The title of Craig Monson's work on naughty nuns doesn't leave much to the imagination. It is, as stated, a compilation of incidents involving Italy's nuns in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries - taken straight from the Vatican archives, no less. Some were rather mundane, certainly by today's standards: a nun who loved to sing, for example, and had to be barred from doing so by formal decree, only to fall afoul of the decree. Others - such as the Calabrian nuns who set fire to their convent in order to escaped the cloistered life - are admittedly more shocking.
As Monson discovered in the course of his research, a typical nun's life was rather dull. Surprised? I wasn't either. I was surprised to learn, though that the life of a nun often began at the age of six or seven, and sometimes as young as two. Also, that there were aristocratic convents, convents for converted prostitutes (the appropriately named Convertites), and for everyone in between. What's more, the convent was the usual choice for younger daughters, as the Church's dowry requirements were significantly less than a husband's.
All of which is to say that as much as I enjoyed reading about the episodes themselves (sneaking relatives into convents! sneaking out to the opera! an escalating dispute over convent cushions!), I enjoyed even more learning learning about this aspect of life during and after the Renaissance. I've commented before of being impressed by the power of the Church and its total and utter domination of life; I come away from Nuns Behaving Badly amazed again at the acts committed in the name of God.
Amen.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Mr. Wilson's War: From the Assassination of McKinley to the Defeat of the League of Nations
So here's the thing: 200 pages in, the only war Mr. Wilson had fought was against Villa, in Mexico. And I think he was still fighting it when I finally called time. I can't say I wasn't warned. The title clearly states that this book chronicles events from 1901 onward, but I am guilty of not taking the title at face value. Thus far, Woodrow Wilson's upbringing, years at Princeton, first marriage (death did them part), and remarriage while in her first term as President have been chronicled at length, along with events more closely related to war, albeit not necessarily the one raging in Europe.
More than the plodding pace, what did me in was the poor grammar and punctuation. I'm not sure whether this is unique to the electronic (Nook) format or if the print version suffers from the same dearth of commas and apostrophes, but I was nearly driven to distraction by this issue.
In short, I come away more disappointed than anything. I had high hopes, as I've heard wonderful things about the author, John Dos Passos, but I just couldn't make this one work for me. Perhaps that's a testament to some of the wonderful World War I writing I've already done: The Guns of August and The Beauty and the Sorrow, which both present a holistic view of the war, particularly the causes; Dead Wake, which chronicles the Lusitania disaster; and, of course, The Last of the Doughboys, which is a collection of memoirs from the Americans who served in Mr. Wilson's war - including one who was stationed on the Mexican border.
More than the plodding pace, what did me in was the poor grammar and punctuation. I'm not sure whether this is unique to the electronic (Nook) format or if the print version suffers from the same dearth of commas and apostrophes, but I was nearly driven to distraction by this issue.
In short, I come away more disappointed than anything. I had high hopes, as I've heard wonderful things about the author, John Dos Passos, but I just couldn't make this one work for me. Perhaps that's a testament to some of the wonderful World War I writing I've already done: The Guns of August and The Beauty and the Sorrow, which both present a holistic view of the war, particularly the causes; Dead Wake, which chronicles the Lusitania disaster; and, of course, The Last of the Doughboys, which is a collection of memoirs from the Americans who served in Mr. Wilson's war - including one who was stationed on the Mexican border.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
The Summer Before the War
It's not often that I finish a book, only to return to the beginning to begin rereading it (albeit quickly!) with an eye toward anything I missed the first time around. Helen Simonson's The Summer Before the War is just such a rare book.
On one level, it is the story of the inhabitants of the Rye, a quintessential English village, as they come to terms with this new war - and the new world it ushers in. It is peopled with rich characters and not a few petty rivalries. The Kent family is the heart of the story, with Aunt Agatha and Uncle John and their nephews Daniel and Hugh. Into their midst enters Beatrice Nash, come to town to teach Latin, a proposition which many in the town find downright scandalous. She arrives in Rye in the middle of that last summer when England was "Old England," and when the English, and the upper classes in particular, had every faith that war could be averted. Simonson captures the end of the age as well as those who lived it.
