Index ID: FASCLIFE — Publication date: October, 1999
Note: It was written to be published on OKUK Books website, now discontinued.
I was born in Chipping Sodbury General Hospital, which I think is appropriate for someone who collects funny names. My sister, Di, was born just under two years later, and she was the person who suffered my first efforts at story-telling (I was much bigger than her and could hold her down). Rabbits loomed large in our early story-telling sessions; we badly wanted a rabbit.
Di can still remember me telling her a story in which she fell down a rabbit hole and was fed strawberries by the rabbit family inside it. Certainly the first story I ever wrote down (when I was five or six) was about a rabbit called Rabbit. He got the measles and was visited by his friends, including a giant bee called Miss Bee. And ever since Rabbit and Miss Bee, I have wanted to be a writer, though I rarely told anyone so. I was afraid they’d tell me I didn’t have a hope.
We moved house twice when I was growing up. The first move was from Yate (just outside Bristol) to Winterbourne (on the other side of Bristol). A gang of children including myself and my sister used to play together up and down our street in Winterbourne. Two of the gang members were a brother and sister whose surname was Potter. I always liked the name, but then I was always keener on my friends’ surnames than my own (‘Rowling’ is pronounced like ‘rolling’, which used to lead to annoying children’s jokes about rolling pins).
When I was nine we moved to Tutshill near Chepstow in the Forest of Dean. We were finally out in the countryside, which had always been my parents’ dream, both being Londoners, and my sister and I spent most of our times wandering unsupervised across fields and along the river Wye. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that I hated my new school. It was a very small, very old-fashioned place where the roll-top desks still had ink-wells. My new teacher, Mrs Morgan, scared the life out of me. She gave me an arithmetic test on the very first morning and after a huge effort I managed to get zero out of ten – I had never done fractions before. So she sat me in the row of desks on her far right. It took me a few days to realise I was in the ‘stupid’ row. Mrs Morgan positioned everyone in the class according to how clever she thought they were; the brightest sat on her left, and everyone she thought was dim sat on the right. I was as far right as you could get without sitting in the playground. By the end of the year, I had been promoted to second left – but at a cost. Mrs Morgan made me swap seats with my best friend, so that in one short walk across the room I became clever but unpopular.
From Tutshill Primary I went to Wyedean Comprehensive. I heard the same rumour about Wyedean that Harry hears from Dudley about Stonewall High (see page of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone). But it wasn’t true – at least, it never happened to me. I was quiet, freckly, short-sighted and rubbish at sports (I am the only person I know who managed to break their arm playing netball). My favourite subject by far was English, but I quite liked languages too. I used to tell my equally quiet and studious friends long serial stories at lunch-times. They usually involved us all doing heroic and daring deeds we certainly wouldn’t have done in real life; we were all too swotty. I did once have a fight with the toughest girl in my year, but I didn’t have a choice, she started hitting me and it was hit back or lie down and play dead. For a few days I was quite famous because she hadn’t managed to flatten me. The truth was that my locker was right behind me and held me up. I spent weeks afterwards peering nervously around corners in case she was waiting to ambush me.
I became less quiet as I got older. For one thing I started wearing contact lenses, which made me less scared of being hit in the face. I wrote a lot in my teens, but I never showed any of it to my friends, except for funny stories that again featured us all in thinly disguised characters. I was made Head Girl in my final year, and I can only think of two things I had to do; one was to show Lady Somebody around the school fair, and the other was give an assembly to the whole school. I decided to play them a record to cut down on the time I had to speak to them. The record was scratched and played the same line of the song over and over again until the Deputy Headmistress kicked it.
I went to Exeter University straight after school, where I studied French. This was a big mistake. I had listened too hard to my parents, who thought languages would lead to a great career as a bilingual secretary. Unfortunately I am one of the most disorganised people in the world and, as I later proved, the worst secretary ever. All I ever liked about working in offices was being able to type up stories on the computer when no-one was looking. I was never paying much attention in meetings because I was usually scribbling bits of my latest stories in the margins of the pad, or choosing excellent names for the characters. This is a problem when you are supposed to be taking the minutes of the meeting.
When I was twenty six I gave up on offices completely and went abroad to teach English as a Foreign Language. My students used to make jokes about my name; it was like being back in Winterbourne, except that the Portuguese children said ‘Rolling Stone’ instead of rolling pin. I loved teaching English, and as I worked afternoons and evenings, I had mornings free for writing. This was particularly good news as I had now started my third novel (the first two had been abandoned when I realised how very bad they were). The new book was about a boy who found out he was a wizard and was sent off to wizard school. When I came back from Portugal half a suitcase was full of papers covered with stories about Harry Potter. I came to live in Edinburgh with my very small daughter, and set myself a deadline; I would finish the Harry novel before starting work as a French teacher, and try to get it published.
