“The Story of Civilization. Volume 4: The Age of Faith”, by Will Durant

 

 

1195 pages, Simon & Schuster, ISBN-13: 978-0671548001

 

The Story of Civilization is an 11-volume set of books by the American writer, historian and philosopher Will Durant that focuses on a philosophical understanding of Western history that was intended for the general reader. Written over a period of more than fifty years, Volume 4: The Age of Faith was originally published in 1950, and covers the Middle Ages in both Europe and the Near East from the time of Constantine the Great to that of Dante Alighieri. Naturally, squeezing a whole seven centuries into 1000+ pages would task even the most ardent of historians, but as should be obvious by now, Will (and, it must said, Ariel) Durant were more than up for the task; moreover, to actually make this history engrossing is an achievement unto itself. All of the important military, religious, cultural and social events that made the Medieval Age such a blast are all recorded here, along with a plethora of mini-bios of the more important personages that did all of the moving and shaking in the post-Roman world. They do so by drawing parallels between the modern age (circa 1950, or so) and this long-lost world; thus, the morals of the age, the beliefs of the inhabitants, the food that they ate…it’s all here, made understandable and relatable to us ignorant moderns, even the way they lived:

 

There was not much comfort in the medieval home. Windows were few, and seldom glassed; wooden shutters closed them against glare or cold. Heating was by one or more fireplaces; drafts came in from a hundred cracks in the walls, and made high-backed chairs a boon. In winter it was common to wear warm hats and fur indoors. Furniture was scanty but well made. Chairs were few, and usually had no backs; but sometimes they were elegantly carved, engraved with armorial bearings, and inlaid with precious stones. Most seats were cut into the masonry walls, or built upon chests in alcoves. Carpets were unusual before the thirteenth century. Italy and Spain had them; and when Eleanor of Castile went to England in 1254 as the bride of the future Edward I, her servants covered the floor of her apartment at Westminster with carpets after the Spanish custom—which then spread through England. Ordinary floors were strewn with rushes or straw, making some houses so malodorous that the parish priest refused to visit them.

 

It wasn’t all bleak, however, as the cultural flowering that would see the West culturally reborn was already taking root in a variety of forms, such as (especially?) in music, which after a long hibernation was reawakened during this era:

 

We owe to our medieval forebears still another invention that made modern music possible. Tones could now be determined by dots placed on or in between the lines of the staff, but these signs gave no hint as to how long the note was to be held. Some system for measuring and denoting the duration of each note was indispensable to development of contrapuntal music – the simultaneous and harmonious procedure of two or more independent melodies. Perhaps some knowledge had seeped from Spain of Arab treatises by al-Kindi, al-Farabi, Avicenna, and other Moslems who had dealt with measured music or mensural notation. At some time in the eleventh century Franco of Cologne, a priest mathematician, wrote a treatise Ars cantus mesurabilis, in which he gathered up the suggestion of earlier theory and practice, and laid down essentially our present system for indicating the duration of musical notes. A square-headed virga or rod, formerly used as a neume, was chosen to represent a long note; another neume, the punctum or point, was enlarged into a lozenge to represent a short note; these signs were in time altered; tails were added; by trial and error, through a hundred absurdities, our simple mensural notation was evolved.

 

While this book is the fourth part of an (ultimately) eleven-part series, if one is new to the history of the Middle Ages you could do worse than by starting with The Age of Faith and all that it holds. One is taken on a grand tour, as it were, from the fall of Rome to the rise of Byzantium, the survival of the Jews and the coming of Islam, before circling back to the West and how this much-ravaged continent survived from around 600 to 1300, all in an easy to understand fashion and with lucid prose. But be warned, for if you haven't figured it out by now, The Story of Civilization is a history of Western Civilization, and so if that pisses you off…well, tough. I mean, it was published in 1950, but all the same, the West had just come out of some of its darkest days, what with the Nazis having brought a degree of barbarism to Europe that no barbarian could even dream of, so seeing this Western bias through that particular lens darkly actually makes this work even more of an achievement, as Durant (it would appear to me) sought to reclaim the mantle of Western Civ from the bloody hands of the recent past.

