More on pre-electricity lighting.
Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->
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After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".
For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".
Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.
There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.
Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.
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Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.
Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.
I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.
With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.
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All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.
Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.
They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.
Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...
...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...
This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.
Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:
What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.
There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:
This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.
A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.
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There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:
Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:
And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.
Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.
What could possibly go wrong? :-P
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Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.
Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.
There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.
Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.
This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.
In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.
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One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.
They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.
The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.
The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.
One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.
I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.
And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->
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Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)
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cw: female anatomy, period talk (no blood mention), smut elements, minors dni.
you lay in a dark room, arms tight around a body pillow, the end tucked tightly between your thighs. you've been mostly immobile for the last thirty minutes and irritated from the constant throb in your lower belly. you're sick of this.
your period's hitting you especially hard for whatever reason and the ibuprofen you just took ten minutes ago is taking longer than it should to hit. no relief exists, no position feels comfortable or right.
you're too busy trying to drown out your discomfort in loud guitar blasting through your headphones to realize your favorite person is watching you.
"what's wrong, baby?" his voice doesn't cut clear enough over the music and it's only when he approaches and taps your ankle, tangled a thin blanket, that you open your eyes and realize he's there.
"oh... hi," you answer weakly.
izuku gives you a once over, frowning slightly, then leans forward, shielding your eyes with a hand before he turns on the lamp atop the end table on your side of the bed. he looks again over your body carefully, and your own eyes follow him.
"i'm fine," you mumble.
he twists his mouth to the side, then kneels at your bedside so that he's at your eye level.
"cramps?" he asks.
you nod.
he presses a kiss to your forehead.
"did you take medicine?"
you nod. he pats your head gently for a moment and gives you an empathetic smile. you hold his gaze for a second and then he breaks it hesitantly, disappearing into the bathroom to wash dirt, grime, and whatever else he's picked up in the business of rescuing and regulating, then makes his way back to you just as quickly.
warm and fresh, he fits himself in the space around you, adjusting to the curve of your body, and slowly peeling the blankets off of you so that he is close enough that your legs graze together in your pajama shorts and his chin nuzzles close to yours.
you feel his breath on your neck, allowing the quiet closeness to soothe you. his hand makes its way around your waist, and lowers, pressing itself gently on your lower belly. scarred palms rub as gently as they can on the throbbing pain. he kisses your neck and you sigh.
"tell me if i'm not helping."
your hand covers his and presses harder and you can feel him laugh, the rumble run through both of your bodies. a smile creeps up on your lips.
"you're always helping," you whisper softly. he presses against you still closer, and you let go of your body pillow, casting it aside.
"can i move you?" he asks, gently kissing the skin of your shoulder. you nod again, and he moves you gently, pulling you into his direction. his hand presses against your lower belly still, and he watches for your reaction. your lip quivers and he kisses the lower one, then lets his hand travel lower, slipping below the hem of your cotton shorts. you bite your lip as he waits for your approval. your eyes tell him to go lower, and he does, an index finger tracing the split of your vulva. the touch makes you shudder and he stops.
"no, keep going..." you murmur despite yourself.
he rises to sitting and positions you slowly so that you're on your back. your legs part, as he hangs above you and a finger slips inside you. you whimper, and his free hand moves up your shirt to your neck, and he kisses the skin in between sore breasts.
softly, softly, softly, his fingers tease you apart until your focus is less on waves of pain and more on the drag of one, then two fingers along your walls, the tap of pads of fingers playing clit and all like piano music, the passage of his tongue on your skin. you gasp as you reach crescendo and again, he smiles, satisfied at the deepening of your complexion, expression that is lethargic not from pain but from a soothing pleasure and relaxation.
it's enough to send him into ecstasy himself but tonight he's focused on you. he continues to pamper you with soft words and tongues until you're relaxed and your arms reach for him to hold you close.
"stop being so good to me," you speak softly into his chest.
"never."
you laugh finally, and he's more pleased than anything.
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