It was a year after finishing the book before a publisher bought it. The moment when I found out that Harry would be published was one of the best of my life. By this time I was working as a French teacher and being serenaded down the corridors with the first line of the theme from Rawhide (‘Rolling, rolling, rolling, keep those wagons rolling…’). A few months after ‘Harry’ was taken for publication in Britain, an American publisher bought the rights for enough money to enable me to give up teaching and write full time – my life’s ambition.
And I’ve got a real rabbit now. She is large and black and scratches me ferociously every time I try and pick her up. Some things are best left in the imagination.
Index ID: JKRD — Publication date: July 26th, 1998
Note: Published on Sunday Times.
Cafe society: At least once a week I go into Nicolsons, the cafe in Edinburgh where I wrote much of my first novel, Harry Potter and the Philospher’s Stone. The manager and owners are friends these days – or maybe they’re just relieved I now order food. I do most of my press interviews in the cafe partly out of gratitude for all the times they let me sit over one cold espresso for two hours.
I don’t often write in there these days because I feel too self-conscious, but I did a radio interview two days ago and it’s quite difficult to answer questions sensibly when half the staff, your sister and your daughter are giggling insanely across the restaurant about how stupid you look in a pair of headphones.
Overnight sensation: This time last year an American publisher bought the rights to Harry Potter and the Philospher’s Stone for what they call a “substantial sum”. My life changed literally overnight. I put down the telephone to my agent, Christopher, in a state of advanced shock (I think my contribution to the conversation consisted almost entirely of the words “How much? I don’t believe it”), walked around my flat for hours in a kind of nervous frenzy, went to bed at about 2am, and was awoken by the telephone early next morning. It didn’t stop ringing for a week. It was a Cinderella story for the press; broke, divorced mother writes in cafes while her daughter naps beside her, and finally strikes it lucky. I had never expected anyone to be interested in me personally; my wildest fantasies hadn’t gone much further than the book being published and the pinnacle of achievement seemed to me to be a review in a quality newspaper. Suddenly to see my own grinning face looming out of half a dozen papers, all captioned along the lines of “penniless single mother Joanne Rowling”, was a disorientating experience.
Roll up, roll up: I’ve just come back from a series of public signings and readings in bookshops and schools in England and Scotland to launch the second Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and it’s been one of the best weeks of my life. I’ve met 10-year-olds who have turned up with their own stories to show me, girls who have passed me fan letters, purple with embarrassment, boys who have stared at the floor while their mothers poke them in the small of the back, urging them to tell me how much they liked the book (“He couldn’t put it down, could you, Daniel? You’ve read it six times, haven’t you Daniel? Haven’t you Daniel? Say something, Daniel.”) The very best moment was meeting the mother of a dyslexic nine-year-old, who told me Harry Potter was the first book he’d ever finished all by himself. She said she’d burst into tears when she found him reading it in bed the morning after she’d read the first two chapters aloud to him. I’m not sure I managed to convey to her what a wonderful thing that was to hear, because I thought I was going to cry too.
As a former teacher there is a blissful feeling of irresponsibility in facing a roomful of children and knowing all you’re supposed to do is to entertain them and to hell with keeping discipline. I must say, though, that not one of the children I’ve seen in the last week has been anywhere near as rude as the pair of teachers who sat talking right through my reading while 60 beautifully behaved children sat listening to every word.
I wanted to stop and say loudly, “We’ll wait until you’ve finished your conversation, shall we?” but I am a coward so I merely read more loudly.
Sour gripes: Public signings occasionally attract members of a scary breed: the Unpublished and Indignant Writer. I used to belong to a more pathetic sub-species (Unpublished and Depressed), so the mentality of Mr Indignant is difficult for me to fathom. I always assumed that the publishers who turned down Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone did so because, in their opinion, it wasn’t good enough. Mr Indignant, however, is not so naive. He knows that there is a trick to getting published, a knack that has little or nothing to do with having written a book people might enjoy reading. Therefore, when he sees that a recently published writer will be appearing at his local bookshop, he pops along to demand the magic formula.
I met a particularly persistent Mr Indignant this week. He approached me with a fixed and slightly maniac grin, and opened the conversation by informing me that Bloomsbury (my publishers) had turned down his book. There followed an inquisition on how I had managed to worm my way onto their list which stopped just short of suggesting I possessed incriminating photographs of the managing director.
I know how miserable it is to hear the thud of your rejected manuscript on the doormat because it was happening to me not very long ago, but the only advice I feel qualified to give unpublished writers is: look up suitable agents and publishers in the Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook and work your way through the list.
It is boring advice, perhaps, but it worked for me. In the end Mr Indignant gave me up as a bad job and cornered Rosamund, who is in charge of marketing Bloomsbury’s children’s books. The last I heard, he was telling her he’d already devised his own marketing strategy.
