I have mixed feelings on Rita Mae Brown's Dolley. In the plus column, is that it's a fairly lighthearted work of historical fiction. Alternating between current action and dairy entries allows the story to be told from multiple angles. Certainly, there were echoes of Empire of Mud, with the references to streets so bad the British may break their ankles on the march into town, and the Congressmen gathered in, or possibly fleeing from, their boarding houses. All of which is to say, Brown has done a nice job of capturing the zeitgeist of the era.
In the minus column is that Dolley herself seemed to border occasionally on "whiny," (not a trait I've ever heard associated with her), and I wondered if the real individuals obsessed as much on Washington and Hamilton as the characters Brown created. In the balance, these are relatively minor flaws.
Certainly, this is no 1812: The War That Forged a Nation, but neither is that what Brown is looking to accomplish. If you're looking for a relatively mild, fictional account of the politics and presidency on the eve of the British laying waste to Washington, Dolley is your book. Just be forewarned: the more things change, the more they stay the same, in politics as in life...
Four stars.
Showing posts with label Revolutionary America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Revolutionary America. Show all posts
Friday, November 30, 2018
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Celia Garth
Twenty-year-old Celia Garth is in a rut. Tired of being the poor relation, tired of being assigned the most menial tasks by the senior dressmakers in the Charleston shop where she's apprenticing, Celia makes a bold move in seeking an introduction to Vivian Lacy, one of the most demanding ladies in Charleston. Quickly, Vivian's fortunes change: she becomes Vivian's trusted friend and confidante, in addition to her dressmaker, and has a front row seat to the battles of Revolutionary War that is creeping ever-closer to the stately rowhouses and outlying plantations that comprise Celia's world. Still, nothing could prepare Celia for the tragedies the war will bring - nor for being asked to undertake some of the most dangerous work in Charleston, as a spy for Francis Marion.
I thoroughly enjoyed every page of Celia Garth. Admittedly, there were times I felt a *tiny* bit too sure of what was coming next, but Gwen Bristow's writing, and her gift for capturing both her characters and their surroundings is never in doubt. As in her Plantation Road trilogy, the characters aren't particularly subtle or complex, but the overall effect is a pleasant book to cozy up with. As an aside, it was amusing to me that much of the action took place on Tradd Street, the same street that occupies a central place in the life of John Jakes's Main Family.
Three-and-a-half stars.
I thoroughly enjoyed every page of Celia Garth. Admittedly, there were times I felt a *tiny* bit too sure of what was coming next, but Gwen Bristow's writing, and her gift for capturing both her characters and their surroundings is never in doubt. As in her Plantation Road trilogy, the characters aren't particularly subtle or complex, but the overall effect is a pleasant book to cozy up with. As an aside, it was amusing to me that much of the action took place on Tradd Street, the same street that occupies a central place in the life of John Jakes's Main Family.
Three-and-a-half stars.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
Virtue, Valor, and Vanity: The Founding Fathers and the Pursuit of Fame
Eric Burns's Virtue, Valor, and Vanity had been on my reading list for sometime before I finally got around to reading it over Labor Day weekend. It's a quick read, actually, and best thought of as a 40,000 foot view of Revolutionary America and the most famous of the Founding Fathers. Washington is there, of course, and Franklin, as is Adams (John, although also a few glimpses of Sam), as well as Jefferson, Hamilton, and Patrick Henry.
There's little here that history buffs will likely find new, although its presented succinctly and in a readable (rather than dry) style. The most interesting snapshots are of the Fathers I hadn't heard of: James Wilson and Button Gwinnett. And, yes, that was really his name. Wilson signed the Declaration of Independence and was also one of the original six justices appointed to the Supreme Court. It was during his tenure as justice that he also became a fugitive from the law; all these years later, he remains - unsurprisingly - the only person to have simultaneously been appointed to uphold justice in the highest court in the land while also fleeing those same scales of justice. You can't make this stuff up.
