A King's Story: The Memoirs of the Duke of Windsor has been on my reading list for some time, probably since reading Elizabeth the Queen almost 18 months ago. I finally got around to ordering it from MeLCat and, if it couldn't entirely live up to my expectations, I still enjoyed reading the Duke's memoirs.
They begin, as any proper memoir should, with his earliest childhood, in HRH's case, both on and at the knee of his great-grandmother, Queen Victoria. Born in 1894, the Duke's childhood and adolescence were lived entirely in the pre-World War I era and his descriptions of that time are full of nostalgic longing. Early in the pages of the books, Prince Edward - later King Edward VIII and then the Duke of Windsor, but whose family always called him David - shows himself as a sympathetic prince. In reading of his longings for "normalcy" and proving himself against other boys of his generation, one cannot but remark that the same sentiments have been expressed by Britain's current crop of young princes. Strong-willed and independent, David succeeds in earning a commission in France during World War I where the sights and sounds of battle will mark him as they did so many of his generation.
Perhaps the most interesting passages of the book describe his post-war visits to the U.S., the affinity he begins to feel with a people whom he feels resemble him somewhat in temperament, and the awe with which he views the conveniences of modern life. He takes pains to note that the untold luxury which has surrounded him since birth still does not include such amenities as centralized heating, which he finds regularly in America.
As he ages, the reader cannot help but notice the myriad ways in which he seems to be a rather reluctant King-in-waiting. It is hard to tell whether this is the result of hindsight - "well, I never wanted to be King anyway," - or if the sentiments are true. They do seem to be borne out by journal entries and correspondence, though, so I will generally give him the benefit of the doubt.
Once David becomes King Edward VIII, the memoirs are zapped of some of their earlier energy. He describes the Abdication crisis in painstaking detail, understandable at a personal level, but a bit of a bore for the average reader. The last chapters are mired in an almost hourly account of who the King met, what he thought, what he said, what they said, and how it was reported in the papers to such a degree that I could not help but feel a degree of relief upon finishing the book.
For the modern reader, of course, a great deal of the interest lies in how the Royal Family has changed in the past 75 years. King Edward VIII, it must be remembered, was forced from his throne for wanting to marry a divorcee. The next King will himself be one.
Although I enjoyed A King's Story, it must be said that for a reader interested in any of the periods of British history described therein, better reading exists. (For example, Juliet Nicolson's The Perfect Summer and The Great Silence are excellent for understanding England in the years immediately before and after World War I, for example, and The Beauty and the Sorrow remains the best World War I book I've read. All incorporate many more perspectives than the Duke of Windsor is obviously able to do.) For understanding the monarchy, the aforementioned Elizabeth the Queen would be my choice. It is also, not surprisingly, too dignified to contain any of the salacious details of the Wallis Simpson affair. In truth, it is a book best suited for only the most devoted Edward VIII enthusiast.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
Nine Years Under: Coming of Age in an Inner-City Funeral Home
To be honest, I read this book because its set in Baltimore and I still have a soft spot for Charm City.
When Sheri Booker was 15, her great-aunt Mary died and, in her grief, the idea came to her to work at the funeral home that prepared Aunt Mary's body for burial. (A family friend owned the funeral home, so it's not as entirely random as the previous sentence makes it seem.) Nine Years Under is the story of her years working at the funeral home - through high school, college, and beyond - and how such work shaped her. Its well-written and does a nice job confronting the drug-and-gun culture that has ravaged so many urban neighborhoods, West Baltimore not least among them. Booker paints a realistic portrait of the people she interacts with, their flaws as well as their strengths. Nine Years Under also taught me more about the mortuary sciences than I expected to learn, from the legal aspects of inheriting such a business to the dirty work of filling in bullet holes.
That said, I found the book lacking in both depth and breadth. Occasionally, Booker delves into her life away from the funeral home, but the passages always seem incomplete and, in some cases, entire out-of-place. The book spans nine years, and while the reader is shown that her personal life can be messy, the balance between too much information and too little is off. The best bits revolve around the interaction with the families, and I wish there were more of these. Too often, pages pass with Booker paying bills and ordering coffins, key parts of her job, to be certain, but less interesting to read about than the families who cannot - or will not - agree which picture belongs on the memorial program. (Whoever pays the bill makes the final decision, Booker tells her readers, and how could it be otherwise?)
