David O. Stewart's historical mystery is built around the premise, some might say conspiracy theory, that John Wilkes Booth was not simply a madman bent on revenge in the name of Dixie, but was a paid operative in a plan hatched by men at the highest levels of the Confederacy - and the Union. Jamie Fraser, a small town doctor from Ohio, and Speed Cook, a former black professional baseball player turned newspaperman, embark on a journey to prove Booth's motives following a deathbed confession by former congressman John Bingham.
Fraser and Cook are an unlikely pair, and their adventures as The Lincoln Deception unfolds become increasingly unlikely (without giving anything away, I will say that the "realism" score feel off for me entirely around the time of their Baltimore steamer escapades). That said, the book does have at least one strong commonality with another Lincoln fiction, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, in that both are highly readable, if far-fetched. In fact, I read this is a single go, while sitting in an airport late last week waiting for a flight that was delayed some 8 or 10 hours. It has that going for it: you can pick it up, keep turning the pages, and a few hours later discover the story has flown by and you're about to the end of the mystery.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Servants: A Downstairs History of Britain from the Nineteenth Century to Modern Times
Although focusing on those at the polar opposite end of the spectrum, Servants, in the style of Debs at War, is an anthropological text (for lack of a better term) that delves into the history of service, and more importantly servants, in Britain. Lucy Lethbridge makes extensive use of the many, many memoirs that have been written and interviews given by those who were in service as well as those who employed parlourmaids, charwomen, and the like. Although butlers and chauffeurs make the requisite appearance, those jobs typically done by women are the real focus of the book; Lethbridge explains more than once that although men formed the backbone of service prior to the nineteenth century, after that time, the majority of those in service were women.
The most interesting chapters are those that focus on the experiences of a specific servant (or two or three). The first-hand accounts are certainly the richest. Lethbridge also includes a couple of very readable chapters on service in the Empire, particularly India, and on the experiences of German-Jewish or Austrian-Jewish women who came to Britain on service visas to escape Nazi Germany. Lethbridge's wide use of literature as supporting material was, for me, less meaningful.
Reading this on the heels of The Assassination of the Archduke, I found myself constantly comparing Viennese and British society, the role of servants, and the like. This is an enlightening read, certainly, but a heavy one that often feels more academic in nature than leisurely. The reader with a less academic and more personal interest in service in England should consider Eric Horne's What the Butler Winked At: Being the Life and Adventures of Eric Horne, Butler to be the definitive work in this area. Horne, by the way, was a butler to gentry for 57 years. He knows of what he writes.
The most interesting chapters are those that focus on the experiences of a specific servant (or two or three). The first-hand accounts are certainly the richest. Lethbridge also includes a couple of very readable chapters on service in the Empire, particularly India, and on the experiences of German-Jewish or Austrian-Jewish women who came to Britain on service visas to escape Nazi Germany. Lethbridge's wide use of literature as supporting material was, for me, less meaningful.
Reading this on the heels of The Assassination of the Archduke, I found myself constantly comparing Viennese and British society, the role of servants, and the like. This is an enlightening read, certainly, but a heavy one that often feels more academic in nature than leisurely. The reader with a less academic and more personal interest in service in England should consider Eric Horne's What the Butler Winked At: Being the Life and Adventures of Eric Horne, Butler to be the definitive work in this area. Horne, by the way, was a butler to gentry for 57 years. He knows of what he writes.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague
A friend recommended Year of Wonders to me recently and so, particularly having read Geraldine Brooks's most recent novel, March, I thought I would give it a go. Year of Wonders has going for it the fact that it's historical fiction (which regular readers will know is my prefered fiction genre), as well as Brooks's wonderful prose and dialogue. These are the real strengths of the book. Brooks notes in the author's note the extent of research she did for this book, not only on the plague (more on that in a minute), but on the minutiae of rural, English, seventeenth century life.
Year of Wonders is the story of a small English village infected by the plague in 1666. The protagonist, Anna Frith, is an 18-year-old widow with two small boys and a position as a parlourmaid at the rectory. As the cases of black death mount, the town's citizens make the bold and unselfish decision to seal themselves off from the rest of world, lest the plague reach other villages. This part of the story is based on the true story of the English village of Eyam, as Brooks explains. The characters, however, from Anna to the Rector Michael Mompellion and his wife Elinor are fictional.