Gwinnett, too, signed the Declaration of Independence, before earning the distinction of becoming the first of the signers to die a violent death. Like Hamilton, he was killed in a duel. If his name rings a bell, however faintly, that may be because one of Georgia's largest counties is named for this knucklehead.
Did I like Virtue, Valor, and Vanity: The Founding Fathers and the Pursuit of Fame? Yes, absolutely. That said, by its very nature it offers a smaller window into Revolutionary America than Jeanne Abrams's Revolutionary Medicine, which is still probably my favorite book covering this time period.
Three and a half stars. (A little more Abigail Adams and a little less Alexander Hamilton and I probably would have given it four!)
There's little here that history buffs will likely find new, although its presented succinctly and in a readable (rather than dry) style. The most interesting snapshots are of the Fathers I hadn't heard of: James Wilson and Button Gwinnett. And, yes, that was really his name. Wilson signed the Declaration of Independence and was also one of the original six justices appointed to the Supreme Court. It was during his tenure as justice that he also became a fugitive from the law; all these years later, he remains - unsurprisingly - the only person to have simultaneously been appointed to uphold justice in the highest court in the land while also fleeing those same scales of justice. You can't make this stuff up.
Gwinnett, too, signed the Declaration of Independence, before earning the distinction of becoming the first of the signers to die a violent death. Like Hamilton, he was killed in a duel. If his name rings a bell, however faintly, that may be because one of Georgia's largest counties is named for this knucklehead.
Did I like Virtue, Valor, and Vanity: The Founding Fathers and the Pursuit of Fame? Yes, absolutely. That said, by its very nature it offers a smaller window into Revolutionary America than Jeanne Abrams's Revolutionary Medicine, which is still probably my favorite book covering this time period.
Three and a half stars. (A little more Abigail Adams and a little less Alexander Hamilton and I probably would have given it four!)
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Deep Summer
Deep Summer is the first book in Gwen Bristow's Plantation Trilogy. These are the days before the Louisiana Purchase, before the Revolutionary War, even, when Louisiana is a wild and untamed swampland filled with Creoles and most especially, critters. Into this strange place go the Sheramys, Puritans from Connecticut who have received a grant from the King of England in thanks for good and faithful service during the French and Indian War. Onto a single flatboat they have packed their New England lives and are floating down the Mississippi calling hello to passing boats, one of which is piloted by the dashing Philip Larne.
Philip is a Southerner, a younger son from South Carolina, determined to carve out the plantation denied him by the laws of primogeniture in the place of his birth. More than that, he is determined to have Judith as his bride, though their temperaments and life experiences could not be more different. Together, though, they face down everything from the American Revolution to yellow fever, slowly building a legacy and a dynasty intended to endure for generations.
Deep Summer is best compared to mind candy. Slightly sweet, a bit airy, it asks very little of reader. In that sense I am reminded of Mary Alice Monroe's Lowcountry Summer trilogy. The characters are well developed, and generally neither lovable nor laughable nor detestable. It's a breezy read, one I think any lover of historical fiction should love. And, as a lover of historical fiction, I'll also add that it's nice to read historical, southern fiction that's not set in the time of Scarlet and Rhett. I've already begun book two, The Handsome Road.
Philip is a Southerner, a younger son from South Carolina, determined to carve out the plantation denied him by the laws of primogeniture in the place of his birth. More than that, he is determined to have Judith as his bride, though their temperaments and life experiences could not be more different. Together, though, they face down everything from the American Revolution to yellow fever, slowly building a legacy and a dynasty intended to endure for generations.
