The Game of Kings (review)

by Dorothy Dunnett, 1961 

Lymond Chronicles, #1

Scotland, technically under the rule of a pre-school-aged Queen Mary, is ravaged by constant warfare. The regent of England hopes to carry off the Scottish Queen and eventually marry her to England’s own boy king, Edward VI. Nobles on both sides shift allegiance with the tide of battle (many Scotsman are even forced to request permission from their own side to offer insincere fealty to the English, and must then juggle their duel-status in hopes of preserving some shreds of their estates). Throughout these tides of warfare, an outlawed, dashing figure runs amok. His name is Culter of Lymond. Believed to be a traitor to Scotland, he is pursued with hatred by both sides, and appears to serve only himself while making fools of everyone else. He is an anti-hero with a vocabulary to rival any character in literature, and a gift of oratory that might silence Lord Peter Wimsey himself. In fact, he is in some ways what Lord Peter might have been, had his lordship been born in the age of the sword instead of that of the machine gun.

Mary eventually wed the 
prince of France,
not the king of England.

Word-lovers will revel in the language of this tale. It is definitely a swashbuckler: constant adventure, topsy-turvy shifts of fate, disguises, repartee, and intrigue, all staged among a wide cast of vivid individuals. I myself appreciate the author’s deft handling of her characters. Many of them could easily have been stereotypical, single-dimensional, and annoying; and yet they all manage to come across as eminently human and almost universally sympathetic. This is fortunate, since otherwise, the constant adventure might have been too much for me. As Edith Nesbit’s Oswald Bastable would say, this book is a ripping good yarn. 

Linking-up to What We're Reading Wednesday.

Seven Literary Lectures of a Very Brief Nature (including, "How to Interpret Mansfield Park")

Watercolor by Diana Sperling (The family at dinner)

1. Let’s not be ridiculous

People call Mansfield Park a “controversial” book because Fanny is passive and quiet, and accuse Jane Austen of suggesting that passivity is the way to get a man. How silly. If we applied this logic to the other books, we should accuse Miss Austen of also teaching that the way to win a husband is to accuse his father of murder (Northanger Abbey), be overly gullible in the presence of flattering fellows who tell lies (Pride and Prejudice), or wait until your crush’s current date acquires a head-wound (Persuasion).

Rags-to-Riches, Political Correctness, and Andrew Carnegie’s Autobiography

I am currently reading THIS free edition of Andrew Carnegie’s autobiography. It offers a thought-provoking window into a particular time and place.* Carnegie was the son of poor but respectable parents (his beloved father was a weaver who, in his son’s words, “failed to anticipate” and adapt to new methods of mechanization, and therefore was slowly driven out of business). In hopes of raising their fortunes, the family emigrated from Scotland to Pittsburgh, and thirteen-year-old Carnegie immediately joined the workforce. His third job, that of a telegram delivery boy, put him into contact with the railroad industry that was to make his fortune. Carnegie worked for the Pennsylvania railroad for some time before becoming a rail manufacturer and businessman on his own. His rise to wealth is of course legendary, as is his delight in “giving back” by funding libraries and cultural institutions across the nation and abroad. I have to laugh at the American insularity that resulted in complaints about his generosity to "foreign places" like his native Scotland.

The events of Carnegie's life are illustrative of the business changes that were then remolding the face of America. The book is not overly self-congratulatory (so far-- I'm not finished yet), and freely acknowledges various mistakes that Carnegie made in his career as well as his debt to many partners and employees along the way. Yet it is the sort that P.G. Wodehouse sometimes makes fun of (see “The Man, the Maid, and the Miasma” in The Man Upstairs and Other Stories, available for free from project Gutenberg). Carnegie’s story is part of the narrative that was so popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries—the idea that any truly bright, truly deserving boy, from any class, can (and perhaps will) become a millionaire. He need only guard and develop his moral character, cultivate knowledge by studying in his free time, and always go above and beyond in his job. Eventually, his employers will notice and promote him. Thus his chance will come.

Does Modern Respect for Artists Undermine Art?

People used to respond to art with strongly-worded judgment. They might declare a particular piece to be good, bad, dangerous, correct, incorrect, beautiful, or overwhelming. They put their fists were their words were, too. For instance, a calculated and bloody riot occurred over one of Victor Hugo’s new plays, and it included beating up critics who opposed his Romanticism. People would also incur financial losses for the sake of their artistic judgment. For example, Theodore Roosevelt refused to sell a large screen of Tiffany glass back to its creator and instead ordered that the “decadent” piece be smashed.* I am struck by how seriously people once took art. How many of us today would riot about an offensive painting or drama? How many of us would take a fist to the mouth for literature, or strain our throats heckling a playwright? Imagine the scandal if we did! Nowadays, simply criticizing the ideas behind a work of art can be enough to earn one the reputation of an uncouth, would-be censor.

