“Silver: My Own Tale as Written by Me with a Goodly Amount of Murder”, by Edward Chupack

 

288 pages, St. Martin’s Griffin, ISBN-13: 978-0312539368

“I am Silver, and there is no other pirate like me on these waters…” Yeah, boy, whatta way to start a novel. I never read Treasure Island, but I have seen a bunch of TV adaptations over the years, so that counts for something, right? RIGHT? Right. And so my take on Edward Chupack’s Silver: My Own Tale as Written by Me with a Goodly Amount of Murder (really, how can you not buy this book after reading that title?) may differ from one who has actually read Robert Louis Stevenson’s book. Chupack states, in his “Author’s Note”, that he took Stevenson’s characters – especially some of the minor ones – and changed their aspects and situations, only using Treasure Island as a starting point; thus, Silver is neither a sequel nor a retelling of that book, and I can only approach Chupack’s work as a stand-alone read, but on that basis alone, this novel absolutely is worth its weight in…silver (ho, boy, am I clever).

The “Silver” of the title is, of course, Long John Silver, a murderous, treasure-hungry pirate who describes himself as “the dog that bites the other dogs. What do I fear? I am John Silver, and I am more dog than man and more dog than dog”. When we first meet him, he has been taken prisoner by an unknown person and locked in his quarters on his own ship from where, battling a raging fever, he writes his memoirs and tells the boy who brings him food about his search for a very special treasure. Silver’s memoirs cover his early life on the streets of Bristol, England, his being taken on board the pirate ship by Black John, and his life as a murdering pirate. But most of all, it covers Silver’s search for the treasure and of the lifetime of treachery that goes along with it.

The story itself isn’t a terribly deep one, and it does get rather repetitive at times, while the mystery is not one the reader will want to work too hard to solve on their own. Rather, it is the language that makes this book sing: one could open to any random page and find something wonderful to quote. It’s also the details about the pirating life and the world of the late 17^th Century – from London to Spain and all the way to the Carolinas – that held my attention right down to the final word. The characters are fabulously drawn, from the rat-like Pew to the alcoholic Billy Bones to Edward the dandy to Solomon the Jew. Yeah, Silver may be a murdering, thieving scoundrel, but he’s a charming and intelligent murdering, thieving scoundrel, and I only hope that Chupack will one day follow up this fine work with another.

“Panther Variants 1942–45 (New Vanguard)”, by Hilary Doyle and Tom Jentz, illustrated by Mike Badrocke

 

48 pages, Osprey Publishing, ISBN-13: 978-1855324763

Who doesn’t like tanks, amiright? (alright, hippie, shut up and sit down). If necessity really is the mother of invention, then nothing illustrates this saying like the Panther tank – or, if you like, the Sd.Kfz. 171 for Sonderkraftfahrzeug or “Special Purpose Vehicle”, or even, if you prefer, the Panzerkampfwagen V Panther, ‘til Adolf ordered the removal of the Roman numeral “V” – a German medium tank deployed during World War II on the Eastern and Western Fronts in Europe from about mid-1943 to the end of the war. This is because the Panther was designed to counter the Soviet T-34 tank and replace the Panzer III and Panzer IV, of which the T-34 made mincemeat. All this and more will you learn in Panther Variants 1942–45 by Osprey Publishing, one of my favorite publishers (although their books are neither large, nor cheap). Fair warning, though, for as the title states, these are “Panther Variants”, which refer to tank recovery vehicles, command vehicles, flak vehicles, self-propelled artillery, stand-alone Panther turrets that were part of fortifications and, of course, the wicked-awesome Sd.Kfz. 173 Jagdpanther – that’s “hunting panther” – variant. There is also some discussion of the planned Panther II and planned future versions of the commonly used Panther that would have made use of different versions of turrets; most of the variants examined in the book were never put into production. The book discusses, basically, only the physical characteristics of these vehicles and the development of those characteristics (or the planned characteristics, in the case of the variants that were never produced); there is no discussion of combat performance, crews, or characteristics of these vehicles vis-à-vis those of the allies, etc. (the one and only exception to this is a British army report on the Panther turrets that were part of fixed fortifications, a report that showed how really effective these things were – each one destroyed by the allies in combat destroyed eight allied tanks in return). Well, what do you expect for 48 pages? All-in-all an excellent book for the specialist.