Deep Summer is best compared to mind candy. Slightly sweet, a bit airy, it asks very little of reader. In that sense I am reminded of Mary Alice Monroe's Lowcountry Summer trilogy. The characters are well developed, and generally neither lovable nor laughable nor detestable. It's a breezy read, one I think any lover of historical fiction should love. And, as a lover of historical fiction, I'll also add that it's nice to read historical, southern fiction that's not set in the time of Scarlet and Rhett. I've already begun book two, The Handsome Road.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Founding Mothers: The Women Who Raised Our Nation
Cokie Roberts's Founding Mothers has been on my reading list for some time. I put off reading it, though, after I finished Capital Dames, Roberts's work on women of a slighter later generation (namely, the Civil War as opposed to the Revolutionary War). Have just finished Founding Mothers, I can say what a mistake it would have been to not read it.
As a refresher, my chief complaint about Capital Dames was that Roberts tells the reader, rather than shows the reader, about the clever letters the women wrote. Rarely does she offer the reader more than a sentence or two at a time. In this way, it's difficult to get a real sense of the women as individuals, and they all kind of run together. Not until the last chapter did I feel like their true voices began to emerge.
In contrast, the women of Founding Mothers - Abigail Adams, Martha Washington, Eliza Pinckney, and Jane Mecom chief among them - emerge fully formed. Perhaps it is a testament to these women, that they were made of sterner stuff or wrote with more grace and humor, or perhaps it is the way Roberts approached this book, in a conversational tone full of her own humorous asides, but something here really clicked. (And speaking of asides, Mecom was the youngest sister of Benjamin Franklin, and his lifelong correspondent. She fares much better in Founding Mothers than in Book of Ages, which is entirely devoted to the Franklins' correspondence.)
Roberts opens with a disclaimer that these were extraordinary women, women who had the ear of the Founding Fathers, and that their experiences were not representative of the vast majority of women of their time. Fair enough, but Roberts also delves into the existence of the ordinary woman, where possible, and as it fits neatly within the narrative. Her account of women soldiers in the Revolutionary War is fascinating, particularly in contrast to the way those of the Civil War were treated. The former received official recognition and pensions; the latter were shunned and shamed for decades. She also examines the (slow) evolution of girls' education and the initial fights over suffrage. For example, in New Jersey women voted in large numbers until 1807 when voter fraud led the state's (need I say: all male) Assembly to clarify that only white males would be allowed to vote. But I digress.
Roberts also devotes no small amount of ink delving into the various scandals of the day, more than one of which revolved around Alexander Hamilton. Evidently, Martha Washington showed good common sense in naming her tomcat Hamilton. Even by today's standards he was a bit of a cad.
In short, Founding Mothers is pure reading pleasure. It is one of the best and most complete books on women's lives, certainly the best I've read since Plantation Mistress.
Five stars.
As a refresher, my chief complaint about Capital Dames was that Roberts tells the reader, rather than shows the reader, about the clever letters the women wrote. Rarely does she offer the reader more than a sentence or two at a time. In this way, it's difficult to get a real sense of the women as individuals, and they all kind of run together. Not until the last chapter did I feel like their true voices began to emerge.
In contrast, the women of Founding Mothers - Abigail Adams, Martha Washington, Eliza Pinckney, and Jane Mecom chief among them - emerge fully formed. Perhaps it is a testament to these women, that they were made of sterner stuff or wrote with more grace and humor, or perhaps it is the way Roberts approached this book, in a conversational tone full of her own humorous asides, but something here really clicked. (And speaking of asides, Mecom was the youngest sister of Benjamin Franklin, and his lifelong correspondent. She fares much better in Founding Mothers than in Book of Ages, which is entirely devoted to the Franklins' correspondence.)
Roberts opens with a disclaimer that these were extraordinary women, women who had the ear of the Founding Fathers, and that their experiences were not representative of the vast majority of women of their time. Fair enough, but Roberts also delves into the existence of the ordinary woman, where possible, and as it fits neatly within the narrative. Her account of women soldiers in the Revolutionary War is fascinating, particularly in contrast to the way those of the Civil War were treated. The former received official recognition and pensions; the latter were shunned and shamed for decades. She also examines the (slow) evolution of girls' education and the initial fights over suffrage. For example, in New Jersey women voted in large numbers until 1807 when voter fraud led the state's (need I say: all male) Assembly to clarify that only white males would be allowed to vote. But I digress.