 

All this is helped by what can only be described as superb writing. Will and Ariel (I have no idea where the writing and research of one began and the other ended) obviously had developed a close working relationship in which they could together write with precision and grace. Add to this the fact that, what with so few records and resources to go with at the time, they manage to bring some 1000+ years of history from a diverse array of nations makes their achievement even more remarkable. Can’t wait to review Volume 5.

“The English Civil War: The King’s Peace/The King’s War/The Trial of Charles I”, by C.V. Wedgwood

 

1272 pages, The Folio Society

The English Civil War was produced by The Folio Society in 2001 and consists of three books by C.V. (that would be Cicely Veronica) Wedgwood: The King’s Peace (first published in 1955), The King’s War (first published in 1958) and The Trial of Charles I (first published in 1964). At the time of publication and, indeed, for many years afterwards, Wedgwood’s work was the most complete and reliable history of the English Civil War, written by a meticulous crafts(wo)man and dedicated historian. As to how dedicated became evident in my research for this review, as I read tales of Wedgwood walking the battlefields, under the same weather and field conditions as the soldiers who fought, in order to gain an appreciation for what these men went through. At the time of her writing these histories, the historiography surrounding the English Civil War had become scoliotic, whereas Wedgwood’s strength in depicting the conflict was in how, in the words of Alfred Leslie Rowse, “she depicted the sheer confusion of it all, the impossibility of co-ordinating events in three countries, once order from the centre had broken down”.

The King’s Peace covers the time that Charles I was King of three independent kingdoms, not yet united: his rule over England was absolute (but not absolute), his rule over Scotland was more-or-less in name only (what with all of those combative presbyters running things) while his rule over Ireland was virtually nonexistent (pretty much business as usual, then). Besides all that, the Puritans were pissed about the supposed re-Catholicisizing of the Church of England, the Scots wanted all other churches to stay out of Scotland and Ireland was as Catholic (and poor…and powerless) as always. Oh, and Charles chucked Parliament out of office and ruled by decree when he wasn’t taxing the hell out of everything – until even this ran its course and, having run out of money, reluctantly recalled Parliament to do his bidding and raise the funds he wanted, only to have Parliament instead impeach as many of his advisors as they could in retaliation for his tyrannical one-man rule. In this environment, it is, perhaps, not with the benefit of hindsight that war was inevitable. Wedgwood tells this tale in a typically linear fashion, placing all the players and their actions in a recognizable and easy-to-follow order while also navigating the many shoals of personalities and events.

The King’s War begins in November 1641, with the country still at peace, but barely: in January the King attempts to seize Parliamentary officers by force but is foiled, so that by August Charles has raised his banner at Nottingham and declared war against his recalcitrant Parliament, thus breaking his own peace. Much of the book is concerned with details of the campaigns from the autumn of 1642 through the end of 1645, though some military action did continue into 1646. The campaigns and battles are told in as straightforward a way as possible, and I guess all of that traipsing over upon England’s mountains green and visiting all those battlefields paid off, for Wedgwood writes about war as well as she writes about everything else. After the King’s defeat, he proved to be as intransigent in captivity as he was when he was at liberty. Wedgwood would seem to have little respect for Charles’ political or intellectual capabilities, but she fully recognizes his integrity, a quality which dooms him but makes him (a little) admirable despite his many, many failings. Wedgwood writes clearly and without too much ornamentation, though her style is not at all simplified. It is plain throughout that she loves her subject and knows all the characters intimately, and this enthusiasm and insight easily transmits itself to the reader.