On a deeper level, The Summer Before the War is the story of stigma: the stigma of insufficient patriotism; the stigma of acts that mar an otherwise upstanding reputation; the stigma of loving the wrong person - or loving the right person at the wrong time; the stigma of not being British (or not being British enough). The stigma of being a Gypsy. From war crimes to homosexuality, Simonson handles heavy topics with a deft touch. In fact, her work is so fine that it was not until I'd finished this novel that I realized how consistently this thread runs through the book. Moreover, and like Simonson's last novel, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, Simonson's characters are multi-dimensional and feel entirely real. Their adventures are fun, touching, and highly readable. The relationships that she crafts are a strong point of the story.
I have read many novels with World War I as the backdrop, and no small number of these British. (The Walnut Tree and Somewhere in France are but two that trade on this setting.) To my mind, though, The Summer Before the War is the richest, most involved, and most emotionally charged of those I have read. From the presence of the Belgian refugees to the emergence of women's rights, Simonson has created a story in which going over the top is only part of the story of England's war.
On one level, it is the story of the inhabitants of the Rye, a quintessential English village, as they come to terms with this new war - and the new world it ushers in. It is peopled with rich characters and not a few petty rivalries. The Kent family is the heart of the story, with Aunt Agatha and Uncle John and their nephews Daniel and Hugh. Into their midst enters Beatrice Nash, come to town to teach Latin, a proposition which many in the town find downright scandalous. She arrives in Rye in the middle of that last summer when England was "Old England," and when the English, and the upper classes in particular, had every faith that war could be averted. Simonson captures the end of the age as well as those who lived it.
On a deeper level, The Summer Before the War is the story of stigma: the stigma of insufficient patriotism; the stigma of acts that mar an otherwise upstanding reputation; the stigma of loving the wrong person - or loving the right person at the wrong time; the stigma of not being British (or not being British enough). The stigma of being a Gypsy. From war crimes to homosexuality, Simonson handles heavy topics with a deft touch. In fact, her work is so fine that it was not until I'd finished this novel that I realized how consistently this thread runs through the book. Moreover, and like Simonson's last novel, Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, Simonson's characters are multi-dimensional and feel entirely real. Their adventures are fun, touching, and highly readable. The relationships that she crafts are a strong point of the story.
I have read many novels with World War I as the backdrop, and no small number of these British. (The Walnut Tree and Somewhere in France are but two that trade on this setting.) To my mind, though, The Summer Before the War is the richest, most involved, and most emotionally charged of those I have read. From the presence of the Belgian refugees to the emergence of women's rights, Simonson has created a story in which going over the top is only part of the story of England's war.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
West With the Night
Born in 1902, Beryl Markham was a woman ahead of her time. A champion racehorse trainer, author, and bush pilot, Markham was the first female pilot in Kenya and flew solo across the Atlantic during the early years of the aviation age. She is also a fine author, as evidenced by this memoir, in which she writes what must be one of my all-time favorite lines. Writing of an encounter with low-level Italian bureaucrats in the years immediately preceding World War II, Markham writes that there is "no hell like uncertainty, and no greater menace to society than an Italian with three liras worth of authority." I'll have to remember that the next time I'm bemoaning a peon on a power trip.
West with the Night offers not only a glimpse into Markham's own remarkable life (if Gertrude Bell was the Desert Queen, perhaps Markham is the queen of the savanna), but also into British colonialism. Unlike White Mischief, which focuses almost entirely on the British experience in Kenya, West with the Night includes extensive memories of Markham living the "authentic" Kenyan experience, including being "moderately eaten by [a] large lion." Although I was most interested in Beryl the bush pilot, Beryl the bush hunter is also a fascinating study, particularly as this phase of life preceded the former by many years - making Markham but a girl when she would join native tribesman on boar hunts!
Markham may have been ahead of her time in some respects, but in her regard for native populations, she was very much a woman of her time and place. The early pages, in particular, reek of colonialism; Markham's description of the various Kenyan people are jarring, and the depth of British imperialism is something to behold. To say it is a long way from West with the Night to The Last Resort is to rather understate things.
West with the Night offers not only a glimpse into Markham's own remarkable life (if Gertrude Bell was the Desert Queen, perhaps Markham is the queen of the savanna), but also into British colonialism. Unlike White Mischief, which focuses almost entirely on the British experience in Kenya, West with the Night includes extensive memories of Markham living the "authentic" Kenyan experience, including being "moderately eaten by [a] large lion." Although I was most interested in Beryl the bush pilot, Beryl the bush hunter is also a fascinating study, particularly as this phase of life preceded the former by many years - making Markham but a girl when she would join native tribesman on boar hunts!
