Literary descriptions of shaving

[JHCC]

I thought a thread for descriptions of shaving in literature would be nice, so here's a passage from The Peaceable Kingdom: An American Saga by Jan De Hartog:




Colonel Best was in the process of being shaved by Bonbon, a daily ritual which started by his lying down at his shirt sleeves on the leather couch in his study while the eunuch put his tools at the ready: a bowl of hot water, razor, razor strop, lotions, soap scented with rose petals, towels. He grunted ungraciously, "All right, get on with it", but once he lay on his back on that couch, eyes closed, and the smarmy little man began his ministrations, he was like an opium addict sensuously relishing the ritual. The creature began by covering his face with a steaming hot towel, which, after resting on his bristles for a while, was gently removed, as a sculptor uncovers the first clay mold of a head. Then the feminine, caressing hands applied oil smelling of boudoirs, followed by another steaming towel, hotter than the first, and finally the lather that was brushed on with the voluptuous softness of an houri's caresses. As he lay there, his face buried in warm, scented foam, his body more sated and relaxed than in the afterglow of love, he heard the surreptitious squeaking of the razor stroking the strop. Then the delicate fingers of the creature gently pushed up his right sideburn to stretch the skin on his jaw, the harem voice whispered, "All right, patron?" and he grunted unpleasantly, to make up for his involuntary grin of well-being. The razor stroked down, softer than the tongue of the tenderest of women, and the voice asked, "Does eet pull, patron?"


He growled, "No, you idiot! Stop blathering and get on with it!" The steel, working so gently that he could barely feel it as it caressed his cheeks, started replacing the heat of the lather with the coolness of naked skin. Bonbon did a meticulous job, nipping even the furtive little hairs on his cheekbones and underneath his Adam's apple; then, with the sound of two small perspiring bodies in the raptures of love, he slapped his obscene little hands with yet another secret ointment, an oil that smelled of leather and horses and wenches in the hay, the two lascivious flippers started to massage his face and he felt as if he were awakening from a depressing dream of old age and regret to the figure of youth he had once been, the dashing British rake abroad with the unwrinkled face that had dazzled a thousand wenches, full, sensuous lips and no bags under the once mischievous eyes that now had grown mournful and morose, like those of a bloodhound with nothing to trace. He was waiting for the third hot towel, when Thomas Fell's son was announced by Kathryn, the maid. He growled, "Go away. Too early. Let him wait."

 

[Niles]

 

[Krona Kruiser]

That is really neat.

 

[maxman]

Nifty. I hope more pop up. I mostly read Fantasy novels. Not a lot in terms of shaving in those books.

 

[JHCC]

Another, this one from Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Chapter 4: The Counterpane):

"Queequeg [...] then donned his waistcoat, and taking up a piece of hard soap on the wash-stand centre table, dipped it into water and commenced lathering his face. I was watching to see where he kept his razor, when lo and behold, he takes the harpoon from the bed corner, slips out the long wooden stock, unsheathes the head, whets it a little on his boot, and striding up to the bit of mirror against the wall, begins a vigorous scraping, or rather harpooning of his cheeks. Thinks I, Queequeg, this is using Rogers’s best cutlery with a vengeance. Afterwards I wondered the less at this operation when I came to know of what fine steel the head of a harpoon is made, and how exceedingly sharp the long straight edges are always kept."

 

[Go West Young Man]

That is some purple prose, Jan.

 

[Viseguy]

Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment, Part III, Chapter II:

RAZUMIHIN waked up next morning at eight o'clock, troubled and serious. He found himself confronted with many new and unlooked-for perplexities. He had never expected that he would ever wake up feeling like that. ...

He washed that morning scrupulously--he got some soap from Nastasya--he washed his hair, his neck and especially his hands. When it came to the question whether to shave his stubbly chin or not (Praskovya Pavlovna had capital razors that had been left by her late husband), the question was angrily answered in the negative. "Let it stay as it is ! What if they think that I shaved on purpose to ...? They certainly would think so. Not on any account!"

* * *​

Ф.М. Достоевский, Преступление и Наказание, Часть Третья, Глава Вторая:

Озабоченный и серьезный проснулся Разумихин на другой день в восьмом часу. Много новых и непредвиденных недоумений очутилось вдруг у него в это утро. Он и не воображал прежде, что когда-нибудь так проснется. ...

Вымылся он в это утро рачительно, — у Настасьи нашлось мыло, — вымыл волосы, шею и особенно руки. Когда же дошло до вопроса: брить ли свою щетину иль нет (у Прасковьи Павловны имелись отличные бритвы, сохранившиеся еще после покойного господина Зарницын&#1072, то вопрос с ожесточением даже был решен отрицательно: «Пусть так и остается! Ну, как подумают, что я выбрился для... да непременно же подумают! Да ни за что же на свете!