Roberts also devotes no small amount of ink delving into the various scandals of the day, more than one of which revolved around Alexander Hamilton. Evidently, Martha Washington showed good common sense in naming her tomcat Hamilton. Even by today's standards he was a bit of a cad.
In short, Founding Mothers is pure reading pleasure. It is one of the best and most complete books on women's lives, certainly the best I've read since Plantation Mistress.
Five stars.
Monday, May 25, 2015
The Prize: Tales From a Revolution - Vermont
Caleb's father, Elijah, is off fighting the British, while he tends the farmstead and looks after his mother and younger brother. He also keeps a regular lookout on Lake Champlain, where he can watch the movements of the British and the American "rebels," the Green Mountain Boys among them. He meets an unlikely ally in the Frenchman, Captain Mallett, and together they forge a way through the early days of the American Revolution.
The Prize is one of a series of Revolution-era stories by Lars H. D. Hedbor, and it reminded me again that YA fiction is often underrated. (I had a similar thought when I read The Book Thief earlier this year.) I like YA because the story moves along briskly: one virtually never encounters page-after-page of finely written but ultimately unnecessary prose. Characters are developed, action commences, the story is resolved. Don't get me wrong, the prose can be nice, but at the same time, The Prize was a nice respite from my usual reading.
The Prize is one of a series of Revolution-era stories by Lars H. D. Hedbor, and it reminded me again that YA fiction is often underrated. (I had a similar thought when I read The Book Thief earlier this year.) I like YA because the story moves along briskly: one virtually never encounters page-after-page of finely written but ultimately unnecessary prose. Characters are developed, action commences, the story is resolved. Don't get me wrong, the prose can be nice, but at the same time, The Prize was a nice respite from my usual reading.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Empire of Mud: The Secret History of Washington, DC
Empire of Mud: where J.D. Dickey puts paid to the idea that Washington might ever be "fixed."
But I'm getting ahead of myself. The trouble started when Congress furloughed the soldiers of the Pennsylvania Line who then mutinied and marched on Philadelphia, where the powers-that-be responded poorly (raise your hand if anything in this sentence surprised). Most alarming to Alexander Hamilton, these handful of militiamen made the state seem stronger than the country, a situation the Federalist could not abide. Hamilton masterfully manipulated events such that by the time the Constitution was adopted in 1787, Congress planned a federal district, separate and apart from any state.
And then the real fun began because while Philadelphia circa 1787 was a real city, the lands set aside for the federal district were farmlands and swampy, muddy bogs. Corn grew in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. No one would pay to pave (or even grade) the streets. Entire sections of the city were swamped at high tide. A few years ago, I read Dominion of Memories: Jefferson, Madison, and the Decline of Virginia, which basically consists of source after source bemoaning the state of state, and especially the roads. Washington City, which together with Georgetown and Alexandria (now Virginia) formed the federal district, was clearly made of the same muck.
Naturally, the arrival of politicians only worsened the situation. Because the infrastructure was so lacking, they clung together, with the city's boarding houses becoming the domain of various factions. All Ohio congressman might live in one house, while next door lodged only republicans from New York. Clannishness and partisanship is not new. In the dearly days of the district, they were particularly inclined to fight over slavery, literally brawling - repeatedly - on the floor of the House and Senate. The Civil War ended the physical altercations, but not the segregation and black codes that made life so difficult for so many.
Empire of Mud is the history of Washington you never knew, from the physical creation of the city to an accounting of the various types of brothels that operated in its boundaries, Dickey's history is far from the marble and monuments that spring to mind when thinking of the city today. This is the dark side of Washington, and it is a history buff's history, finely detailed and nuanced, asking questions as well as answering them. Beginning with, what if the Pennsylvania Line hadn't mutinied?