Listen with mother: I came home after the book tour, baggy-eyed with exhaustion and laden with presents, to an only mildly enthusiastic welcome from my four-year-old daughter. She had been staying with her best friend, Thomas, who has a bunk bed and an extensive collection of Batman toys – I can’t compete. In an attempt to whip up some excitement after the last Nicolsons’ interview, I turned on the radio that evening and told her she was about to hear mummy talking about her book. She looked at me in a pitying sort of way. “But I already know what you sound like, mummy.”
I enquire now as to the generis of a philologist and assert the following: 1. A young mang cannot possibly know what Greeks and Roman are. 2. He does not know wheter he is suited for finding out about them. Friedrich Netizsche Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen
There is nothing like a pithy quotation to get the bal rolling, so, in the noble tradition of undergraduates anxious to give the impression of extensive background reading, I have stolen one from a book I have never read. By happy chance, Donna Tartt chose this very gobbet to preface her novel The Secret History, which I have read. Tartt’s story concerns a group of American classics students who decide to recreate a bacchanal; the experiment goes awry when they inadvertently muder a farmer whilst cavorting across one of his fields late at night, accompanied by Dionysus and wearing nothing but bedspreads. If you ask me, the book would have benefited from the attentino of a scissor-happy editor, but it is undeniable page-turner and I doubt wether Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen is half as informative on the subject of hallucinogenic drugs.
However, I was not asked to contribute a book review (“asked to contribute”, how I love that phrase… that I should be asked to contribute to the Classics department magazine… the irony…) The point is that Nietzsche’s, ominous assertinos gave me pause for thought, and then a heaert gufaw, because the reason the Classics department of Exeter University ever let me in is a mystery right up there with anything the Bacchae got up to, a feeling I probably shared with the department once it reliased what it had done.
I arrived at Exeter enrolled for joint honours French and German, but it soon became apparent to me that what German and I needed was a clean break, with no empty promises about staying friends. It was then that I turned thoughtfully towards the Classics department. Somewhere along those unknown corridors, it was whispered, lurked a subsidiary course which went by the ngame of “Greek and Roman Studies”, and the word on the street was that one did not need any Greek or Latin to join up. This was fortunate, as my Latin consisted of the word cave, which I had gleaned from the Molesworth book.
I was uncomfortably aware as I entered the unfamiliar department that I knew pitifully little about what the study of Classics might involve. The Comprehensive I had just left had never dropped any hints; the headmaster’s ramblings about Herclitus had been admired about as much as his halitosis. Nevertheless, I had somewhere along the line gained the impression that Classics meant Culture. As far as I was concerned, behind these doors lay a world of mysterious, runic knowledge, and I was keen to be let in. I lingered furtively around a noticeboard for a while, trying to compose an eloquent plea for admission. Then, not entirely confident about my material, I knocked on the relevant door, entered, and I found myself face to face with a man I shall call Professor X (to shield him from the Aryan equivalent of a fatwah, as we shall see).
Profesor X had a moustache that positively shouted ancient learning and my nervousness increased. I explained why I had come and braced myself for a close examination of my non-existent classical credentials. I was taken aback when the first words from under that classical moustache were “You want to leave the German department? I don’t blame you.“
I can’t remember another word we said to each other, but I am certain that none of Nietzsche’s quibbles came up. Possibly Professor X’s admirable antipathy towards the Germand department extended to Nietszche. Ten minutes after I had knocked at Professor X’s door, I was tripping ecstatically off to the book shop to buy a stack of stylish black-covered Penguins.
My mood of excitement was short-lived, however. I left my very first Classics lecture feelin that the whole thing would have been just as comprehensible in German, or indeed Kurdish. There were slides of fragments of vases and a commentary form a distinguished looking man that I was sure would be enthralling if I had the faintest idea what he was talking about. This was a level of bewilderment I had never reached before, which was saying something, because in those days I was so disorganised that turning up at the right lecture theatre was often more a matter of luck than judgement. I sat and listened with a mounting sense of a panic while all around me people scribbled assioduously with every appearance of understanding the gibberish issuing from behind the projector.
The odd thing is that I never, then or later, contemplated another change of subject. I was quite sure that the fault lay with me, not with Classics (whereas with German, I had been more sinned against than sinning).
The unfortunate man who had most to do with me during my classical career was Dr. Y. Dr. Y made quite an impression on me. Once, under the influence of too long a night in the Ram, I decided that what was missing from his life was a Valentine card signed with a quotation from Phaedra. A cunning touch, I felt; he would never guess it was from me, because I had never given him reason to suppose I’d opened Phaedra. Then again, the card must have arrived two days late, which might have given him a valuable clue.