As a side note, the metro ride from my apartment to my office passed through West Baltimore, but what I remember more than the thugs, of whom there were plenty, were the occasional transvestites. I was, then, especially amused when one made an appearance at the Wylie Funeral Home.
When Sheri Booker was 15, her great-aunt Mary died and, in her grief, the idea came to her to work at the funeral home that prepared Aunt Mary's body for burial. (A family friend owned the funeral home, so it's not as entirely random as the previous sentence makes it seem.) Nine Years Under is the story of her years working at the funeral home - through high school, college, and beyond - and how such work shaped her. Its well-written and does a nice job confronting the drug-and-gun culture that has ravaged so many urban neighborhoods, West Baltimore not least among them. Booker paints a realistic portrait of the people she interacts with, their flaws as well as their strengths. Nine Years Under also taught me more about the mortuary sciences than I expected to learn, from the legal aspects of inheriting such a business to the dirty work of filling in bullet holes.
That said, I found the book lacking in both depth and breadth. Occasionally, Booker delves into her life away from the funeral home, but the passages always seem incomplete and, in some cases, entire out-of-place. The book spans nine years, and while the reader is shown that her personal life can be messy, the balance between too much information and too little is off. The best bits revolve around the interaction with the families, and I wish there were more of these. Too often, pages pass with Booker paying bills and ordering coffins, key parts of her job, to be certain, but less interesting to read about than the families who cannot - or will not - agree which picture belongs on the memorial program. (Whoever pays the bill makes the final decision, Booker tells her readers, and how could it be otherwise?)
As a side note, the metro ride from my apartment to my office passed through West Baltimore, but what I remember more than the thugs, of whom there were plenty, were the occasional transvestites. I was, then, especially amused when one made an appearance at the Wylie Funeral Home.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Desert Queen: The Extraordinary Life of Gertrude Bell: Adventurer, Adviser to Kings, Ally of Lawrence of Arabia
Of the hundreds of books I have read in my adult life, Hero, the tome devoted to the life, times, and untimely death of Thomas Edward Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia, is among the best. Gertrude Bell, explorer, archaeologist, and intelligence officer extraordinaire, made several appearances in that book. I was sufficiently intrigued to add Desert Queen by Janet Wallach to my reading list.
Gertrude Bell was as good as advertised. One of the first women to attend Oxford University, she tramped across the desert against the wishes of the British and Ottoman authorities, spoke some half-dozen languages fluently, had the ear of Asquith and Churchill, drew the boundaries of more than one Arab country, installed a king, started a museum, and generally made the moon rise and the stars shine while other women of her generation - proper Victorians, they - drank tea and embroidered cushions. (And I should add that the good Miss Bell had no shortage of contempt for such simpering little ladies.)
Desert Queen, however, was more of a mixed bag. The earliest chapters, in which Gertrude Bell is a young woman finding her way to the East, escaping rogue sheiks, and cutting her teeth as an intrepid agent, are the best. Once World War I breaks out and the questions become all-political all-the-time, Desert Queen has a tendency to become as dry as the surrounding landscape. The political landscape - tribe versus tribe, Shiite versus Sunni, Arab versus Bedouin - is handled much more deftly handled by Michael Korda in Hero. Granted, Wallach delves more deeply into some of the issues unique to Iraq (read: the fight over oil), but in this case I'm not sure all of the details are necessary for the reader to grasp what is at stake.What the two books do share in common is the sense of helplessness that pervades them - the sense of peoples at war for millenia with no end in sight.
Gertrude Bell was as good as advertised. One of the first women to attend Oxford University, she tramped across the desert against the wishes of the British and Ottoman authorities, spoke some half-dozen languages fluently, had the ear of Asquith and Churchill, drew the boundaries of more than one Arab country, installed a king, started a museum, and generally made the moon rise and the stars shine while other women of her generation - proper Victorians, they - drank tea and embroidered cushions. (And I should add that the good Miss Bell had no shortage of contempt for such simpering little ladies.)