I find it curious, as well, that so much great art was created by people who were viewed as craftsmen and, in a sense, merely well-trained laborers. Leonardo da Vinci worked during an era in which artists did not even sign their work, and when many pieces were the work of a studio instead of an individual. Johann Sebastian Bach was a mere church organist whose workaday compositions happened to be rather brilliant, but which were not seen as particularly artistic (he did not fit the mold of an Enlightenment musician). Nowadays we have elevated the status of artists. We tend to speak of art and artistic creativity as something romantic, high-brow, and rebellious. Artists must be uncensored and unfettered. They cannot be “wrong.” They should challenge prevailing notions. They must not follow any specifications but their own inner vision. They should wear their hair differently from everyone else. Their work is seen as different from workaday, useful, mechanical skills and endeavors. It is at once freed from the practical sphere and the moral sphere (this is a change from the day in which Roosevelt would smash a stained-glass screen because of its supposedly immoral effect).  

When a Historian's Opinions Don't Come With Citations

Reviewed: Creators: From Chaucer and Dürer to Picasso and Disney by Paul Johnson, 2007

Paul Johnson profiles a diverse range of individuals by assessing their creative work and, in some cases, providing “the dirt” on their personal lives. He certainly piqued my interest and left me with a desire to read Chaucer, but I was also frustrated by the difficulty of interpreting how much of his material was opinion and how much fact. I am all for historians allowing themselves to possess and display lively opinions. However, I also appreciate knowing their evidence and their reasoning. Because he speaks so authoritatively, Johnson’s work becomes less convincing as soon as one realizes that some of his unequivocal statements are debatable. For instance, he discusses the tragedy of Jane Austen’s death from Addison’s disease, and shares his frustration over the fact that, had she lived today, she could easily have been cured. However, according to Wikipedia, Austen’s diagnosis with Addison’s disease is only one tentative modern theory among several. Johnson also delivers announcements such as his claim the elderly Louis Comfort Tiffany was sexually active until the end. Yet I cannot help wondering whether Johnson has a witness to this, or merely theorizes it from the presence in Tiffany’s house of his mistress. In addition, Johnson tends to credit his “creators” with all subsequent similarities to their work, but I must counterclaim that, for example, Americans would still have delivered “one-liners” had Mark Twain never written.

As I read the book, I found myself increasingly inclined to discount or accept Johnson’s interpretations somewhat at random, based solely on my own preconceptions, which is not exactly a desirable way to learn history. I am ready enough to swallow his account of Pablo Picasso’s despicable and loathsome personal life because I myself do not care for the man’s art, but I question whether the portrait of Victor Hugo as an idiotic, egotistical hypocrite and turncoat is entirely fair, because I do admire Les Miserables (and surely the man that Johnson describes could not have written such an exploration of law versus mercy?).

However, I was fascinated by the author's interpretation of Picasso's role in art history. Johnson sees Picasso as transforming art from a representation of nature into something purely introspective, based entirely on fashion and therefore on continual change (he says that because Picasso is so easy to copy, even the artist himself did not always know which works were his own, and that the value of his pieces depends entirely on proper authentication: they have no intrinsic beauty or value). The idea that art, like couture, is now based on fashion is illuminating and provides a way to understand the modern art movement. The flow of fashion can be mystifying ("Why are intelligent girls wearing tights as pants?"), and so can the flow of modern art ("Why is that particular canvas/string cheese/bottle on a pedestal considered art by intelligent people?"). 

Creators is interesting. Johnson makes it so. Some would argue that my desire for further research proves the book to be a success. However, for me, at least, he did not make it entirely satisfying. He reminds me of various people I have known who were good storytellers. Their accounts of personal experiences were always fascinating and entertaining, but the details tended to change with each telling. They were not the sort of people who would lie, but they were also not the sort of people who always restricted themselves to facts of which they were fully certain.

Is this fair? Or am I maligning Johnson?


Read more reviews at the Housewifespice linkup!

Comedies of Humanity: Then vs. Now (With Pictures)

Have you ever thought about how funny our human race is?

1.

***

Throughout history, we humans have tended to think that we are progressing and that our ways are superior to those of the past, but we also tend to bewail the inferiority of the current generation of youth.

2.

***

Before no-fault divorce, people seemed less afraid of getting married. They did it young. They did it often. Why weren’t they worried about getting stuck? You would think that nowadays, with our easy divorce laws, society would feel less need of  live-in courtship to test potential spousal compatibility.