Dr Y’s tolerance towards my frightening ignorance of his subject was awe-inspiring. The closest he ever came to admonishing me for my erratic attendance and propensity to lose every handout he gave me the moment we parted company was when he described me as sleepwalking around the place. This was said with an expression of mingled patience and amusement. I lived to regret repeating his remark to friends. It was sufficiently apt for them to repeat it rather more often thatn I found funny.
I had a vague idea that Dr. Y might help lift my fog of confusion if I asked him, directly, for help. The trouble was that I just couldn’t bring myself to reveal how dense the fog was. I was rell paid for this vanity the day we sat down to examine the life and times of a mass-murderer and bigamist called Theseus.
“What ist he most obvious question we should ask about Theseus?” said Dr. Y, throwing the debate wide open. The question that popped instantly into my brain was, “Did he really exist?” Naturally, I did not utter it aloud. I knew that would reveal only too clearly my unsuitability to find out about Theseus. I sat in bitter silence, knowing that what he wanted was one of those not remotely obvious questions these classical types kept asking, which where always the cue for comprehensible sotries to mutate suddenly into bizarre metaphors and symbols. Only the previous week a thrilling tale of kdinap starring one Persephone had turned out to be about crop storage.
A student we shall call Hugh, becasuse that was his name, broke the silence.
“Did he really exit?” he suggested lazily.
“Exactly“, said Dr Y, with an approving smile.
A thousand curses. Just once, I could hav eearned an approving smile. I was sure my chance would never come again, and I was quite right. Twelve years later, it is still Dr. Y and smug Hugh who spring to mind whenever I teeter on the verge of posing a possibly stupid question.
Dr. Y was wearing his familiar expression of barely suppressed amusement when he told me two years later that I had passed the course. He admitted that given my disasstrous first paper he was rather surprised that I had managed it. I sat opposite im feeling that at long last, I had the advantage of him – I was much more surprised than he was.
There is no getting away from the fact that I did not get from teh Classics department what Dr. Y and his colleagues set out to give me, but that was my fault, not theirs. On the plus side, the farmers of Devon had no reason to fear me and my bedclothes stayed where they were supposed to. Greek and Roman Studies gave me a few things I value even more highly than my fond memories of The Frogs: two of the best friends I ever made at university, for instance, and the unforgettable experience of being lectured to by a person best known simply as Z. It was Z I had in mind when I created Professor Binns, a minor character in the novel I published last year. More than that I am not prepared to say; we all know how underpaid university lecturers are and I have no wish to be sued.
Perhaps, in the deepest and truest sense, I still don’t really know what Greeks and Romans are, but I’ve never entirely given up hope of lifting a little more fog. A shelf next to me as I tap out these words is dotted with books on Greek mythology, all of which were purchased post-Exeter. And I’m confident I know more than Dr. Y would have credited when I left his office for the last time: enough to inform a pair of bemused four year olds with whom I watched Disney’s latest ofering that Heracles definitely didn’t own Pegasus. That was Bellerophon, was any fule kno.
The Ascendant is the sign which was visible rising over the horizon at the exact moment and place of birth.
Ptolemy established the traditional rulers for each zodiacal sign at the time when teh furthest known planet was Saturn. Each planet ruled two signs except the sun and moon, which ruled Leo and Cancer respectively. Although, after the discovery of Neptune, Uranus and Pluto, some astrologers tried to reassign rulership, taking Aquarius from Saturn and giving it to Uranus, for example, most atrologers maintain Ptolemy’s system, as I do. The three most recently discovered planets move so slowly through the zodiac as seen from earth that their influence is judged to be on generations rathen than individuals and, unless one of them has a particular significance in a chart, being in a particularly important sign of the individual, for example, their significante is not great. I have not used Pluto in the casting of this horoscope because there is no consensus as to what it’s meaning it and, in any case, it moves so slowly that is can only be seen as having a general and diffused effect.
Birth Sign Libra – Ascendant Leo
Superficially, Libra and Leo are not signs with a great deal in common. Gandhi might reasonably be held up as a pure Libran whereas Bismarck conformed perfectly to his Leo ascendant: on the one hand, Roger has the sign astrologers agree is “almost entirely lacking in aggression”, on the other, the sign reputed to turn out an unusually high number of generals.
This is only true, however, if each sign is considered in its most undiluted form, and true astrology recognises that pure zodiacal types are rare, if not impossible. In Roger’s case, Gandhi certainly eclipses Bismarck, his birth sign is in fact more representative of him than any other, mainly because both the Sun and Moon were in Libra at the moment of his birth. Nevertheless, he should be more of a natural leader than the average Libran due to his Leo ascendant, though he would tend to lead more by example, and certainly more quietly, than a pure Leo.