Desert Queen, however, was more of a mixed bag. The earliest chapters, in which Gertrude Bell is a young woman finding her way to the East, escaping rogue sheiks, and cutting her teeth as an intrepid agent, are the best. Once World War I breaks out and the questions become all-political all-the-time, Desert Queen has a tendency to become as dry as the surrounding landscape. The political landscape - tribe versus tribe, Shiite versus Sunni, Arab versus Bedouin - is handled much more deftly handled by Michael Korda in Hero. Granted, Wallach delves more deeply into some of the issues unique to Iraq (read: the fight over oil), but in this case I'm not sure all of the details are necessary for the reader to grasp what is at stake.What the two books do share in common is the sense of helplessness that pervades them - the sense of peoples at war for millenia with no end in sight.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Prisoners in the Palace: How Princess Victoria became Queen with the Help of Her Maid, a Reporter, and a Scoundrel
Sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Hastings is a well-born girl with the world at her feet until she's suddenly orphaned. Her parents have left her nothing but debts and sufficient connections to land a position as Princess Victoria's personal maid, where her name is promptly changed to Liza. (So she goes from being Mary Crawley to Anna Smith in one fell swoop.) This is the premise of Prisoners in the Palace by Michaela MacColl. Of course, there's far more to it than meets the eye, for the palace is full of intrigue and scandal: the previous maid has left in disgrace, the wickedly charming Sir John Conroy is plotting to get his share of the power and pounds upon the Princess's ascension, and the dowdy Duchess of Kent, Victoria's mother, is either blind to it all or in on the schemes. Naturally, our heroine Liza zeroes in on the goings on and serves as Victoria's eyes and ears around the palace and beyond.
All told, this is a great piece of historical fiction. I especially appreciated that MacColl included a detailed chapter on the true life and times of Princess Victoria (for example, Sir John was a real life baddie, but Liza Hastings owes her existence entirely to MacColl's imagination). The descriptions of the palace in disrepair and of the sodden slums are eye-opening and intriguing. Liza was sometimes a bit self-righteous for my taste and she sometimes got herself in jams that beggared belief (for this reason, I would compare Prisoners in the Palace to Annette Vallon, which I read before I started blogging and cannot link). Overall, though, I enjoyed the book, which is a quick, light read.
All told, this is a great piece of historical fiction. I especially appreciated that MacColl included a detailed chapter on the true life and times of Princess Victoria (for example, Sir John was a real life baddie, but Liza Hastings owes her existence entirely to MacColl's imagination). The descriptions of the palace in disrepair and of the sodden slums are eye-opening and intriguing. Liza was sometimes a bit self-righteous for my taste and she sometimes got herself in jams that beggared belief (for this reason, I would compare Prisoners in the Palace to Annette Vallon, which I read before I started blogging and cannot link). Overall, though, I enjoyed the book, which is a quick, light read.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
C'est la Vie
In which fifty-two-year-old author Suzy Gershman is unexpectedly widowed and moves to Paris. I'm not sure what it is about these authors who move to Paris - other than the fact that it is Paris - but this is the second book I've read...and not liked. Note to self: it's probably time to stop reading this genre. (Paris, I Love You but You're Bringing Me Down was the first.)
Admittedly, a large part of the problem was that I really did not like Gershman. It bothered me that she up and moved to Paris and left her 20-year-old college student student son to cope on his own only weeks after his father died; it bothered me that six months after her husband died she took up with a married man 20 years her elder; it bothered me that she fretted about money while lunching at the Ritz and the Georges V (constantly reminding her readers that she is not a woman of independent means!),;and it bothered me that she could not go a single chapter without including a reference to the books she wrote that evidently made her famous (the Born to Shop series...I'd never heard of it before). Also the name dropping nearly put me over the edge.
In the plus column, she writes about Paris as only one who loves the city can and the book is a very quick read. Also, it's possible that I'm just jealous of people who can drop everything and move to Paris...but I don't think that's it.
(I just looked her up and discovered she died last summer of cancer. Now I feel a little bad. But trust me: the name dropping was over-the-top.)
Admittedly, a large part of the problem was that I really did not like Gershman. It bothered me that she up and moved to Paris and left her 20-year-old college student student son to cope on his own only weeks after his father died; it bothered me that six months after her husband died she took up with a married man 20 years her elder; it bothered me that she fretted about money while lunching at the Ritz and the Georges V (constantly reminding her readers that she is not a woman of independent means!),;and it bothered me that she could not go a single chapter without including a reference to the books she wrote that evidently made her famous (the Born to Shop series...I'd never heard of it before). Also the name dropping nearly put me over the edge.
In the plus column, she writes about Paris as only one who loves the city can and the book is a very quick read. Also, it's possible that I'm just jealous of people who can drop everything and move to Paris...but I don't think that's it.
(I just looked her up and discovered she died last summer of cancer. Now I feel a little bad. But trust me: the name dropping was over-the-top.)