 

[JHCC]

J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 4:

You remember I said before that Ackley was a slob in his personal habits? Well, so was Stradlater, but in a different way. Stradlater was more of a secret slob. He always looked all right, Stradlater, but for instance, you should’ve seen the razor he shaved himself with. It was always rusty as hell and full of lather and hairs and crap. He never cleaned it or anything. He always looked good when he was finished fixing himself up, but he was a secret slob anyway, if you knew him the way I did.

 

[Daithi]

I like the OP, and in a slightly different angle and era, in American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, Patrick Bateman gives us a whole 6 page chapter, called Morning, early in the book, on his self-care regimen. I'll only quote the relevant shaving section...

...Once out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren boxers back on and before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Pour Hommes, I press a hot towel against my face for two minutes to soften abrasive beard hair. Then I always slather on a moisturizer (to my taste, Clinique) and let it soak in for a minute. You can rinse it off or keep it on and apply a shaving cream over it - preferably with a brush, which softens the beard as it lifts the whiskers - which I've found makes removing the hair easier. It also helps prevent water from evaporating and reduces friction between your skin and the blade. Always wet the razor with warm water before shaving and shave in the direction the beard grows, pressing gently on the skin. Leave the sideburns and chin for last, since these whiskers are tougher and need more time to soften. Rinse the razor and shake off any excess water before starting. Afterwards splash cool water on the face to remove any trace of lather. You should use an aftershave lotion with little or no alcohol. Never use cologne on your face, since the high alcohol content dries your face out and makes you look older. One should use an alcohol-free antibacterial toner with a water-moistened cotton ball to normalize the skin. Applying a moisturizer is the final step. Splash on water before applying an emollient lotion to soften the skin and seal in the moisture. Next apply Gel Appaisant, also made by Pour Hommes, which is an excellent, soothing skin lotion. If the face seems dry and flaky - which makes it look dull and older - use a clarifying lotion that removes flakes and uncovers fine skin (it can also make your tan look darker). Then apply an anti-aging eye balm (Baume Des Yeux) followed by a final moisturizing “protective” lotion...


The rest of the chapter, indeed the whole book is well worth the read. And if you've watched the film and think it counts, it doesn't. This chapter is covered in the opening scene and even it barely touches the tip of the psychosis.

 

[Cyanshine]

Wow, some good reads here! Make me look forward to shave in the morning! Only 8 hours away

 

[Viseguy]

...Once out of the shower and toweled dry I put the Ralph Lauren boxers back on and before applying the Mousse A Raiser, a shaving cream by Pour Hommes, I press a hot towel against my face for two minutes ...

This excerpt reads exactly like a typical B&B post. Who knew we were writing lit-chra-ture here?!

 

[The Count of Merkur Cristo]

I have one by John Buchan entitled, "Huntingtower".

In chapter 1, para 2, pg 13 Buchan writes;

"He felt singularly light-hearted, and the immediate cause was his safety razor. A week ago he had bought the thing in a sudden fit of enterprise, and now he shaved in five minutes, where before he had taken twenty, and no longer confronted his fellows, at least one day in three, with a countenance ludicrously mottled by sticking-plaster.

Calculation revealed to him the fact that in his fifty-five years, having begun to shave at eighteen, he had wasted three thousand three
hundred and seventy hours--or one hundred and forty days--or between four and five months--by his neglect of this admirable invention. Now he
felt that he had stolen a march on Time. He had fallen heir, thus late, to a fortune in unpurchasable leisure."

Read More: http://badgerandblade.com/vb/showthread.php/10374-Shaving-in-literature?highlight=literature

"Reading is to mind what exercise is to the body. Joseph Addison

 

[Useless shaver]

Being shaved by an eunuch... the far side of the world.... lavish

Gents, thanks for sharing!

To the OP: very nice post!

 

[JHCC]

A nice bit on the value of a good shave from Dorothy Sayers:

"The man called Parker, whom he had happened to run across the evening before in the public-house at the corner of Prince of Wales Road, seemed to be a good sort. He had insisted on bringing him round to see this friend of his, who lived splendidly in Piccadilly. Parker was quite understandable; he put him down as a government servant, or perhaps something in the City. The friend was embarrassing; he was a lord, to begin with, and his clothes were a kind of rebuke to the world at large. He talked the most fatuous nonsense, certainly, but in a disconcerting way. He didn't dig into a joke and get all the fun out of it; he made it in passing, so to speak, and skipped away to something else before your retort was ready. He had a truly terrible manservant—the sort you read about in books—who froze the marrow in your bones with silent criticism. Parker appeared to bear up under the strain, and this made you think more highly of Parker; he must be more habituated to the surroundings of the great than you would think to look at him. You wondered what the carpet had cost on which Parker was carelessly spilling cigar ash; your father was an upholsterer—Mr. Piggott, of Piggott & Piggott, Liverpool—and you knew enough about carpets to know that you couldn't even guess at the price of this one. When you moved your head on the bulging silk cushion in the corner of the sofa, it made you wish you shaved more often and more carefully."