He is first and foremost an “air type”, the element which dominates his chart. Not only does he have the Sun and Moon in Libra, he also has Libra’s ruling planet, Venus, in the air sign of Aquarius. The 19th century astrologer John Varley wrote that “the aerial trigon, Gemini, Libra and Aquarius, contains the humane, harmonius and courteous principles”, while the air signs are universally described as the most cerebral in the zodiac. All these qualities, as will be seen, are pronounced in Roger’s chart.
Moon in Libra – The Quiet Charmer
The most charming people, of all the possible zodiacal combinations, are represented by Sun and Moon in Libra. Any professional astrologer would contend that, diverse as their careers (and the rest of their horoscopes) may have been, the poet Rimbaud, ex-President Eisenhower and Lech Walesa – all Librans with a Libran moon – owe a large part of their success to a powerful, personal charm. Where Roger is concerned, this is unlikely to be something he deliberately employs, as the planet governing relationships, Venus, is in Aquarius, which does not court others’ approval. Nevertheless, his charm should be no less potent for the fact that it is unforced and quiet.
The astrological writer Louis McNiece says somewhat dismissively “Libra could hardly frighten anyone” and it is true that there is no sign of aggression in Roger’s chart; Mars, the planet predictably most concerned with anger and violence, is in peaceful, rational Virgo. However, those who take Roger’s fundamentally gentle nature at face value risk coming upa gainst rock when they attempt to push him too far, because the strong Leonine streak in his horoscope makes him unlikely to give way on points of principle. He also has considerable presence, largely due to the prominence of Jupiter.
Whatever their differences, Libra and Leo do share certain traits which should therefore be marked in Roger. Both signs are appreciative of the arts and enjoy good food and drink; both are instinctively gracious. Libra has the reputation of being to fit in anywhere, being diplomatic to the point of hipocresy; Roger, on the other hand, while retaining this chameleon ability, is able to fit in anywhere because he reamins unaffectedly himself, the result of his fixed ascendant.
Apollo the Gourmet
The ascendant is supposed to have the greatest influence on the physique. The French astrologer Barbault distinguishes two physical types of Leos – “Herculean” and “Apollonian”, both tall, both physically strong, the former muscular but tending to fat, the latter considerably leaner. Roger, incidentally, has the classic mark of a very fast metabolism – Mars (representing physical energy) in Virgo (which rules the digestive system). Anyone with Leo prominent in their chart is likely to have a hearty appetite but, as a cultured Libran, he should be a discriminating eater. Mercury in Virgo, according to McNiece, indicates “an interest in cooking and diet”, while several astrologers maintain that air signs are most prone to vegetarianism (though Roger’s horoscope does lead one to speculate that giving up meat would have been sacrifice – Leo is obviously supposed to be a confirmed carnivore).
Jupiter in the First House – Jupiter in Leo – The Child of Good Fortune
One of the most striking features of Roger’s chart is the all-pervasive influence of Jupiter, which is placed in the First House, the house of Self, meaning that everything else in the chart must be considered in the light of its influence. McNiece gives a clear picture of how significant an effect Jupiter can have:
“Of all ‘lucky stars’ Jupiter is the most patently lucky. He can see you through illnesses and he can help you to survive disasters. He is rather like one of those good old rich men in Dickens.”
The Kalendar of Kompost and Sheperds, meanwhile, a 15th century French work which is an important source of traditional astrological thinking, says of Jupiter:
“He is very pure and clear of nature, and not very hot, but he is all virtues (…) This planet may do not evil, he is best of all the other seven. He keeps the liver of man and maintains it joyously” (handy for Roger, gives his appetite).
In short, Roger should be a born survivor. Jupiet int he First House is immensely lucky, it traditionally acts as a kind of benevolent guiding light. It also exerts a powerful influence on Roger’s temperament. Jupiter is the patron of judges and archbishops, which is consistent with the rest of Roger’s chart: as a Libran he is innately fair-minded – a preoccupation with justice, especially social justice, is a recurrant theme of his horoscope, as is a strong moral code, although one could not go as far as to say that Roger is a closet archbishop (for which Jupiter would have to be positioned in the Ninth House, governing religion). The Kalendar gets thoroughly carried away on the subject of the Jupiter man, depicting him as a model of clean and virtuous living.
As though all this were not enough, Jupiter is in Leo, a highly fortunate placing, bestowing and extra helping of luck and throwing into prominence all the noblest qualities of the sign: philantropy, kindness, strenght of character and loyalty. Jupiter in Leo also denotes a love of speed and suggest that of all the arts, the first love should be music – according to the rhapsodising Kalendar, the Jupiter man “shall love to sing and be honestly merry”. The Kalendar also provides the information that Jupiter places include palaces, courts of justice and, inexplicably, wardrobes – truely, Roger fits in anywhere.