Whisky After the Funeral

By Anna Ilona Mussmann

(A story in about 500 words)

Old Man Shore at first thought that God had spared him the least worthwhile of his sons. Then, within six months of Appomattox, even that little joke came to an end—the remnant of Roy’s leg had never ceased oozing pus, and he too joined his brothers under sod. They buried him in his grey uniform with its yellow braid, despite the minister’s suggestion that civilian attire befit a time of peace. “There is a passage in the Bible,” Old Man Shore reminded the minister, “that says to beware those who cry, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace. All we have now is reconstructing Yankees, not peace.”

The funeral was small. Miss Emily White was the only one who wept, and even her tears were restricted to a single drop that slid down her weathered face and into her collar when Shore dropped his fistful of earth onto the grave.

Shore walked home alone. In his study, he sat for a while beside a glass of whiskey. “I’m not going to take this in the manner of Job, you know,” he told God. Then he combed his hair neatly and took out Roy’s cavalry pistol from the drawer.

The Anniversary of the Sewing Machine in 7 Quick Takes

1.

When I was a little girl, I liked asking for comparative data (“Daddy, if a tiger and a bear had a fight, which would win?”). I remember querying my mother as to which items she would rescue from our house first if the house was on fire and all the people were safe. In addition to photo albums, she was going to save her sewing machine. It is a Pfaff, and had been a significant investment when she was a young bride.

Sewing machines are fabulous things. Become fluent in the use of one, and you need no longer feel yourself at the mercy of wearing whatever this year’s fashion trends happen to provide, or of suffering with the fit of whatever trousers are closest to your size. 

Today, on the anniversary of the day that French tailor Barthelemy Thimonnier patented the first functional sewing machine in 1830, let us rejoice.

Seven Quick Takes on the Anniversary of Winston Churchill’s Death (Volume IX)

1.

My father knew a man who knew a man who had known Winston Churchill. According to the man who knew him, Churchill “had big guns, but they were loose on deck.”

Winston Churchill was not always on the side of history. He favored involuntary sterilization of the mentally handicapped. He was fiercely opposed to giving India greater independence and said that if Gandhi wanted to try a hunger fast, England should let him starve. During his lifetime Churchill was sometimes considered a national hero, and sometimes so unpopular that his political career seemed over.

Yet war can catapult to fame people who would otherwise never have accomplished enough to get into the history books (Civil War general U. S. Grant is an example of this). Churchill was the man whom England needed during a time of crisis. He showed his capacity for greatness when England faced a constant German bombardment that buried civilians beneath rubble, separated families, and filled the air with fear and unpredictable death.

He is a reminder that sometimes the loud, awkward, inconvenient and passionate people are the ones who save us all.

2.

Fashion Was Easier When Women Wore Corsets, and Other Historical Tidbits: 7 Quick Takes (Volume VII)

1.

***

Modern life is full of luxuries. This point was brought home to me when I read a 1970’s edition of Dr. Spock’s childcare advice. He comments that a new mother should invest in a fully automatic washer and dryer if at all possible. I am so glad that I don’t have to hand wash all of baby’s diapers plus the regular laundry!

However, we women have given up some things that we should probably have kept.

For example, nowadays we have to wear high heels to elongate our figures and appear more striking. High heels are uncomfortable. They can mess with your feet. They can make you trip and break your ankle. They sink into damp turf and make you walk like an idiot.

Back in the day, women could add a bit of height without pinching their toes: they wore hats! Marvelous hats. Feathered hats, wool hats, gauzy hats, all kinds of hats. Personally, I think that good hats add a lot to a woman’s dignity (or would, if they would come back into mainstream fashion).

2.

***

Throughout human history, form-fitting clothes were only “in” during periods when women wore the ultimate shapewear: corsetry. In decades when corsets were “out,” the clothes hung loose.

Look at this evidence:

Don't Believe the Neopagans

Is Halloween too pagan for Christians? I have no opinion about whether or not anyone else's family should celebrate the day (growing up, my family did not) but I do recommend a fascinating look the holiday's origins.

Pastor Abrahamson points out the surprisingly modern sources of "pagan" Halloween elements and challenges us not to believe everything that that Wiccans and Neopagans claim (Halloween doesn't actually have a valid pagan history, much as they would like to believe that it does). He also encourages Christians not to abandon celebrating significant days in the Church Year.

Read his article, "Redeeming Holy Days from Pagan Lies — Hallowe’en: A short history," by Pastor Joseph Abrahamson

Variations on Normal, and How to Control the World

I can tell you how to shape a society, and how to lose a culture war.

Do you understand the diabetic who is told that he will die within months unless he changes his diet, yet refuses to give up the junk food? Can you relate when a woman allows her boyfriend to use her as a punching bag? Most of us are frustrated or bewildered to see these people behaving so differently from how we think they should.