Markham may have been ahead of her time in some respects, but in her regard for native populations, she was very much a woman of her time and place. The early pages, in particular, reek of colonialism; Markham's description of the various Kenyan people are jarring, and the depth of British imperialism is something to behold. To say it is a long way from West with the Night to The Last Resort is to rather understate things.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Long Summer Day
It seems ages since I last read anything by Delderfield, but if anything the time since I last read his work has only made me appreciate it more. Long Summer Day, like To Serve Them All My Days, is a leisurely read, and a quintessentially English one at that. Beyond the pacing and prose, the former has in common with the latter that a wounded veteran (in this case, of the Boer war, and physically as opposed to psychologically) determines to put any thought of war behind him by retreating deep into the English countryside.
And so it is that Paul Craddock survives the Boer War to learn of his father's death - and a far greater inheritance than he expected. This he spends on the purchase of a rundown estate, Shallowford, which he determines to make over for the better of all residing there. Too, Squire and tenants alike must grapple with the rapid changes in society, from the introduction of the motor car to the debate over women's suffrage. Here, Delderfield has created a vast array of supporting characters, each unique enough to be memorable, but similar enough to fit nicely into a single estate without creating undue conflict or tension. Long Summer Day is also suffused with the foreboding of future entanglements with Germany: that the Kaiser is building his fleet is regularly put to the reader. There can be no doubt that Shallowford is on the cusp of the end, as Laurie Lee wrote, "of a thousand years' life."
As I've noted about Delderfield in the past, the one complaint, if I'm to have one, is that this book, too, is a tome, totally some 800 pages before all is said and done. That is not to say that I didn't enjoy it, but rather to say I'm quite certain I would have enjoyed it equally well at, say, 550 pages. (I should acknowledge, though, that this is the exact opposite of my complaint regarding the last book I read, Mademoiselle Chanel, whose author I accused of erasing entire years from Chanel's life for the sake, one presumes, of brevity. So perhaps there's just no pleasing me.)
All told, this book is a wonderful, leisurely stroll into a world that doesn't exist any longer. Its length requires a serious commitment of time on the part of the reader, but Delderfield has never failed to make an impression on me and I somehow feel richer for reading his works.
And so it is that Paul Craddock survives the Boer War to learn of his father's death - and a far greater inheritance than he expected. This he spends on the purchase of a rundown estate, Shallowford, which he determines to make over for the better of all residing there. Too, Squire and tenants alike must grapple with the rapid changes in society, from the introduction of the motor car to the debate over women's suffrage. Here, Delderfield has created a vast array of supporting characters, each unique enough to be memorable, but similar enough to fit nicely into a single estate without creating undue conflict or tension. Long Summer Day is also suffused with the foreboding of future entanglements with Germany: that the Kaiser is building his fleet is regularly put to the reader. There can be no doubt that Shallowford is on the cusp of the end, as Laurie Lee wrote, "of a thousand years' life."
As I've noted about Delderfield in the past, the one complaint, if I'm to have one, is that this book, too, is a tome, totally some 800 pages before all is said and done. That is not to say that I didn't enjoy it, but rather to say I'm quite certain I would have enjoyed it equally well at, say, 550 pages. (I should acknowledge, though, that this is the exact opposite of my complaint regarding the last book I read, Mademoiselle Chanel, whose author I accused of erasing entire years from Chanel's life for the sake, one presumes, of brevity. So perhaps there's just no pleasing me.)
All told, this book is a wonderful, leisurely stroll into a world that doesn't exist any longer. Its length requires a serious commitment of time on the part of the reader, but Delderfield has never failed to make an impression on me and I somehow feel richer for reading his works.
Monday, September 19, 2016
Mademoiselle Chanel
From the opening pages, C. W. Gortner's Mademoiselle Chanel put me in mind of Melanie Benjamin's work. Like Benjamin, Gortner plunges his reader immediately into the story, in this case the life and times of Coco Chanel. This he does thoroughly, and well, and the bones I have to pick here come only from knowing too much, if you will about Chanel from prior reading. (Thank you, Coco Chanel: An Intimate Life.)
For example, I drove myself crazy thinking I'd made up that Chanel spurned two marriage proposals from Balsan, before confirming that I wasn't going crazy; Gortner had simply played with the facts. Novels such as these often leave the reader unsure where real life ends and fiction begins. I would have liked a bit of clarification from Gortner at the end of the book, but this is a relatively minor quibble, and one that shouldn't bother those who haven't, say, recently read a biography of Chanel.