The Social Reformer
It would be hard to imagine a horoscope more clearly indicative of a humanitarian. As seen, the chief Libran virtue is fair-mindedness; altruism and philantropy are given by Jupiter and Leo; Venus (an important planet for Roger because it rules Libra) is in Aquarius, a sign preoccupied with the collective good and, just to drive the message home, his highest concentration of planets is in Virgo, the public servant of the zodiac. Uranus, which is associated with revolution and rebellion, is positioned in the House of Money, while Saturn in the Eighth House can mean, among other things, an ability to manage other people’s money. Roget, in short, should be chief negotiator in wage disputes.
As a matter of fact, Roger should probably be chief negotiator in almost any dispute. He has Mars in conjunction with Mercury, which is the planet of intellect and communication, making him odds on favourite to win any debate and giving him a talent for defusing arguments, not to mention talking his way out of trouble (more of which later). Mercury governs Virgo, which is a sign possessed of keen intelligence, and when it is placed in teh sign gives a sharp mind particularly given to sifting and analysing information. It should also be mentioned that Mars in the second house reinforces the impression of Roger’s apparent gentleness masking a formidable opponent: it traditionally means a propensity to be ruthless if necessary to achieve a desired end – Machiavelli had Mars in the second house.
The Millionaire Inventor
There is a startling and dramatic possibility lurking in this horoscope which only becomes apparent after studying what seems a flat contradiction.
As established, this chart is that of a natural carer and it is plainly unlikely that Roger would make a fortune from working to alleviate social ills, yet the possibility of wealth is clearly indicated – three forceful planets in the House of Money and Jupiter – sometimes dubbed the “tycoon planet” – in the House of Self (the Kalendar states with some satisfaction that the Jupiter man “shall be very happy in merchandise and shall have plenty of gold and silver”).
Several apparently innocent features of Roger’s chart combine to give a very unusual solution to this paradox. Aquarius is the sign of scientific progerss and all things mechanical (hence the modern, “Aquarian” age). Venus in Aquarius does show a flair in this area, though on its own cuold mean no more than a knack for fixing hoovers. Back in the House of Money, however, we find Mars, giving energy and drive, Mercury, making cleverness and innovation and also – the clincher – Uranus, which is linked with Aquarius and the scientific age and which McNiece sums up as standing for “mechanical inventiveness”.
So – if Roger has a whimsical idea for some new mechanical gadget he shuold not dismiss it; he shuold take out a patent on it as soon as is humanly possible.
Personal Relationships
This is the most complex area of Roger’s horoscope. While Leo and Libra indicate sociability, Venus in Aquarius makes a personal “popular but solitary” according to Countess Wydenbruck. It is in the area of friendships that Roger is perhaps least Libran, for the true Libran craves almost constant company, while Roger has a certain detachment stemming from Venus in Aquarius and, as will be explored more fully later, Saturn in the Eighth House. This is not to say that Roger is not capable of warm and strong friendship – he could hardly not be, with his Libran and Leo tendencies – but is unlikely to be effusive or even especially demonstrative; he enjoys socialising but functions equally happily alone.
The Sun and Moon together in the Third House, the house of brothers and sisters, means – not difficult to guess – that his relationship with his sister is likely to blow hot and cold. The Yin / Yang symbolism is very obvious, suggesting a potential harmnoy not easy to achieve at all times. One could sum up by saying that when it is good, it is very very good, etc.
Neptune in the House of Home (home in the sense of the place of birth and first family) is indicative of an uneasy relationship. Neptune is described rather vaguely by McNiece as having “the qualities of sensationalism, nebulousness and mysticism”, but this is as precise as most modern astrologers get on the subject and of course, it is no good turning to the good old Kalendar because it was blissfully ignorant of Neptune’s existance. In the fourth house one can reasonably conclude that Neptune indicates a faint feeling of constraint – especially if the parents were strict – and it would certainly point to a less than a close relationship given Neptune’s “nebulousness.”
Weddingphobe seeks Fiercely Independent Woman for Loving Wife
The most complex area of all likes in the sphere of romantic relationships. Roger reserves his warmest feelings and his greatest emotional investment for his partner: Venus in the Seventh House, House of Marriage, makes a person desirous of forming a lasting and monogomous relationship. However, he has Saturn in the Eighth House, the House of Death, and while Saturn is not a particularly important planet for Roger, Saturn in the Eighth has a profound effect on any horoscope.
The Kalendar is not a fan of Saturn:
“Saturn is enemy to all things that grow and bear life of nature, for he cold and stormy bitterness of his time”.
Modern and more restrained astrologers agree that the keywords of Saturn are limitation and perversion: Saturn, wherever it is found in a horoscope, usually outlines faults, fears and weaknesses.