As I've said both the writing and the research are impeccable. My complaint, however, lies with the character of Anna Frith. A few years ago, I read Annette Vallon: A Novel of the French Revolution, which I enjoyed immensely, except for the way in which Annette consistently got herself into (and out of) situations that absolutely beggared believe and also made her seem a bit too self-righteous and/or martyresque for me to be deeply invested in her as a character. I have the same issue with Anna Frith. From taming wild horses to delivering premature, breech babies, Anna does it all, when if she'd done just a bit less, I might have liked her more. (The midwifery scenes brought to mind The Midwife of Venice, set slightly earlier than Year of Wonders, but with many similarities.) Also, although this may be splitting hairs, Anna's obsession with Elinor was definitely weird.
Finally, and I've heard this from the friend who recommended Year of Wonders to me as well, but the ending simply does not make sense. The last 10-15 pages seem to belong to another book, which is a shame because there are any number of more believable endings Brooks could have conjured and still kept with the overall story.
Year of Wonders is the story of a small English village infected by the plague in 1666. The protagonist, Anna Frith, is an 18-year-old widow with two small boys and a position as a parlourmaid at the rectory. As the cases of black death mount, the town's citizens make the bold and unselfish decision to seal themselves off from the rest of world, lest the plague reach other villages. This part of the story is based on the true story of the English village of Eyam, as Brooks explains. The characters, however, from Anna to the Rector Michael Mompellion and his wife Elinor are fictional.
As I've said both the writing and the research are impeccable. My complaint, however, lies with the character of Anna Frith. A few years ago, I read Annette Vallon: A Novel of the French Revolution, which I enjoyed immensely, except for the way in which Annette consistently got herself into (and out of) situations that absolutely beggared believe and also made her seem a bit too self-righteous and/or martyresque for me to be deeply invested in her as a character. I have the same issue with Anna Frith. From taming wild horses to delivering premature, breech babies, Anna does it all, when if she'd done just a bit less, I might have liked her more. (The midwifery scenes brought to mind The Midwife of Venice, set slightly earlier than Year of Wonders, but with many similarities.) Also, although this may be splitting hairs, Anna's obsession with Elinor was definitely weird.
Finally, and I've heard this from the friend who recommended Year of Wonders to me as well, but the ending simply does not make sense. The last 10-15 pages seem to belong to another book, which is a shame because there are any number of more believable endings Brooks could have conjured and still kept with the overall story.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Chronicles of Avonlea & Further Chronicles of Avonlea
Monday, February 17, 2014
The Assassination of the Archduke: Sarajevo 1914 and the Romance That Changed the World
One must wonder what might have been had Gavrilo Princip's bullet not found Franz Ferdinand in June 1914. Only months earlier the archduke, afterall, had observed presciently that war between Russia and Austria would "encourage revolution in both countries and thereby cause both Emperor and Tsar to push each other from their thrones. For these reasons, I consider war to be lunacy..." He did not live to see the prophecy fulfilled.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though, for Greg King and Sue Woolmans's Assassination of the Archduke is not another geopolitical what-might-have-been as much as it is an intimate look at the private side of Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie. Make that his morganatic wife. I first learned of morganatic marriage when I read the Duke of Windsor's memoirs. As presented by that duke, it didn't seem so terrible - Wallis Simpson would have become his wife and consort, but not held the title of queen and the crown could never pass to any children they might have. Morganatic marriage in the House of Habsburg was an entirely different matter, with open insults heaped upon Sophie for the entirety of the 14 years of her marriage to her Franzi, and then continued upon their death. Suffice it to say, in 19th century Vienna, Prince William wouldn't have even been permitted a morganatic marriage to Miss Middleton!
If the Vienna aristocracy comes in for the worst of it from King and Woolmans (with Emperor Franz Josef and his lackey Montenuevo bearing the brunt of the criticism), the Serbs fare only slightly better. The reader cannot help but feel they are a violent and wretched people, deserving of every misery the twentieth century heaped on them. This is undoubtedly an over-broad portrayal, and one that feels rather unfair, at least based on the evidence presented here. Yes, they killed their king and queen in a midnight raid on a palace, but then again, so did the French (although it took them a bit longer to actually do the killing), and yet the French are seldom, if ever, portrayed as barbaric and backward.