But I'm getting ahead of myself. The trouble started when Congress furloughed the soldiers of the Pennsylvania Line who then mutinied and marched on Philadelphia, where the powers-that-be responded poorly (raise your hand if anything in this sentence surprised). Most alarming to Alexander Hamilton, these handful of militiamen made the state seem stronger than the country, a situation the Federalist could not abide. Hamilton masterfully manipulated events such that by the time the Constitution was adopted in 1787, Congress planned a federal district, separate and apart from any state.
And then the real fun began because while Philadelphia circa 1787 was a real city, the lands set aside for the federal district were farmlands and swampy, muddy bogs. Corn grew in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. No one would pay to pave (or even grade) the streets. Entire sections of the city were swamped at high tide. A few years ago, I read Dominion of Memories: Jefferson, Madison, and the Decline of Virginia, which basically consists of source after source bemoaning the state of state, and especially the roads. Washington City, which together with Georgetown and Alexandria (now Virginia) formed the federal district, was clearly made of the same muck.
Naturally, the arrival of politicians only worsened the situation. Because the infrastructure was so lacking, they clung together, with the city's boarding houses becoming the domain of various factions. All Ohio congressman might live in one house, while next door lodged only republicans from New York. Clannishness and partisanship is not new. In the dearly days of the district, they were particularly inclined to fight over slavery, literally brawling - repeatedly - on the floor of the House and Senate. The Civil War ended the physical altercations, but not the segregation and black codes that made life so difficult for so many.
Empire of Mud is the history of Washington you never knew, from the physical creation of the city to an accounting of the various types of brothels that operated in its boundaries, Dickey's history is far from the marble and monuments that spring to mind when thinking of the city today. This is the dark side of Washington, and it is a history buff's history, finely detailed and nuanced, asking questions as well as answering them. Beginning with, what if the Pennsylvania Line hadn't mutinied?
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Book of Ages: The Life and Opinions of Jane Franklin
The University of Michigan Alumni Magazine reviewed (and recommended) Book of Ages in its last issue and, having had great success with past recommendations (Edmund Love, Rich Boy, and The Blood of Free Men all come to mind), I borrowed it from the library. Unfortunately, I wasn't a fan.
The truth of the matter is that Jill Lepore's Book of Ages proves her lament: histories of great men, novels of little women. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Book of Ages is the biography of Benjamin Franklin's youngest, and longest living, sister, Jane. She was the only sibling to outlive him, the one to whom he was closest, and the one with whom he shared a lifelong correspondence. This biography is constructed through the letters the Franklins exchanged, not all of which, of course, survive. Lepore fills in a bit of conjecture where necessary: did Jane, for example, read Benjamin's autobiography, published posthumously? If so, here is what she would have found... And so on. It is not a bad book, but, fair of me or no, Jane Franklin's life does not require 316 pages, and I became rather impatient.
Book of Ages essentially chronicles the lives of those to whom Franklin was related: siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews, all of whom, with few exceptions, led poor, if not hard scrabble lives in colonial America. It does not help the reader that they seem to have used only about 10 surnames among 100 or so people (Jane, Benjamin, Josiah, Sarah, and Jenny being the most common), and so I was hopelessly lost remembering who was who, who begat who, and who, frankly, really mattered.
Unfortunately for Lepore ordinary lives do not make for great reading when relayed in ordinary ways. The reader only has so much interest in the making of soap or the laundering of smalls. For a more vibrant read on Revolutionary times, I recommend, alas, a novel: The Schoolmaster's Daughter.
