behind adorning the cover, sporting an elegant semi-bustle. This novel is as much about the sinking of the Titanic as it is about dressmaking. Digital Replica Edition Home Page Close Menu
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