“The European Nobility, 1400-1800 (New Approaches to European History)”, by Jonathan Dewald

 

232 pages, Cambridge University Press, ISBN-13: 978-0521425285

So, if you go to school long enough, you collect a wide-array of books on a bunch of different topics, such as…oh, I don’t know, The European Nobility, 1400-1800. Jonathan Dewald has written a social history – part of the Cambridge Press’ New Approaches to European History line of books – on a group that social historians typically avoid; namely, the nobility of Europe which, while they have gotten a lot of attention in more traditional histories, have been largely ignored in the social realm. To alleviate this overlooked class (if the rich can ever be overlooked; bear with me), Dewald offers an extended interpretative essay, the theme of which is the evolution of the Continental nobility (or aristocracy; he regards the terms as overlapping but distinct in meaning) during the four centuries between the end of the Middle Ages and the arrival of the French Revolution. Principally, he tackles the idea of the decline of the nobility and shows that, rather than come-a-cropper as it were, the nobility weathered the Early Modern period by being resilient and adaptable – though the group was fundamentally changed, it still remained strong.

Thus, although small in absolute numbers, the nobility controlled most of the land and all of the politics on the Continent until well into the 19th Century, and the author maintains that they managed to do this despite wars, revolutions and the coming of modern industry because they were very effective in adapting to the changes around them. Dewald also argues that, from one country and culture to the next, nobles faced similar problems and responded to them in very similar ways. This is the main thrust of the book, as Dewald considers the resiliency of the Nobility in aspects of the make-up of their class, their wealth and economics, their politics, and their involvement in culture. He concludes with a brief analysis of the effects of the French Revolution on the group, and how it contributed to the fundamental change the nobility underwent, from privileged order to ruling class. For all this being intended as a textbook, The European Nobility is readable and interesting. The only problem lies in its repetitiveness; I have no complaints about the book’s organization, but it in some ways contributes to this, and Dewald ends up repeating conclusions he made just pages before. Sometimes the repetition becomes quite tedious, but as a whole, the book remains interesting and readable.

“Devils & Demons: A Treasury of Fiendish Tales Old & New”, edited by Marvin Kaye and Saralee Kaye

 

587 pages, Dorset Press,ISBN-13: 978-0880296625

Alright alright alright, settle down, you: Devils & Demons: A Treasury of Fiendish Tales Old & New as edited by the husband-and-wife team of Marvin and Saralee Kaye is not some sorta Satanic how-to primer, but a compilation of 52 stories by various authors, famous and otherwise, from 1925 up to 1987 (this particular edition from the Dorset Press is from 1991, one of a score or books I picked up from the Barnes & Noble overstock section). And if you (like me) thought that stories ‘bout ghouls and ghosts were only for the tawdry and the lowbrow, well then, brother, check out some of these authors: Isaac Asimov, Charles Pierre Baudelaire, W. Somerset Maugham, Bertrand Russell, Robert Louis Stevenson, William Makepeace Thackeray and H.G. Wells, along with the more usual list of suspects, including Poul Anderson, Algernon Blackwood, Tanith Lee, Sheridan LeFanu, H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe and Bram Stoker. Rating an anthology can be, overall, rather difficult, what with a whole slew of stories from different authors, different styles and, especially in this case, different eras. Having read it as a kid and rediscovering it as an adult, I can say without any sense of foreboding that this book was a resounding…meh. None of the stories, I think, are that memorable, and while reading horror written by some of the famous non-horror authors I mention above was interesting, the book also has its fair share of mediocre fair from others I never heard of (and for Marv and Sara to include a couple of their own pieces was rather cheeky, to boot). If you find a copy on the used or remnants pile – like I did – eh, I say go for it, but there’s no need to go hunting this particular tome down.

“Drood: A Novel”, by Dan Simmons

784 pages, Little, Brown and Company, ISBN-13: 978-0316007023

Drood: A Novel by Dan Simmons is his take on the relationship between Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins, authors, compatriots, friends and – according to Simmons – enemies of the first rate. This last bit is a mystery to me, seeing as I have read biographies on both Dickens (Dickens: A Biography by Fred Kaplan, reviewed on May 11, 2012) and Collins (Wilkie Collins: A Life of Sensation by Andrew Lycett, reviewed on April 11, 2019) and, according to both books by different authors, Dickens and Collins got along like a house on fire. But Drood looks at the secret, dark life of Charles Dickens and his relationship with a very creepy individual named Drood, as told through the eyes of Wilkie Collins, the (supposedly) jealous and opiate-addicted competitor of Dickens, with some real problems of his own.

Historical fiction is a genre unto itself and, be it based on real people, true moments in history or pure fiction, the most important aspect of any such story is that of the time period in which the story takes place itself; it must actually be the strongest character and transport the reader back to that place and time, from the cracks in the sidewalk to the wheels on the carriages, and from here the characters develop and their actions and attitudes must not only tell the story but continue the presence of the time period. Simmons succeeds in this respect as he recreates the late-Victorian era in our minds by crafting his story around the creation of Dickens’ last, unfinished novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood; is Drood a real person, or is he a manifestation in the mind of Dickens? Wilkie Collins is our (unreliable) narrator in this interesting tale that rambles on for almost 800 pages.