The thing is, we humans possess a malleable sense of normal. We adapt to what we see around us and to the experiences of our daily lives. This helps us to survive. In societies where childhood mortality is high, parents grieve the loss of a child, but they are unlikely to thrash about in a morass of outrage and bewilderment. In a culture where premarital sex is considered typical, fewer people refrain from it. If something is “normal,” we begin to feel that we deserve it. It is hard to control our diabetes if doing so demands that we give up our “right” to a “normal” lifestyle. It is hard to escape abuse if we think that we deserve this “normal” behavior. Normal is powerful because it is one of the fundamental, unexamined assumptions from which we respond to all of life. Normal feels true.

The Romantic Exiles: A Nineteenth Century Portrait Gallery (Review)

by Edward Hallett Carr, 1933

(Biography)

ro·man·ti·cism (noun)

1 a :  a literary, artistic, and philosophical movement originating in the 18th century, characterized chiefly by a reaction against neoclassicism and an emphasis on the imagination and emotions, and marked especially in English literature by sensibility and the use of autobiographical material, an exaltation of the primitive and the common man, an appreciation of external nature, an interest in the remote, a predilection for melancholy, and the use in poetry of older verse forms (from Marriam Webster).

The Romanticism of the Nineteenth Century wields enduring influence. It still shapes our approach to romantic love, our application of democracy, and our definition of art. To understand Romanticism is to better understand our own culture. Carr’s book illustrates a fairly extreme branch of Romanticism that resembled the cultural turmoil of the 1960’s. Free love, substance abuse, and political activism—it was all there in the 1800’s. However, it was lived-out in fancier clothes and with a better vocabulary.

Carr offers a personal picture of various revolutionary-minded Russian exiles who published newspapers and pamphlets while wandering through Europe (Czar Nicholas II had no tolerance for even the faintest whiff of criticism against his government). I had not previously realized that European Romanticism, unlike the nature-loving, fairly apolitical Romanticism of the English-speaking world, was intrinsically a political influence.

This is love, according
to Romanticism. 

The book centers around Alexander Herzen and his immediate circle. He and his fellow exiles attempted to conduct their romantic and sexual lives in accordance with the principles of novelist George Sand (she taught the primacy of emotion-driven love and the folly of societal strictures like loveless marriage). Boy, did that cause them a lot of grief. Imagine the following scenario: a man and woman conduct a “spiritual” and physical affair. Their spouses find out about it. The woman’s wronged husband offers to free her. She refuses to leave him, because she loves both men, and decides that it would kill her noble husband to be abandoned. The man’s wronged wife keeps urging the woman to run off with the man, because he will get tired of her more quickly that way. Everyone exchanges many long, emotional letters and the two men talk darkly of duels. The adulterous man is shocked-- horrified-- overcome by the unkindness of the wronged husband, who cruelly returns his (the man's) letter of justification unopened. Their community decries the possessiveness of a husband who would hold his wife to marriage vows against her will. The woman still refuses to leave her wronged husband but "can't" give up her correspondence with her lover. Wronged husband sends letters to their community in justification of his own position. Sides are taken. Friends of wronged husband knock man down stairs. Man indignantly denies that this undignified hallway proceeding ever happened, and claims that he instead sent his assailants running. The adulterous woman in this tale is Alexander Herzen's wife.

The Humility of History: Barzun’s Perspective

My sister’s history professor focuses on a wealth of anecdotes that all involve white Europeans behaving badly. Either they are killing slaves and forcing raped Indians to convert to Christianity, or they are biting into wasp nests under the mistaken notion that they have found a pineapple.

This mockery is just as bad as ignoring humanity's overall time on earth in order to give students the impression that America is God's Chosen Land (in which everything was peachy and godly until the Civil War). If we use historical anecdotes merely as morality tales intended to buttress some modern argument, we are not teaching history at all. If we do not teach history, we are giving up one of the civilizing effects of education. 

Taught in isolation, either of these scenarios fails to show the true scope of humanity in history.

In Teacher in America (1955), Jacques Barzun speaks insightfully of the result of a proper education in history.

 “When broadly based on a good knowledge of western European history (including that of the United States), the historical sense is a comforter and a guide. The possessor understands his neighbors, his government, and the limitations of mankind much better. He knows more clearly not what is desirable, but what is practical. He becomes ‘practical’ in the lasting sense of being taken in neither by panicky fears nor by second-rate Utopias. It is always some illusion that creates disillusion, especially in the young, for whom the only alternative to perfection is cynicism. The historical sense….is a moderator which insists on knowing conditions before passing judgments…. It suggests that in the struggles of men with one another, no virtue implies the possession of any other; the motives are mixed, and that no evil is absolutely perverse. For these reasons, the study of history tends to make men tolerant, without on that account weakening their determination to follow the right: they know too well the odds against it. Even when history does not equip the student mind to the extent that I have shown, it induces a little humility and prevents those fits of sudden misplaced moral indignation for which Macaulay so roundly ridiculed the British public.”