The truth of the matter is that Jill Lepore's Book of Ages proves her lament: histories of great men, novels of little women. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Book of Ages is the biography of Benjamin Franklin's youngest, and longest living, sister, Jane. She was the only sibling to outlive him, the one to whom he was closest, and the one with whom he shared a lifelong correspondence. This biography is constructed through the letters the Franklins exchanged, not all of which, of course, survive. Lepore fills in a bit of conjecture where necessary: did Jane, for example, read Benjamin's autobiography, published posthumously? If so, here is what she would have found... And so on. It is not a bad book, but, fair of me or no, Jane Franklin's life does not require 316 pages, and I became rather impatient.
Book of Ages essentially chronicles the lives of those to whom Franklin was related: siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews, all of whom, with few exceptions, led poor, if not hard scrabble lives in colonial America. It does not help the reader that they seem to have used only about 10 surnames among 100 or so people (Jane, Benjamin, Josiah, Sarah, and Jenny being the most common), and so I was hopelessly lost remembering who was who, who begat who, and who, frankly, really mattered.
Unfortunately for Lepore ordinary lives do not make for great reading when relayed in ordinary ways. The reader only has so much interest in the making of soap or the laundering of smalls. For a more vibrant read on Revolutionary times, I recommend, alas, a novel: The Schoolmaster's Daughter.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
The Schoolmaster's Daughter: A Novel of the American Revolution
John Smolens's The Schoolmaster's Daughter had been on my reading list for well over a year before I finally read it last week - and it was worth the wait.
This is the story of Boston's Lovell family, in the opening days of the American Revolution. The father is the well-respected schoolmaster of the Latin school (hence the title of the book) - and a devoted loyalist. His three children on the other hand, James, Abigail, and Benjamin, are avowed Americans - and known revolutionaries. This is particularly true of eldest son James, he of the slightly dodgy past and mysterious illness (which is oddly and annoyingly never explained) who pens many of the missives that drive the Revolution.
Primarily Schoolmaster's Daughter focuses on the parallel stories of Abigail, who alternately woos and spurns a British corporal and finds herself accused in the murder of a sargeant, and youngest brother Benjamin who slips through siege lines and fights in the early, hot battles in the countryside outside the city. The latter he does alongside Ezra Hammond, whom Abigail expected to wed until he left Boston without a word some months before the opening shots of the war - and whose own history is one of the most intricately woven pieces of the story.
Smolens has written a wonderful novel, replete with such larger-than-life characters as Paul Revere and his wife Rachel (conveniently Abigail's best friend) and General Thomas Gage who is friendly with the schoolmaster himself. Ultimately, the language and the events of the time so permeate the pages that the reader feels immersed in Revolutionary Boston and surprised to find herself, say, in a crowded airport.
Four stars.
This is the story of Boston's Lovell family, in the opening days of the American Revolution. The father is the well-respected schoolmaster of the Latin school (hence the title of the book) - and a devoted loyalist. His three children on the other hand, James, Abigail, and Benjamin, are avowed Americans - and known revolutionaries. This is particularly true of eldest son James, he of the slightly dodgy past and mysterious illness (which is oddly and annoyingly never explained) who pens many of the missives that drive the Revolution.
Primarily Schoolmaster's Daughter focuses on the parallel stories of Abigail, who alternately woos and spurns a British corporal and finds herself accused in the murder of a sargeant, and youngest brother Benjamin who slips through siege lines and fights in the early, hot battles in the countryside outside the city. The latter he does alongside Ezra Hammond, whom Abigail expected to wed until he left Boston without a word some months before the opening shots of the war - and whose own history is one of the most intricately woven pieces of the story.
Smolens has written a wonderful novel, replete with such larger-than-life characters as Paul Revere and his wife Rachel (conveniently Abigail's best friend) and General Thomas Gage who is friendly with the schoolmaster himself. Ultimately, the language and the events of the time so permeate the pages that the reader feels immersed in Revolutionary Boston and surprised to find herself, say, in a crowded airport.