As first person narrative, Author Simmons fulfills the book’s ultimate premise: a memoir purporting to be written by a 19^th Century sensationalist novelist that reads as if it were, in fact, written by a 19^th Century sensationalist novelist. In that context, not a word is out of place here: the banality, the redundant descriptions, the frustrating (to the reader) inability to conclude a subplot, the resentful appreciation of genius all exist seamlessly in the personality depicted in these 800+ pages. It’s clear that Simmons inhabited Collins’ essence while narrating this story, and it’s this aspect of the book that I found fascinating because it takes great skill to render such a true result.

That said, this is not a book to read for the tightly crafted suspense or because there will be a rewarding arc or even an interesting story at the end; if there were, the purpose for which I suspect this book was written would not have been served. While Drood is alright, it is also deeply flawed. I am not exaggerating in any way when I say that 400-or-so pages of this book could have been cut and it would have been a far greater story. I’m not sure why Simmons felt the need to write this massive tome, but I feel he could really have benefited from a more aggressive editor. As to why he thinks that Collins hated and resented Dickens…maybe that says more about Simmons than it does about Collins.

“The Third Reich: A New History”, by Michael Burleigh

 

965 pages, Hill & Wang, ISBN-13: 978-0809093250

Michael Burleigh is a scholar. This is obvious from his background: PhD in medieval history from Bedford College, London in 1982, posts at New College, Oxford, the London School of Economics and Cardiff University; he has also been Professor of History at Washington and Lee University in Virginia and Kratter Visiting Professor at Stanford University; more recently he gave the three Cardinal Basil Hume Memorial Lectures at Heythrop College, University of London…oh, and he is also a member of the Academic Advisory Board of the Institut für Zeitgeschichte in Munich and a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society. But more than that is his vocabulary, which he puts to good use in The Third Reich: A New History, seeing as it is written in a scholarly (read: turgid) style, with rare words popping up about three times per page (you’ll spend as much time using the dictionary as reading this book; also, who the hell writes an 80-page introduction?). Be aware, too, that Burleigh focuses on the culture, economy and government of Nazi Germany, with a solid emphasis on the Holocaust and the crimes of Nazi Regime and very little time spent on the military aspects of World War II. Nothing wrong with that, just putting it out there.

For all that, Burleigh does not really break all that much new ground – so much for being a “new” history – but A New History is well-organized, well-researched and thorough…the problem is that while Burleigh uses a large quantity of sources, the vast majority of these are secondary and not primary, something I would not expect from a leading light in his field. It is also far too much of a slog to get through the dense prose, as every sentence requires unpacking and, unless one is already pretty familiar with the subject, too much prior knowledge is required (you already know my thoughts on his commodious phraseology). Thus, this is in no way a popular history and virtually screams for a good edit; rather, the whole thing reads like it was meant to impress an academic audience…hell, if I wanted to be really mean (oh, why not), I’d say that his writing style is rather typical of Ivory Tower Types who are trying to impress us all with just how smart he is. I, for one, think that one’s scholarship speaks for itself without trying to impress us with all of the 10¢ words you know.

Thus, for the reader willing to sit with a good, comprehensive dictionary in hand, wading through this book may very well be worth the effort, as the insight gleaned does prove valuable. For those not so inclined, this latest effort at a solid, single volume history of the Third Reich falls short.

“The Dangerous Book for Boys”, by Conn Iggulden and Hal Iggulden

 

288 pages, William Morrow, ISBN-13: 978-0062208972

In our modern, Woke, never-do-anything-even-REMOTELY-dangerous world, how in the HELL did a book called The Dangerous Book for Boys ever see the light of day? (Perhaps because the daylight in question was in 2006?). Anyway, I would certainly not call this book literally Dangerous, yet I think I know what the author is getting at, as this book is written to allow boys to be boys and not apologize for it, g**damnit: go out and scrape your knee, camp in a field, build a treehouse, chuck some rocks, compare your hockey knowledge, learn about astronomy, dinosaurs, navigation, make paper hats, read poetry, quote Shakespeare (no, really, Shakespeare is to be found in The Dangerous Book for Boys). In this day and age it may be considered by some to be “dangerous” to teach boys to be men (and I say that unapologetically), but I feel we don’t need another generation of boys who can’t hammer a friggin’ nail. Hopefully more young men will read books such as this one and learn that it’s okay to be a boy (oh, and as for the Dangerous in the title, don’t be so damned literal: I suspect – but do not know – that it comes from the works of Alexander Pope who said, “A little learning is a dangerous thing”).