- Whose Body?, Chapter 10

 

[ThomasB98908]

Now - this is what I call "SHAVE PORN"..<G>..facinating stuff. Very good read. Just would worry that the eunuch would harbor some resentment and accidently SLIP while giving me a shave.

 

[JHCC]

Now - this is what I call "SHAVE PORN"..<G>..facinating stuff. Very good read. Just would worry that the eunuch would harbor some resentment and accidently SLIP while giving me a shave.

Later in the novel, some very bad stuff happens and Col. Best has to fire Bonbon, after some soul-searching about balancing his enjoyment of his morning shave against the risk of getting his throat cut.

 

[JHCC]

H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon's Mines, Chapter VII:

Presently I missed Good, and I looked to see what had become of him. Soon I observed him sitting by the bank of the stream, in which he had been bathing. He had nothing on but his flannel shirt, and his natural habits of extreme neatness having reasserted themselves, he was actively employed in making a most elaborate toilet. He had washed his gutta-percha collar, had thoroughly shaken out his trousers, coat and waistcoat, and was now folding them up neatly till he was ready to put them on, shaking his head sadly as he scanned the numerous rents and tears in them, which naturally had resulted from our frightful journey. Then he took his boots, scrubbed them with a handful of fern, and finally rubbed them over with a piece of fat, which he had carefully saved from the inco meat, till they looked, comparatively speaking, respectable. Having inspected them judiciously through his eye-glass, he put the boots on and began a fresh operation. From a little bag that he carried he produced a pocket-comb in which was fixed a tiny looking-glass, and in this he surveyed himself. Apparently he was not satisfied, for he proceeded to do his hair with great care. Then came a pause whilst he again contemplated the effect; still it was not satisfactory. He felt his chin, on which the accumulated scrub of a ten days' beard was flourishing.

"Surely," thought I, "he is not going to try to shave." But so it was. Taking the piece of fat with which he had greased his boots, Good washed it thoroughly in the stream. Then diving again into the bag he brought out a little pocket razor with a guard to it, such as are bought by people who are afraid of cutting themselves, or by those about to undertake a sea voyage. Then he rubbed his face and chin vigorously with the fat and began. Evidently it proved a painful process, for he groaned very much over it, and I was convulsed with inward laughter as I watched him struggling with that stubbly beard. It seemed so very odd that a man should take the trouble to shave himself with a piece of fat in such a place and in our circumstances. At last he succeeded in getting the hair off the right side of his face and chin, when suddenly I, who was watching, became conscious of a flash of light that passed just by his head.

Good sprang up with a profane exclamation (if it had not been a safety razor he would certainly have cut his throat), and so did I, without the exclamation, and this was what I saw.

 

[ChiefBroom]

Great thread topic. When I saw it, Kafka's The Trial immediately came to mind. I thought I remembered K shaving. When I googled, I even found a review of Kafka's The Castle, which in a comparative reference to The Trial states "Josef K is thrust into a surreal world of mad bureaucracy "after being arrested one morning while shaving and accused ... accused of what?" But I don't find any mention of shaving in the book. Maybe I got hold of a bad Cliff's Notes version of the novel in college.

 

[ChiefBroom]

Here's a bit of one from Dickens' A Christmas Carol:

"`Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town,' said Scrooge. `You must have a cab.'The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.

Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.

He dressed himself all in his best, and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said,' Good morning, sir. A merry Christmas to you.' And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears."

 

[JHCC]

More Dorothy Sayers, this from Chapter VIII of "Murder Must Advertise":

Mr. Copley, with a bilious headache over his right eye and a nasty taste in his mouth, would gladly have authorized her to send the message&#8212;gladly have turned over upon his pillow and buried his woes in sleep, but the recollection of the Nutrax half-double and the fifty pounds rushed over him in a flood and swept him groaning from between the sheets. Seen in the morning light, to the accompaniment of black spots dancing before his eyes, the prospect of his triumph had lost much of its glamour. Still, he could not let it go with a mere explanation by telephone. He must be on the spot. He shaved hastily, with a shaking hand and cut himself. The flow of blood would not be staunched. It invaded his shirt. He snatched the garment off, and called to his wife for a clean one. Mrs. Copley supplied it&#8212;not without reprimand. It seemed that the putting on of a clean shirt on a Friday morning upset the entire economy of the household. At ten minutes past eight, he came down to a breakfast he could not eat, his cheek ludicrously embellished with a tuft of cotton-wool and his ears ringing with migraine and conjugal rebuke.