Four stars.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Death of a Dyer
Will Rees and Nate Bowdith were childhood friends in pre-Revolution Maine until they had a falling out during the war that was never patched. Twenty years late, Nate is dead, his son is suspected of murder, and Will has been asked to investigate. The subplot is Will's relationship with his son and his housekeeper, a former Shaker whom he may or may not wish to marry.
Eleanor Kuhns has constructed a great mystery in Death of a Dyer, which kept me turning the pages far more quickly than I'd intended or expected. (Nate was a dyer, which was an actual craft/profession before you could simply walk into the Gap and come out with every shade of the rainbow in every fabric imaginable. But I digress.) I prefer my mysteries truly mysterious, that is to be unable to guess the killer (because it's almost always a killer) before all is revealed in the last pages, and in that sense Death of a Dyer did not disappoint. I was utterly off the mark, although looking back, I shouldn't have been - another hallmark of great mystery writing.
I will say that I was disappointed with the historical aspect of the novel. I chose this in no small part because of the time period and, while ha'pennies and buggies abound, I didn't feel particularly connected to the time period. More disconcerting, I couldn't ever really figure out the duration of the events in the novel - did all of these things happen in a week? A month? Six weeks? Hmph. And finally, I was confused by the choice of Will Rees to investigate the murder - he has been absent from the little town of Dugard, Maine, for so long that he is unable to recognize many of the people he grew up with (he is a traveling weaver), and yet he's been handpicked for this task. It's all a bit baffling really. (Until I learned that Death of Dyer is part of the Will Rees series - so he's a bit like Hercule Poirot, I gather, without the obsession with "little gray matter.")
If you can move beyond the issues above, as well as the While this is not the greatest mystery I have ever read, (an honor that still belongs to Dame Christie, with Bury Your Dead not too far behind), I do feel it deserves more than the three-and-a-half stars it currently has (out of five) on Amazon.The mystery, as I said in the beginning, is solid, the characters are generally interesting, and the story beyond the mystery is engaging. Four stars (out of five).
Eleanor Kuhns has constructed a great mystery in Death of a Dyer, which kept me turning the pages far more quickly than I'd intended or expected. (Nate was a dyer, which was an actual craft/profession before you could simply walk into the Gap and come out with every shade of the rainbow in every fabric imaginable. But I digress.) I prefer my mysteries truly mysterious, that is to be unable to guess the killer (because it's almost always a killer) before all is revealed in the last pages, and in that sense Death of a Dyer did not disappoint. I was utterly off the mark, although looking back, I shouldn't have been - another hallmark of great mystery writing.
I will say that I was disappointed with the historical aspect of the novel. I chose this in no small part because of the time period and, while ha'pennies and buggies abound, I didn't feel particularly connected to the time period. More disconcerting, I couldn't ever really figure out the duration of the events in the novel - did all of these things happen in a week? A month? Six weeks? Hmph. And finally, I was confused by the choice of Will Rees to investigate the murder - he has been absent from the little town of Dugard, Maine, for so long that he is unable to recognize many of the people he grew up with (he is a traveling weaver), and yet he's been handpicked for this task. It's all a bit baffling really. (Until I learned that Death of Dyer is part of the Will Rees series - so he's a bit like Hercule Poirot, I gather, without the obsession with "little gray matter.")
If you can move beyond the issues above, as well as the While this is not the greatest mystery I have ever read, (an honor that still belongs to Dame Christie, with Bury Your Dead not too far behind), I do feel it deserves more than the three-and-a-half stars it currently has (out of five) on Amazon.The mystery, as I said in the beginning, is solid, the characters are generally interesting, and the story beyond the mystery is engaging. Four stars (out of five).
Monday, January 20, 2014
Revolutionary Medicine: The Founding Fathers and Mothers in Sickness and in Health
The first three books I've read in 2014 have taken me to America amid the Civil War; Paris, circa 1880; and sixteenth century Venice. All were fictional stories incorporating varying degrees of fact. I needed a change of pace and have had Jeanne E. Abrams' Revolutionary Medicine on my reading list for months. Despite the fact that I only just vowed to read less about disease and war and that Revolutionary Medicine is clearly chock full of both, I added it to my Nook before a long trip last week.