Sunday, June 9, 2013
A White Wind Blew
I seem to be reading a lot about late 19th/early 20th century disease lately. There's yellow fever, typhoid fever, and now, at the heart of James Markert's A White Wind Blew, tuberculosis. More specifically, this is the story of life and death in that most dreaded of institutions, the sanatorium. I have been fascinated by the idea of tuberculosis sanatoria since I was a little kid visiting Mammoth Cave for the first time and - right there in the pitch black, damp interior - the National Parks guide spun the tale of the consumptives sent underground to improve their chances against TB. (The NPS website tells the full story.) But I digress.
A White Wind Blew is the story of a Louisville sanatorium, the patients who live there, and the doctors who tend them told through the lens of Prohibition and Jim Crow laws. The Klan has begun to rear its head, angered by both the quantities of sacramental wine procured by and for the quasi-clergy as well as the treatment of black patients, treatment which the Klan perceives to be too good in some cases. Set in the late '20s, there are also veterans of the first World War struggling to cope with both the ravages of war and the knowledge that they survived the carnage of the Western Front only to be struck by the White Wind itself.
And then there is our protagonist, Dr. Wolfgang Pike, a man whom many patients call Father, but who has abandoned the seminary once for the love of a woman and is considering doing so again. More than woman, wine, or holiness, though, he loves his music. Dr. Pike determines to form an orchestra comprised of TB patients, an unlikely scenario perhaps, but one which Markert is able to imbue with authenticity - and unexpected outcomes. A White Wind Blew is a much lighter read that its topic would suggest. This is not a book about TB (for that, I recommend selected chapters of Farewell to the East End), but about living with TB in one of the most isolating places man hath ever created - but even then, it was not without hope.
A White Wind Blew is the story of a Louisville sanatorium, the patients who live there, and the doctors who tend them told through the lens of Prohibition and Jim Crow laws. The Klan has begun to rear its head, angered by both the quantities of sacramental wine procured by and for the quasi-clergy as well as the treatment of black patients, treatment which the Klan perceives to be too good in some cases. Set in the late '20s, there are also veterans of the first World War struggling to cope with both the ravages of war and the knowledge that they survived the carnage of the Western Front only to be struck by the White Wind itself.
And then there is our protagonist, Dr. Wolfgang Pike, a man whom many patients call Father, but who has abandoned the seminary once for the love of a woman and is considering doing so again. More than woman, wine, or holiness, though, he loves his music. Dr. Pike determines to form an orchestra comprised of TB patients, an unlikely scenario perhaps, but one which Markert is able to imbue with authenticity - and unexpected outcomes. A White Wind Blew is a much lighter read that its topic would suggest. This is not a book about TB (for that, I recommend selected chapters of Farewell to the East End), but about living with TB in one of the most isolating places man hath ever created - but even then, it was not without hope.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee
Blame it on living under a rock, but although I've long heard of the musical Gypsy, I was clueless about its content. Gypsy, in case anyone else lives under the same rock, is the story of Gypsy Rose Lee, a mediocre vaudeville performer in childhood who became America's most famous burlesque dancer during the heyday of that, um, art. American Rose as the subtitles suggest, is a biography of the same said woman. I can't remember where or when I heard of the book (maybe one of last year's summer reading lists?) and found it interesting enough, I suppose, although nowhere near as riveting as Once We Were Brothers. I actually started reading the latter as I was becoming bored with Gypsy.
So, why did I finish? American Rose is an interesting look at vaudeville, New York, and Broadway during the interwar years. It explores the influence of la belle ville (Paris, bien sur!) on theater, especially burlesque, in the U.S. And, on some level, American Rose is also about the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters (and sometimes sisters), i.e., food for thought for any girl with a mama. That said, I just barely finished it and, while it is certainly well-research and written, it surely won't be on my Best of '13 list at the end of the year. Unless you're a Broadway history fanatic, you can easily skip this one and not miss a thing.
So, why did I finish? American Rose is an interesting look at vaudeville, New York, and Broadway during the interwar years. It explores the influence of la belle ville (Paris, bien sur!) on theater, especially burlesque, in the U.S. And, on some level, American Rose is also about the complicated relationships between mothers and daughters (and sometimes sisters), i.e., food for thought for any girl with a mama. That said, I just barely finished it and, while it is certainly well-research and written, it surely won't be on my Best of '13 list at the end of the year. Unless you're a Broadway history fanatic, you can easily skip this one and not miss a thing.
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