In the Eighth House Saturn does not in fact indicate morbidity or a particular fear of mortality – for which Mars would have to be present, too, or in aspect – but it doest signifiy a great fear of metaphorical death, the suppression of the individual and the loss of individuality, and this should be an important feature of Roger’s personality, heightened by the presence of non-conformist Aquarius.
This fear manifest itself in many ways. Roger is likely to feel least comfortable in a regimented institution, for example; to feel stifled in any atmosphere which demands uniformity, even of dress, while at the other extreme he has a pronounced distaste for mass hysteria, in which his uneasy Neptune plays a part (Rupert Gleadow speculates that Neptune could stand for “the absorption of the self into something great and wonderful”). Thos of course has its positive side – Roger is the last person you would expect to find seduced into a religious cult, for example, and utterly devoid of herd mentality. In the area of romance, however, it shows a phobia of “coupledom”. The concepts of jealousy and possessiveness should be alien to his nature, he would be completely resistant to being perceived merely as half of a neat twosome and this antipathy is sufficiently pronounced to become a distaste for any of the conventional “trappings” of a permanent relationship, right up to co-ownership of property, for example. In a person whose horoscope shows a “marriage” as essential for complete fulfilment, it is clear that this phobia could present certain problems.
All of this is rendered yet more intense by the fact that the weakest element in Roger’s horoscope is that of water (Saturn in Pisces and Neptune in Scorpio are conjunctions shared by everyone born between 1963 and 1968 and have very little relevance to Roger personally). Roger is not “emotional” in the sense of volatility or overt demostrativeness – these are qualities which belong to the water signs. It is certainly true that he is generous, kind and supportive, but these virtues stem from his perculiarly rational humanitarianism, from a belief in justice and the innate love of fair play that Leo and Libra share. In other words, there is little of the “bleeding heart” about Roger; he is concerned with others’ misfortunes because he can think (rather than feel) himself into their shoes. He has a distinct talent, as we have seen, for coping with, and defusing, uncontrolled emotion but there is no question that in his private life he would prefer not to have to exercise these skills too much. To the person who considers the occasional almighty row a healthy part of a relationship, Roger would be something of a frustration. His rational response – to conduct a civilized discussion – can on occasion become a way of avoiding emotional involvement on his part: the flip side of talking himself out of trouble. Of course, anyone who wanted to cling to him, track his every movement or wear matching T-shirt would be on the receiving end of a civilized, courteous but firm goodbye.
Yet Roger should not be at all immune to a little pampering. A sure route to Leo’s heart is his digestive tract and Roger is too much of a Libran not to appreciate an attractive and comfortable home (not to mention an attractive and comfortable partner). To sum up, Roger’s ideal woman would be very independent, yet placing a very high impotrance on their relationship, as he would; a gifted home-maker who has nothing of the retiring hWhen homebody. We can safely say that you are unlikely to trip over Roger’s ideal woman in every street.
When he does love, he does so deeply (in a Leonine rather than a Libran way, owwin to all-powerful, warm and spiritual Jupiter). He is also highly unlikely to be unfaithful (Venus in the Seventh House coupled with an empty Fifth, the House of Pleasures which includes “extra-marital” affairs). While he is not remotely possessive, Jupiter in Leo does suggest protectiveness.
Roger, incidentally, has a gift for appearing to be chosen because, as seen, he has nothing of the aggressive predator in his horoscope. Do not be fooled, however: Mars in the second house signifies someone who knows that they want and will generally make sure they get it – remember Machiavelli.
Compatible Signs
For a true assessment of compatibility it is necessary to compare two birth charts. On the assumption that Roger will run across people who are predominantly one sign or another, however, it is possible to assess which are most and least likely to appeal to him.
Sascha Fenton says that Libra prefers “logical and intelligent people who are also attractive and amusing,” which does rather beg the question, who doesn’t? While Roger is courteous enough to suffer fools graciously if not gladly, he would definitely tend to require intellectual equals as friends which suggests other Librans and the air signs Aquarius and Gemini. Of these, he has a strong affinity, as we have seen, with Aquarius; a typical Libran might be a little two-faced for Roger, while Gemini, though entertaining, is egocentric.
Leos are a safe bet; excellent company, much in common with Roger, and he is likely to be amused rathen than irritated by Leonine flamboyance and not to fight them for the limelight. He couls also be very compatible with a Sagittarean, another fire sign, who should probably remain a friend rather than a lover, however, as Sagittareans are very unlikely to reciprocate the side of Roger that seeks a lasting, faithful partner. The third fire sign, Aries, is a definite no: the macho man (and woman) of the zodiac, supremely aggressive, Aries likes fights for their own sake and is a confirmed philistine.
Of the earth signs, Roger could achieve mutual respect with a Virgo, but the sign is generally far too conformist to appeal greatly to him. Taurus is at worst plain slow-witted, although he likes his food – perhaps they could sit in a companiable silence at the dinner table. Capricorn is the best bet, independent and possessed of a dry wit Roger should enjoy, although again, far more of a traditionalist than he is.