The Trial of Charles I completes the tale of the English Civil War, covering as it does of Charles’ trial for treason by the Parliament he waged war against. Again, Wedgwood displays her mastery of her subject matter by delving into the underlying motives for the participants (in so far as it is ever possible to do so) and recounting the trial in such a way that you feel it is being played out in real time. She portrays wonderfully the confusion of that month, and you realize that the condemnation and execution of Charles was by no means a foregone conclusion, despite the very determined efforts of the Independents to make it so (I have to say, though, that a more complete and up-to-date take on King Charles’ trial can be found in The Tyrannicide Brief: The Story of the Man Who Sent Charles I to the Scaffold by Geoffrey Robertson, reviewed on February 18^th, 2012). For all his faults and, contrary to what I felt when I first read this book, Charles brought up many a reasonable point over the course of his trial and, while I believe without question that he deserved to lose his crown, I am no longer certain he deserved to lose his life.

For all that is several decades old, The English Civil War still holds up as a brilliantly written and exhaustively researched history of what could be described as the founding of Modern Britain, in which Parliament is King and the King reigns but does not rule. While the development of the modern British state still had several decades of birth pangs to pass through, it all began when the White King was overthrown and beheaded, thus proving to the world at large that no tyrant is immune from justice, especially justice delivered by the People.

“Berlin Games: How the Nazis Stole the Olympic Dream”, by Guy Walters

 

384 pages, William Morrow, ISBN-13: 978-0060874124

This was another one of my Dad’s books, as should be no surprise by now, seeing as he was a student of the Games of the XI Olympiad, or Olympische Sommerspiele 1936, or The Nazi Olympics. Berlin Games: How the Nazis Stole the Olympic Dream by Guy Walters is another history of the 1936 Olympics, and the author managed to pen a page-turner. Walters is a British author, historian and journalist and, although he is known more for his writings about the Second World War, his work here is a tour de force that successfully combines the political and athletic stories of the 1936 Olympic Games into one seamless whole. However, while it is certainly natural to be repulsed by the Nazi regime that put on these games, Walters would have been better served telling a straightforward narrative of the games and their political and cultural environs, rather than constantly interjecting his disgust for all things Nazi.

Another issue is that Walter often strays from his tale of the ’36 Games by including a plethora of athletic contests that, as far as I could tell, had nothing to do with his ostensible main point (perhaps to show the development of international competition?). Rather, a discussion on how this hijacking by a gang of goose-stepping thugs of what should be an international celebration of peace and friendly competition forever tainted the Olympic ideal. While later generations haven't done much better – the XXII Summer Games from Moscow, the capital of the Evil Soviet Empire, was another travesty or, more recently, the XXIX Summer Games from Beijing, the modern-day capital of oppression and the XXIV Olympic Winter Games, likewise from Beijing, which are going on as I type – this original corruption of the Olympic ideal set the stage for later political leaders making peace with dictators in the misguided notion that the tyrants of the world can be bought.

The main strength of this book is its cast of fascinating figures. Berlin Games follows Nazi leaders such as Hitler and Goebbels in their attempt to stage the 1936 Olympics as state propaganda, athletic leaders such as the American Avery Brundage (future president of the IOC) who resisted the social pressure to boycott the Berlin Olympics, and of course the athletes. Obviously, the story of Jesse Owens contradicting Aryan racial myths with his stellar performances, winning four gold medals by the end of the games, receives a fair amount of coverage, but numerous other athletes with interesting stories to tell were also present. These include the German wrestler Werner Seelenbinder, whose quest it was to win a medal in order to snub the Nazis on a grand stage; Helen Stephens, the track star who resisted romantic requests from both Hitler and Hermann Goering; and Helene Mayer, a Jewish fencer who competed for the Nazis despite the persecution she suffered because of her background. An excellent addition to anyone’s library on the Olympics, Berlin Games entertains as it informs.

“The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture”, by Ruth Benedict

 

336 pages, Mariner Books, ISBN-13: 978-0618619597

I was given this book by a mate I worked with at Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan, and, frankly, was unsure what I could learn reading a 70+ year old book about Japanese culture written by an American scholar who had never even visited the country. Some background: Ruth Benedict was an American anthropologist and folklorist and a leading light in her field. During World War II she was invited by the American Office of War Information to study the Japanese and their culture in order to understand and predict their behavior after their defeat by reference to a series of contradictions in traditional culture. The eventual results of her work was The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture.