I'll begin by saying that Abrams makes great use of her primary sources. This book is studded with journal entries, correspondence, and other first-rate material that make the characters - Benjamin Franklin, George and Martha Washington, John and Abigail Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and James and Dolley Madison - come alive to the reader. Who knew that Martha Washington wrote Saturday as "satterday," for example? It's funny, it's pitiable, but it's also deeply humanizing.
Through volumes of research, Abrams has shown the extent to which these elite, early Americans were marked at every stage by death and disease. There is not one who hasn't lost a child or spouse (or both) to what we look upon today as a highly treatable disease. Revolutionary Medicine is also a near constant reminder of the ways in which we have tamed our environment in the past 200 years. The denizens of Washington, DC, are laid low by malaria with alarming regularity in Washington's time; today, such a diagnosis in the city would be regarded as singularly peculiar, among other adjectives.
Revolutionary Medicine also serves as portrait of how medicine has changed. In the time of days of the Founding Fathers, an educated person knew as much of medicine as, perhaps, their physician - who may or may not have ever studied medicine especially and may or may not rely on anymore than bleeding the patient no matter the symptoms. Indeed, more than one of the men and women profiled here administered such medical procedures as inoculation or bleeding on themselves, their children, or other family members.
This book is filled with fascinating tidbits (Boston once banned the smallpox inoculation, Philadelphia suffered through an unimaginable yellow fever epidemic, George Washington ordered and organized the vaccination of the Continental Army against smallpox) and trivia (the name laudanum is derived from the Latin laudere, "to praise" - and Jefferson and Franklin both needed it by the end).
If you're a non-fiction or American history junkie, you'll want to read Revolutionary Medicine. If not, if you know that John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died on the same day and that George Washington died of a simple throat infection compounded by repeated bleedings (which he himself ordered), then you probably already know everything you really need to know about the sickness and health of our founding fathers.
I'll begin by saying that Abrams makes great use of her primary sources. This book is studded with journal entries, correspondence, and other first-rate material that make the characters - Benjamin Franklin, George and Martha Washington, John and Abigail Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and James and Dolley Madison - come alive to the reader. Who knew that Martha Washington wrote Saturday as "satterday," for example? It's funny, it's pitiable, but it's also deeply humanizing.
Through volumes of research, Abrams has shown the extent to which these elite, early Americans were marked at every stage by death and disease. There is not one who hasn't lost a child or spouse (or both) to what we look upon today as a highly treatable disease. Revolutionary Medicine is also a near constant reminder of the ways in which we have tamed our environment in the past 200 years. The denizens of Washington, DC, are laid low by malaria with alarming regularity in Washington's time; today, such a diagnosis in the city would be regarded as singularly peculiar, among other adjectives.
Revolutionary Medicine also serves as portrait of how medicine has changed. In the time of days of the Founding Fathers, an educated person knew as much of medicine as, perhaps, their physician - who may or may not have ever studied medicine especially and may or may not rely on anymore than bleeding the patient no matter the symptoms. Indeed, more than one of the men and women profiled here administered such medical procedures as inoculation or bleeding on themselves, their children, or other family members.
This book is filled with fascinating tidbits (Boston once banned the smallpox inoculation, Philadelphia suffered through an unimaginable yellow fever epidemic, George Washington ordered and organized the vaccination of the Continental Army against smallpox) and trivia (the name laudanum is derived from the Latin laudere, "to praise" - and Jefferson and Franklin both needed it by the end).
If you're a non-fiction or American history junkie, you'll want to read Revolutionary Medicine. If not, if you know that John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died on the same day and that George Washington died of a simple throat infection compounded by repeated bleedings (which he himself ordered), then you probably already know everything you really need to know about the sickness and health of our founding fathers.
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