“The Grimaldis of Monaco”, by Anne Edwards

368 pages, William Morrow & Co., ISBN-13: 978-0688088378

Veteran celebrity-biographer Anne Edwards – Queen Elizabeth II, Princess Margaret, Countess Tolstoy, Judy Garland, Shirley Temple, Ronald Reagan, and P.T. Barnum – does her best with Prince Rainier and his ancestors, but the Grimaldis as a dynasty seem more bent on survival than on cutting a heroic figure. With this pedigree before us, the reader may be forgiven for suspicions of tabloidism, but fear not: Edwards does yeoman’s work in uncovering the little-known and hidden history of the rulers of Monaco.

Europe’s oldest dynasty was founded in 1215 when wealthy Genoese merchant Rainier Grimaldi established a fortress on the rock that was to become the heart of the principality. The place was soon under siege from a rebellious nephew; and during subsequent centuries the rulers of Monaco have had to contend with threats from family members, neighboring France and Italy, and magnates like Aristotle Onassis. The Grimaldis also once held the title of “Prince of France” which endowed the family with great prestige (and proved especially useful during those centuries when marriage to a very rich woman was the only form of respectable entrepreneurship open to improvident aristocrats). As absentee landlords who preferred to live in Paris, the Grimaldis neglected Monaco itself – that “sunny place for shady people” as it was once described by Somerset Maugham. Not until a Princess Caroline of the mid-1800’s had the brilliant idea of building a casino did the principality become wealthy and self-supporting, though this solution wasn’t exactly approved of by such people as Queen Victoria, who refused to visit the Grimaldis in their palace. Extravagant and apparently prone to making bad judgments (Prince Rainier’s grandfather saved the family and his fortune by collaborating with the Nazis) and bad marriages (Edwards excepts the marriage to Grace Kelly), the family has lurched from one scandal and financial disaster to another. Competently written and researched, but, apart from the Grace Kelly years, the Grimaldis come off here as a rather shabby and dull lot.

The unlikely history of the per-capita wealthiest nation in the world, the oldest surviving European monarchy and one of oldest family dynasties on the planet, is sure to intrigue. The ongoing story unfolding before us today is certainly enlightened by this book.

“Vanished Kingdoms: The Rise and Fall of States and Nations”, by Norman Davies

803 pages, Viking Adult, ISBN-13: 978-0670022731

The historical memory of nations has a great deal to do with their position amongst contemporaries at the time of their existence; thus, the stories of Rome, Greece and Great Britain are well chronicled (in fact the historiography seems to grow by the week of these great nations and empires). In contrast, nations that had an (admittedly) mediocre history – or were perhaps consumed by these other great nations – have largely disappeared from the historical picture. This is the issue that Norman Davies sees in the current state of European history, one that he seeks to remedy with Vanished Kingdoms: The Rise and Fall of States and Nations. In so doing he has striven to “both highlight the contrast between times present and past and to explore the workings of historical memory.” What’s more is that, although left unstated, this work sets out to collect a series of histories that might never be able to be read by the layperson due to the highly specialized nature of the research, as it currently exists. What has resulted is a fantastic work of history and, although it is over 700 pages in length, is hardly a ponderous read.

Vanished Kingdoms is organized into 15 essays covering such little known nations and kingdoms as Alt Clud, Tolosa and Etruria. Each chapter is further organized into three sections covering: a sketch of some geographical area as it exists now within the onetime borders of a particular kingdom; a narrative of the particular nation; the current state of historiography of the state in question. One realization that stays in the readers mind as the book is studied is the fact that every one of these now defunct states was at one time a thriving system. When a map of Europe is studied today, the overall assumption is that the countries that take up that space have always been there and will continue to exist right on into the future. But after reading Vanished Kingdoms the realization takes root that nothing is permanent. The book concludes with a delineation of ways in which states fail (using the individual cases he has covered as examples) and this part should be of special value to historians and even of some value to politicians and statesmen and stateswomen. As usual, Davies tends in this latest work of his to be an empiricist with no obvious theoretical axes to grind and, again as usual, his writing style is an admirable combination of the straightforward and colloquial with the scholarly (but never arcane or solipsistic). The book also has the virtue of being able to be read in any chapter-order the reader chooses, reflecting the ability of Davies to go back and forth in time and across national boundaries with extreme ease and fluidity.

Vanished Kingdoms is a compelling account of European countries that no longer exist and it should appeal to amateur and professional historians alike. How refreshing to read something so carefully and wonderfully done, something you can trust to be true, something that has no hint of haphazard writing, something so informative that it stays with you for a lifetime.

“Agincourt”, by Bernard Cornwell

451 pages, HarperCollins, ISBN-13: 978-0061578915

In Bernard Cornwell’s vision of 15^th Century warfare, almost everyone in it is a nasty, brutish and violent bastard. And they're also short. Nicholas Hook, the hero of Agincourt, is a different kind of man – oh he can be nasty and brutish as they can all right, but he’s also tall and with a touch of honor to him. Cornwell is quite matter-of-fact about violence and murder as everyone else in his story seems to be, and this is definitely a book for those who like nonstop action (preferably drenched in blood, mud and bad language).

As the title suggests, Agincourt takes an in-depth look at one of the best-documented and (thanks to Shakespeare) most famous battles in early English history. Like all good historical fiction, though, the political background and historical incidents in the novel play out through the perspective of the main character – in this case, the fictional Nick Hook, archer extraordinaire (and unlikely confidant of saints). The action starts with the first line: “On a winter’s day in 1413, just before Christmas, Nicholas Hook decided to commit murder”. From there, Cornwell riffs through a fast first chapter that sets up an ongoing conflict with a wicked priest and his two illegitimate sons. Nick gets sent to London as an archer, where he’s obliged to help hang heretics, and ends up in France, to help King Henry V pursue his claim to the French throne. It’s a long and bloody way to Agincourt, beginning with the fall of Soissons, whose aftermath is one of the nastiest (because true) tales of betrayal and cruelty in the annals of military warfare. Nick escapes the fate of his fellow archers and in the process saves a French novice from rape. He also escapes the town, with the intercession of two saints, Crispin and Crispinian, the patrons of Soissons, whose voices pop into his head at opportune moments throughout the book. Whether the saints approve of Nick’s rescue of the girl or have taken offense at the slaughter of their town's residents, no one knows – certainly not Nick, though he’s humbly grateful for the help.

The personal aspects of Nick’s story are executed in Cornwell’s hallmark style: logical, well-constructed, deftly paced and brief, so that we can get back to the hacking, eyeball-gouging and blood-squirting without too much delay. All the characters are drawn with quick, vivid strokes, but largely in two dimensions. The real star of the show is the final battle, which is carried out in such painstaking detail that you can feel the liquid (you should hope it’s only sweat) trickling down the inside of your armor. One of Cornwell’s many authentic touches is that none of the soldiers knows or cares why he’s in France; if King Hall says that God has given him the French throne, that’s good enough for these soldiers. All they really know is that they’ve been sent to kill Frenchmen, plunder, and ransom are the odd nobleman – oh, and rape French maidens (aside from Nick’s grandmother, there’s only one female character in the book who doesn’t either suffer rape or narrowly escape it).

Agincourt was a defining battle which turned the tide of history; lightly armored but deadly and agile long bowmen could defeat much greater numbers of heavily armored but ponderous cavalry and knights. I truly enjoyed Cornwell’s rousing cast of characters and I shared their failures, foibles, and triumphs – and you don't have to be a graduate of M.I.T. to enjoy it. Well worth the read and passing on to one of your (manly) man pals.