As for what one may learn, the answer is: a whole lot. While there are, evidently, things Benedict got wrong, she did get a lot right, seeing the Japanese more clearly as an outsider than as an insider, as it were. She explained several key concepts which were uniquely Japanese, such as importance of hierarchy (“taking one’s proper station”), debt and repayment, the concept of “duty to one’s name” and the seemingly paradoxical situation of emphasizing self-discipline and generosity on physical pleasure. What I find particularly helpful are examples, taken from real life in Japan, pertaining to the concept she wants to explain. This book almost defies categorization, for its stunning discoveries and for the cultural understanding it fostered, much which carries on to the present day.

If the practice of “anthropology” brings to mind picking at dusty ruins, its offshoot “cultural anthropology” might conjure up studying tribal rituals in a native habitat. Remarkably, Ruth Benedict called herself one of this odd breed and her task (begun soon after the empire of Japan was defeated in World War Two) would daunt anyone, regardless of occupational labels: report to the occupying US military how to understand and rehabilitate a defeated nation whose traditions in every walk of life were – by admission on both sides – inexplicably alien to Americans. That Benedict succeeded represents a remarkable achievement and deserves celebration, and not just among anthropologists.

“Queen of Kings: The Immortal Story of Cleopatra”, by Maria Dahvana Headley

 

416 pages, Dutton, ISBN-13: 978-0525952176

In Queen of Kings: The Immortal Story of Cleopatra by Maria Dahvana Headley, you will read about Cleopatra VII: Queen of Egypt, wife and mother who loses her kingdom, family and her one true love and will do anything to get him back and avenge herself on the Roman interlopers who wronged her so – up to and including sacrificing herself and, in the end, even her humanity, for this novel is about how the historic Cleopatra transformed herself into a vampire in order to wreak her immortal vengeance. While she becomes inhuman after the ritual, she still manages to hold onto enough of herself to try and save her children and send Mark Antony to the afterlife all Egyptians dreamed of, even as she dooms herself.

When I first found this book at Borders (ah, Borders; how I miss ya) I didn't know what to make of it but, obviously, I found it intriguing enough to fork over the $5 they were asking for it. A fictional tale of Cleopatra-as-Vampire was…well, cool. I mean, it was kinda weird but, for five bucks, what the hell. So, Headley relies heavily on the factual historical perspective for the first part of her book and relates the Roman invasion of Alexandria as seen from Cleopatra’s perspective. But from then on it is all fiction, as Cleopatra embraces her new unlife and counters the Roman threat to her kingdom. Historical fact is never far from Headley’s work, and it would appear that she has done her homework here; as a wanna-be historian myself, I found her blending of fiction and reality to be interesting as I searched my memory to corroborate what was written with what really happened.

So, then, how is it? To begin with, I was in Cleopatra’s corner the whole way, as I thought she really deserved her vengeance for what was done to her and her kingdom. However, as the story progressed, I found myself increasingly indifferent as to the outcome of this epic supernatural struggle; for instance, at one stage there is a graphically described confrontation in the Circus Maximus in Rome and there is interest as to the events and the outcome, but there is no real feeling as to the “right outcome” or the “triumph of good over evil” because it is not at all clear which side is good and which side is evil. Also, I found I couldn't really empathize with any of the main characters to a significant degree, perhaps because the story is told from multiple perspectives and, occasionally, there is more of a general description of events rather than a narration from any particular viewpoint.

Cleopatra herself is stripped down to very basic driving emotions and does not come across as multi-dimensional, so while she is always fascinating, she is rarely appealing. Her main protagonist, Octavian, seems weak, scheming and addictive, and so is also hard to relate to. But as a lark of a read, I wasn’t disappointed and don't regret spending that five bucks.