A bigger quibble is with Gortner's transitions, which often seemed abrupt, and too frequently were used to compress (or entirely erase) entire years in order to move more quickly through Chanel's life. Moreover, the transitions from what was happening in the broader world (World War I, Black Tuesday, Pearl Harbor, D-Day...you know, nothing major) and Chanel's life, often felt forced, jolting the reader from one topic to another with little (or no) warning. Taken together, this quality detracted from the overall book.
I've noted previously that Coco Chanel, orphan-turned-couturier, was almost certainly one of the most remarkable figures of the 20th century. She survived untold hardships and a pretty serious morphine habit (glossed over by Gortner, but remarkable in and of itself) to be the leading light of the French fashion scene for decades. Gortner's work brings this multi-dimensional woman into focus for a new audience, and certainly a wider audience than is likely to read a biography. For that alone, he deserves credit. Although not perfect, Mademoiselle Chanel is still a highly readable and engaging work of historical fiction.
For example, I drove myself crazy thinking I'd made up that Chanel spurned two marriage proposals from Balsan, before confirming that I wasn't going crazy; Gortner had simply played with the facts. Novels such as these often leave the reader unsure where real life ends and fiction begins. I would have liked a bit of clarification from Gortner at the end of the book, but this is a relatively minor quibble, and one that shouldn't bother those who haven't, say, recently read a biography of Chanel.
A bigger quibble is with Gortner's transitions, which often seemed abrupt, and too frequently were used to compress (or entirely erase) entire years in order to move more quickly through Chanel's life. Moreover, the transitions from what was happening in the broader world (World War I, Black Tuesday, Pearl Harbor, D-Day...you know, nothing major) and Chanel's life, often felt forced, jolting the reader from one topic to another with little (or no) warning. Taken together, this quality detracted from the overall book.
I've noted previously that Coco Chanel, orphan-turned-couturier, was almost certainly one of the most remarkable figures of the 20th century. She survived untold hardships and a pretty serious morphine habit (glossed over by Gortner, but remarkable in and of itself) to be the leading light of the French fashion scene for decades. Gortner's work brings this multi-dimensional woman into focus for a new audience, and certainly a wider audience than is likely to read a biography. For that alone, he deserves credit. Although not perfect, Mademoiselle Chanel is still a highly readable and engaging work of historical fiction.
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Cider with Rosie
As regular followers of this blog may already know, I often read memoirs, not a few of which have been British (see all of James Herriot or Goodbye to All That). Laurie Lee was born in middle of the Great War, deep in green England, and begins his memoirs by warning readers that some of what he recalls may have been obscured by the fog of young memories. Quickly I understood his meaning, as I often felt I was reading a lot of pretty words, as opposed to a lucid story.
As I was reading, felt more like a collection of anecdotes centered around the dotty and colorful characters who peopled Lee's childhood than a work that captured the zeitgeist of rural, post-war England. Only after reflecting that this was the same time period captured by Edmund Love did I realize that in describing these individuals, Lee was reproducing the time and place - and how very, very different they are from Love's midwestern memories. Lee was not kidding when he wrote that his generation saw, "the end of a thousand years' life."Coincidentally, where Lee ends is nearly where Herriot begins. Between them, a reader is privy to some half-century of life in rural England.
Cider with Rosie ends rather abruptly, with Lee an adolescent on the cusp of leaving home, an adventures he remembers in As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning, a continuation of Cider with Rosie, which, at this time, I do not anticipate reading.
As I was reading, felt more like a collection of anecdotes centered around the dotty and colorful characters who peopled Lee's childhood than a work that captured the zeitgeist of rural, post-war England. Only after reflecting that this was the same time period captured by Edmund Love did I realize that in describing these individuals, Lee was reproducing the time and place - and how very, very different they are from Love's midwestern memories. Lee was not kidding when he wrote that his generation saw, "the end of a thousand years' life."Coincidentally, where Lee ends is nearly where Herriot begins. Between them, a reader is privy to some half-century of life in rural England.
Cider with Rosie ends rather abruptly, with Lee an adolescent on the cusp of leaving home, an adventures he remembers in As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning, a continuation of Cider with Rosie, which, at this time, I do not anticipate reading.
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