In the same way that I wondered whether the authors were too unkind to the Serbians, I also wondered whether they might have been overly generous with Franzi and Soph. Much of the material for this book comes from statements and memories shared by their children who, one imagines, may not have been entirely unbiased. The eldest was but 13 when Franz Ferdinand and Sophie were assassinated; moreover the insults borne by the mother were also suffered by the children. It seems possible in the circumstances then that they might have then felt their parents rather more perfect and heroic than they were in life. (The grandchildren have engaged in a prolonged effort to get tour guides to be "kinder" in describing the Archduke to tourists. When such are your sources, your story can only go in one direction.) I'm not suggesting they were bad people, but the portrait painted by King and Woolmans suggests the Archduke and his wife were near saints. More surprisingly, is the Kasier's appearance as a warmheared friend to the archduke, warmhearted not being an adjective I've ever considered in connection with the Kaiser before.
On the whole, I found The Assassination of the Archduke to be highly readable and an entirely fresh take on the events leading up to World War I. Certainly King and Woolmans provide wonderful insight on the last days of the Habsburg empire and the intrigue of what was once Europe's most glittering court. I highly recommend it for history lovers or those who are looking for World War I era nonfiction that isn't simply another recounting of all the battles won and last and both sides of the war. Four stars.
I'm getting ahead of myself, though, for Greg King and Sue Woolmans's Assassination of the Archduke is not another geopolitical what-might-have-been as much as it is an intimate look at the private side of Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie. Make that his morganatic wife. I first learned of morganatic marriage when I read the Duke of Windsor's memoirs. As presented by that duke, it didn't seem so terrible - Wallis Simpson would have become his wife and consort, but not held the title of queen and the crown could never pass to any children they might have. Morganatic marriage in the House of Habsburg was an entirely different matter, with open insults heaped upon Sophie for the entirety of the 14 years of her marriage to her Franzi, and then continued upon their death. Suffice it to say, in 19th century Vienna, Prince William wouldn't have even been permitted a morganatic marriage to Miss Middleton!
If the Vienna aristocracy comes in for the worst of it from King and Woolmans (with Emperor Franz Josef and his lackey Montenuevo bearing the brunt of the criticism), the Serbs fare only slightly better. The reader cannot help but feel they are a violent and wretched people, deserving of every misery the twentieth century heaped on them. This is undoubtedly an over-broad portrayal, and one that feels rather unfair, at least based on the evidence presented here. Yes, they killed their king and queen in a midnight raid on a palace, but then again, so did the French (although it took them a bit longer to actually do the killing), and yet the French are seldom, if ever, portrayed as barbaric and backward.
In the same way that I wondered whether the authors were too unkind to the Serbians, I also wondered whether they might have been overly generous with Franzi and Soph. Much of the material for this book comes from statements and memories shared by their children who, one imagines, may not have been entirely unbiased. The eldest was but 13 when Franz Ferdinand and Sophie were assassinated; moreover the insults borne by the mother were also suffered by the children. It seems possible in the circumstances then that they might have then felt their parents rather more perfect and heroic than they were in life. (The grandchildren have engaged in a prolonged effort to get tour guides to be "kinder" in describing the Archduke to tourists. When such are your sources, your story can only go in one direction.) I'm not suggesting they were bad people, but the portrait painted by King and Woolmans suggests the Archduke and his wife were near saints. More surprisingly, is the Kasier's appearance as a warmheared friend to the archduke, warmhearted not being an adjective I've ever considered in connection with the Kaiser before.
On the whole, I found The Assassination of the Archduke to be highly readable and an entirely fresh take on the events leading up to World War I. Certainly King and Woolmans provide wonderful insight on the last days of the Habsburg empire and the intrigue of what was once Europe's most glittering court. I highly recommend it for history lovers or those who are looking for World War I era nonfiction that isn't simply another recounting of all the battles won and last and both sides of the war. Four stars.
Monday, February 10, 2014
The Colonel and Little Missie: Buffalo Bill, Annie Oakley, and the Beginnings of Superstardom in America
A friend send me her local library's list of recommended readings recently and I was intrigued by several of them, not least Larry McMurtry's The Colonel and Little Missie: Buffalo Bill, Annie Oakley, and the Beginnings of Superstardom in America...even though I really, really meant to stop reading about the wild, wild west after my adventures with Billy the Kid, the railways, Wyatt Earp, and most recently, Lewis & Clark (and company).
In fairness (to me), The Colonel and Little Missie was much more about the west than I expected - the shows that made Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley famous take second billing to the places and adventures that made them. In some ways, this was disappointing, as I found the most interesting parts of the book were those that dealt with the mounting of Buffalo Bill's Wild West - the 80+ car train, the hundreds of performers borne across the ocean and through Europe, the show that stole a bit of thunder from Chicago's World Fair.