Cancer has qualities Roger actively seeks in a partner – gentleness, grace and warmth – but also an unfortunate tendency to cling. Pisces might amuse Roger in the way that a pure Leo would; Pisceans are loveable, if in desperate need for someone to sort out their lives. Scorpio is a non-starter: good looks and eroticism would not compensate Roger for brooding jealousy, intense possessiveness and dramatic, melodramatic outbursts.
Together, they make a formidable team. If ever you are thinking of being kidnapped by vicious international terrorists it would be advisable to make sure that Kate and Roger are two of your fellow hostages. Within a week, Roger will have negotiated wall to wall carpeting for your cell, well cooked meals and a twenty four inch colour television. Kate meanwhile will be providing Cancerian sympathy for those who are showing signs of straing and dispensing judicious Capricorn put-downs to any whiners. In her spare moments, she will be working out the practical side of her nature by widening the aire vent to use as an escape tunnel. Once completed, she will lead the escape while Roger quietly charms a susceptible guard into concentrating exclusively on their civilized discussion on the use of violence and its place in international politics. Kate and her fellow escapees will of course each be carrying hand-made granades Roger has been amusing himself by fashionish out of a few old coke cans and the Semtex he weaseled out of a guard who was no match for his Machiavellian Mars.
Roger Tosswill / Jack Buchanan
The words “isn’t he like his father?” are likely to be repeated with tiresome regularity throughout Jack’s childhood. We enter the world of the downright uncanny when we come to Jack’s chart. It’s similarity to Roger’s could hardly be more pronounced. A sun sign Aquarian with his moon in the air sign Gemini, Jack also has a Leo ascendant. He and Roger are therefore likely to have a profound, unspoken understanding of each other’s nature.
Still more peculiar, when Jack’s horoscope is placed alonsighde both Kate’s and Roger’s, is the fact that it is almost a composite of the two. Like Kate, Jack’s emotional nature is strongly influenced by the water element; she has Cancer, he has Pisces. Furthermore, Capricorn and Aquarius are the two signs ruled by Saturn, which gives them a strong affinity.
Roger Tosswill – Kate Buchanan
I should say at the outset that these two horoscopes could have come straight out of an astrological text-book, captioned “compatible partners”. There are an extraordinary number of complementary aspects between the two charts, not to mention several similarities in their composition.
Kate is a Sun Sign Leo with a Capricorn Ascendant. There two self-assrued, mentaly strong, very “male” signs (astrological symbolism is somewhat sexist) and will combine to make Kate just as independent as Roger. Leos tend to mutually attract, which is not the case with all signs, so there should be a strong sense between them of a shared outlook and similar areas of enjoyment. The household comprised of Leonine people (and even Jack has his Leonine side) is one where hospitality is offered freely and stylishly.
Like Roger, Kate has Venus in the Seventh House, a clear pointer to compatibility. She is likely to be slightly more romantic than Roger in that she has Mars in Seventh House too, suggestin that she would not minimise the importance of physical chemistry, whereas Roger is probably too cerebral to select a life mate on the basis of animal magnetism.
They also share Saturn in Pisces, but this has very different significance in their respective horoscopes. Among the qualities this placing can denote is untidiness, which could apply to Roger (Libra is notoriously indifferent when it comes mundame household chores); he is likely at least to have a relaxed attitude to a spotless home. Kate, on the other hand, being strongly Capricornian (she also has moon in Capricorn) likes order and this discipline, which is a fundamental part of her personality, would over-ride any untidiness given by Saturn and Pisces. On the other hand, another of its meanings is a propensity to worry and as Capricorn is a melancholi sign and Kate also has impotrant elemnts of Cancer in her chart, she is likely to fret more than Roger every day matters.
Highly significant is Kate’s moon, which is in the First House and forms a strong link with Roger’s Jupiter. The two planets could be seen as natural partners. The moon is “feminine”, mystical and concers the soul; Jupiter is the kindly patriarch governing spirituality.
The fact that Kate has a pronounced Cancerian side (she has Mars and Venus in Cancer and the ruler of the signs is the moon, which is as important to her as Jupiter is to Roger) fits in perfectly with Roger’s chart. IT makes her a perculiar and unusual combination of strength and vulnerability, almost exactly the combination, in fact, that Roger’s Saturn in the Ehighth House requires.
Considered side by side, there is a good balance of all four elements, Roger providing fire and aire, Kate earth and water (Capricorn and Cancer): an obvious, traditional mark of harmony. Their relationship, given their respective independence and the fact that both charts show a life partner as a pre-requisite for true happiness, should functinon on a level of mutual support rather than dependence; exactly what Roger’s horoscope suggests is his ideal.