Searching for Inspiration in Scotland
By Victoria Fortune
“Expectation is the Root of all Heartache.”
This quote is often falsely attributed to Shakespeare, perhaps because it expresses a universal truth. It has been a long, hard year, in part because I have had to alter expectations for the future, which has left me emotionally numb, making it difficult to write. I’ve been longing for something—a change of scenery, a new adventure— to jolt me out of the rut I’ve been in. It was tempting to pin high hopes on my family trip this summer. After all, traveling has inspired many a writer
My family is scattered to the four winds, but for one week a year, we gather to reconnect. This year, our destination was the Scottish Borders, where my ancestors are from. The beautiful scenery, the historic sites—what better place to awaken the senses, sharpen my powers of observation, and find a little inspiration. However, when traveling with my family, it can be futile to make plans. Setting the whole crew in motion is like herding cats. Besides, the forecast was for steady rain all week. So, I brought my rain coat and, having learned something about the danger of expectations, I tempered mine regarding how much of Scotland we would see.
I was delighted to discover upon arrival (my oldest sister made the arrangements) that the farmhouse where we were staying was the Tibbie Sheils Inn, where Sir Walter Scott and the famous Scottish poet James Hogg (The Ettrick Shepherd) spent many a night discussing ballads and poems. William Wordsworth and Robert Louis Stevenson were other notable visitors. Now an Airbnb rental, the former inn is large and rambling, much like my family, making it an ideal spot for us to gather.
At least if we were going to spend most of the week inside, it was in an historic setting. Hanging out in the bar (which we had all to ourselves), I could imagine Scott and Hogg sitting there, amidst the wine bottles and half-full glasses, their heads bent together, hashing out lines of poetry. It gave me a thrill, as though some residue of their presence might still cling to the walls.
But despite the forecast, the rain held off, and we were able to appreciate that which inspired Scott and Hogg—the countryside surrounding the inn. It sits right at the edge of Saint Mary’s loch, “the largest natural loch in the Scottish Borders at 5k (3.1 miles) long. Sir Walter Scott helped spread word of its beauty and solitude . . . in Marmion (1808).”
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake
By lone St Mary's silent lake
Thou know'st it well nor fen nor sedge
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge.
The sun even peeked out at times, illuminating the crystal edge of St. Mary’s as we ambled around the loch, through rolling emerald pastures dotted with sheep and airy forests where brilliant green moss grew thick as wool on the ancient stone walls that have criss-crossed the hills for centuries.
We even managed several tours, including a visit to Sir Walter Scott’s home, Abbotsford House. Being a fan and aspiring writer of historical novels, I was excited to see the home of the writer who essentially invented the genre. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, “The technique of the omniscient narrator and the use of regional speech, localized settings, sophisticated character delineation, and romantic themes treated in a realistic manner were all combined by [Scott] into virtually a new literary form, the historical novel.”
E.M. Forster, in his classic book Aspects of the Novel, is a rather harsh critic of Sir Walter Scott (among others). Forster claims that the historical context and novelty of Scott’s work are what propelled him to notoriety, and the only reason he remains a prominent literary figure is because of nostalgia (people were read his stories as children and thus associate him with their idyllic childhoods), and the fact that he could spin a good yarn. According to Forster, Scott’s subjects were “trivial” and his style “heavy,” but he excelled at keeping readers turning the pages to find out what happens next.
Scott’s knack for storytelling came through in the guided tour of his home. We were offered three options of audio recordings to lead us through the house: the “standard” version, a female docent’s voice; the child-friendly version, the “voice” of one of Scott’s beloved hound dogs; or the “author’s voice.” I chose Scott, of course. The actor’s Scottish brogue seemed fitting, with many of the observations and anecdotes about the house being drawn from Scott’s journals. (I was curious whether the other voice options offered different details but did not have the chance to compare.)
I was most eager to see Scott’s study—the place where he wrote his novels—hoping for some insight into his process. Instead, his commentary focused primarily on interruptions: his wife bringing him tea, his granddaughter bursting in to sit on his lap, his friend and groundskeeper coaxing him from his work for an afternoon walk of the grounds. These seem to have been the highlights of his time spent in his study. You can almost hear him longing for just such an interruption as he records his thoughts in his journal. I can relate.
Scott’s only comment about the work itself was that it had become a terrible burden, undertaken solely to pay off the debts he had incurred building his impressive estate and failed publishing company. This would account for what Forster identifies as Scott’s main flaw as a novelist: his lack of passion.
Perhaps Scott lacked passion all along, even before the public had any expectations of him. Or maybe having to live up to those expectations and publish or perish, as the saying goes, drained him of it. Or perhaps he was just passionate about something altogether different than what Forster was passionate about. Forster’s purpose was to plumb the depths of man’s character, particularly the Englishman’s character, while Scott was intent on delineating the character of his nation. And he was quite successful at that, which is why he continues to be a beloved figure today, despite the heavy-handedness of his storytelling.
Forster, while touring Italy after graduating from Cambridge, noted in his diary: “I missed nothing [of the local sites and scenery] . . . . But I knew that I must wait for many days before they meant anything to me or gave me any pleasure.” (from “On the Slyly Subversive Writing of E.M. Forster”) I can relate to this sentiment, as well. I’m still processing the trip, but one observation I took away is that it’s not necessarily the sites I see while traveling that inspire me, but the fresh perspective I bring home upon return. Another is that an advantage of setting aside expectations is that it leads to pleasant surprises.
Photo: Tibbie Sheils Inn from across St. Mary’s Loch