A far greater amount of ink is devoted to "the colonel" than is devoted to "little missie," but in fairness (to McMurtry), Annie Oakley seems to have done her best to live as quiet a life as possible for a mega-star, and despite her skill with a gun, McMurtry clearly had less to work with as pertains to Phoebe Ann Moses Butler. As an aside: is it any wonder she adopted a stage name?
The Colonel and Little Missie is a very quick read, enriched by the many photographs McMurtry has included. I enjoyed it, event if I really am done reading how the west was won. I think.
In fairness (to me), The Colonel and Little Missie was much more about the west than I expected - the shows that made Buffalo Bill and Annie Oakley famous take second billing to the places and adventures that made them. In some ways, this was disappointing, as I found the most interesting parts of the book were those that dealt with the mounting of Buffalo Bill's Wild West - the 80+ car train, the hundreds of performers borne across the ocean and through Europe, the show that stole a bit of thunder from Chicago's World Fair.
A far greater amount of ink is devoted to "the colonel" than is devoted to "little missie," but in fairness (to McMurtry), Annie Oakley seems to have done her best to live as quiet a life as possible for a mega-star, and despite her skill with a gun, McMurtry clearly had less to work with as pertains to Phoebe Ann Moses Butler. As an aside: is it any wonder she adopted a stage name?
The Colonel and Little Missie is a very quick read, enriched by the many photographs McMurtry has included. I enjoyed it, event if I really am done reading how the west was won. I think.
Friday, January 31, 2014
The Men Who United the States: America's Explorers, Inventors, Eccentrics and Mavericks, and the Creation of One Nation, Indivisible
I was initially skeptical of Simon Winchester's organization of the origins of this country around the five classical elements (wood, earth, water, fire, metal). However, upon finishing The Men Who United the States, I will say that it worked. It really, really worked and it's hard to envision to better framework to tie together such disparate seeming developments as Lewis & Clark's expedition, the interstate system, and television.
Winchester works his way forward, from Jefferson's charge to Merriwether Lewis through the building of the canals, then the railways, the roads, and aviation, transportationally speaking, to the telegraph, radio, television, internet, in terms of communication. Indeed, this book is the story of the country's connection both physically and culturally. Many of those he profiles have long graced the pages of elementary social studies books: Lewis & Clark, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, for example, but many others have otherwise been lost to time. Henry McKinley built the first road in America, a turnpike out of Cumberland, Maryland. DeWitt Clinton, mayor of New York City, owns much responsibility for the Erie Canal. And so on and so forth.
Winchester includes great imagery of the American West, particularly when he writes of the railways and the roads. The book is filled with photographs, documents, and maps that give further life to his writing. He also intersperses the historical storytelling with more modern stories of how own travels in America. Occasionally, he seems rather too pleased with himself (as when relating a treacherous crossing of the Donner Pass), but the stories do serve to illustrate the changes to various regions and technologies.
Ultimately, The Men Who United the States is best enjoyed by history buffs, but if you're looking for a refresher course on much of U.S. history (from Pocahontas to Ike and beyond), you won't be disappointed.
Winchester works his way forward, from Jefferson's charge to Merriwether Lewis through the building of the canals, then the railways, the roads, and aviation, transportationally speaking, to the telegraph, radio, television, internet, in terms of communication. Indeed, this book is the story of the country's connection both physically and culturally. Many of those he profiles have long graced the pages of elementary social studies books: Lewis & Clark, Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison, for example, but many others have otherwise been lost to time. Henry McKinley built the first road in America, a turnpike out of Cumberland, Maryland. DeWitt Clinton, mayor of New York City, owns much responsibility for the Erie Canal. And so on and so forth.
Winchester includes great imagery of the American West, particularly when he writes of the railways and the roads. The book is filled with photographs, documents, and maps that give further life to his writing. He also intersperses the historical storytelling with more modern stories of how own travels in America. Occasionally, he seems rather too pleased with himself (as when relating a treacherous crossing of the Donner Pass), but the stories do serve to illustrate the changes to various regions and technologies.
Ultimately, The Men Who United the States is best enjoyed by history buffs, but if you're looking for a refresher course on much of U.S. history (from Pocahontas to Ike and beyond), you won't be disappointed.
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