“Hawkmoon” by Michael Moorcock

 

504 pages, White Wolf Publishing, ISBN-13: 978-1565041936

Over the course of the mid-to-late 90s, White Wolf Publishing produced this massive omnibus collection of Michael Moorcock’s “Eternal Champion” stories, a recurrent aspect in many of his tales. Hawkmoon was the third in this series featuring the character Dorian Hawkmoon, Duke of Köln, and includes the tales The Jewel in the Skull, The Mad God’s Amulet, The Sword of the Dawn and The Runestaff. The protagonist is another incarnation of the Eternal Champion; born into the World of the Dark Empire, and bearing the Black Jewel embedded in his skull, Hawkmoon’s world is in fact a future, post-apocalyptic Earth which has regressed to a neofeudal era in which higher technology (flame lances, or laser weapons, and ornithopters, flying machines powered by flapping wings) exists alongside sorcery. The Empire of Granbretan is hell-bent on conquering the world at the command of the immortal King-Emperor Huon, who dwells in a fluid-filled sphere in Londra, the capital. The aristocracy of Granbretan are renowned for their cruelty and for their practice of hiding their faces behind beast-inspired masks at all times; these masks correspond to chivalric orders, and the aristocrats at the head, along with the soldiers they lead, form the armies of the King-Emperor. At the time of the first book, Köln is the last holdout in Europe as Granbretan has succeeded in conquering everyone else.

The Jewel in the Skull is the first of the “History of the Runestaff” books and features a bit of contrariness on Moorcock’s park, seeing that this Englishman has made Granbretan – Great Britain, of course – the heavies, while the German Duke of Köln (that would be Cologne) is the hero. The tale begins in Kamarg where its ruler, Count Brass, is visited by an emissary of Granbretan, Baron Meliadus, who wants to use the Count’s knowledge of the courts of Europe to better conquer them. Brass would rather like to see Europe united, but not through force, and sees the Granbretans as nothing more than degenerate barbarians. From there, all hell breaks loose as Granbretan seeks to conquer all and Dorian Hawkmoon comes to the aid of his ally. As with most of Moorcock’s books early on in his career, there is a blending of sorcery and technology in an amalgam that is just cool as hell. Hawkmoon’s distinctive “jewel in the skull” is, or course, a part of this amalgamation, while his descriptions of the barbaric and ruthless Granbretans is both distinctive and revealing (Moorcock moved to Texas in the 1990s, for reasons unknown to me), as is the city of Hamadan and the strange post-apocalyptic creatures he briefly shows. But, as usual, it is in his characterizations that Moorcock shines: heroes are heroic and villains are villainous, while supporting characters are fleshed out and given their due, especially Bowgentle, the hirsute Oladahn and the ever-mysterious Warrior in Jet and Gold.

The Mad God’s Amulet is the second of the Runestaff books and picks up the adventures of Dorian Hawkmoon immediately following The Jewel in the Skull and follows his and Oladahn’s journey back to Castle Brass in Kamarg. As with The Jewel in the Skull, an aspect of The Mad God’s Amulet is the inclusion of esoteric artifacts, amongst them the “Soryandum Machines”, which act as the MacGuffins that drives the plot along. As the story progresses, Moorcock subtly makes clear that many of the “magical” items the adventurers encounter along the way are supposed to have a foundation in technology, especially the Soryandum Machines that transformed the people of Soryandum into “ghosts” (actually, humans transformed by their own science so that they exist in another dimension). This, then, is SciFi for fans of fantasy, melding as it does two seemingly opposing genres into one. While Hawkmoon and Count Brass only had to face Baron Meliadus and the forces of Granbreton in the previous novel, Moorcock has created a broader group of villains for the follow-up, including the treacherous Sir Huillam D’Averc and, of course, the “mad god” himself. And despite Baron Meliadus’ return in true supervillain fashion, he is not the empire’s sole operative, nor is Granbreton the only baddie in this post-apocalyptic world. There’s a lot going on in The Mad God’s Amulet, but it is rather obvious that it is a “part two”, a filler novel needed to set up future works and the grand finale. For all that, good stuff.

The Sword of the Dawn is the third of the Runestaff books and finds our heroes safe, but with the Empire of Granbretan still seeking revenge. Hawkmoon and the redeemed D’Averc still oppose them, but the mysterious Runestaff has plans of its own, and Hawkmoon will find that before he can turn his attention to the Dark Empire he must first seek out the fabled “Sword of the Dawn”. One seemingly universal trait of the many different Eternal Champions is their hankering after unfinished business (retirement is not an option); this is particularly true of Hawkmoon, who doesn’t seem to be able to deal with inactivity that well. Where The Sword of the Dawn is, perhaps, better than its predecessors is in retelling the character’s motivations; while the previous books were not just mindless hack’n’slash free-for-alls and featured both protagonists and antagonists that were really three-dimensional, there was something a little lacking into just why they did what they did. The Empire of Granbretan is shown in all its dark glory, as we see that the subjects hunger for conquest with their accompanying atrocities, are caused by sheer decadence and ennui, making their crimes all the more repellent as we find out that they are motivated by the fact that the Granbretans, of the Dark Empire, are bored and fancy a change. They’re scared of running out of ideas so have made it a competition of excess instead. The Sword of the Dawn, thus, feels rather more complete as a story and a continuation of the Runestaff series, rather than as mere filer.

The Runestaff is the final volume in the Runestaff series continues the adventures of Hawkmoon as he endeavors to defeat the evil Baron Meliadus and the empire of Granbretan. Once again there’s plenty of swashbuckling from Hawkmoon and crew and braggadocio in abundance from the villains. The climax is suitably grand in scale and fitting as a conclusion to Moorcock’s enjoyable fantasy series. This is perhaps the best of the four volumes, due mainly to the fullness of the story and the consistently fast pace, although some elements are rather hurriedly wrapped-up. As a whole the series is great fun, and an ideal escapist read. But lo, you may think the adventures of good old Dorian Hawkmoon come to an end with the fourth and final novel of the Runestaff; likely, so did Moorcock (the fifth book in the series, the start of a new trilogy, wasn’t released for another four years, while these four were released over a period of a little more than twelve months). Now, with everything in place, it’s time for Hawkmoon and his friend Huillam d’Averc to seek out the Runestaff itself; the problem is that Hawkmoon isn’t fond of the idea as he’d rather go back to Castle Brass for a spell and see the rest of his friends. In the course of his erratic journey, we meet a new main character, Orland Fank (the brother of Hawkmoon’s longtime advisor The Warrior in Jet and Gold), a few brand-new monstrosities, and the like. The series comes to a conclusion that is surprisingly, in retrospect, satisfying; had Moorcock never taken up the pen and applied it to Hawkmoon again, readers of the series would likely have been satisfied with what’s here (well, perhaps “satisfied” is not the correct word; longtime fans of the Eternal Champion books will understand what I mean). In either case, a good conclusion to the series, and one of the more worthwhile books in Moorcock’s vast (and expanding) repertoire.

“Victorious Century: The United Kingdom, 1800 – 1906”, by David Cannadine

 

624 pages, Viking, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-0525557890

If I could go back in time and be anything I wanted to be, I would be a member of the English landed gentry in the 19^th Century (Did that rhyme? Total accident): I would be born on Sunday, June 18^th, 1815 (the same day as the Battle of Waterloo) and assume room temperature on Friday, May 6^th, 1910 (the same as Edward VII), and for the whole of my life I would glory in the name of Briton, because man, the era of the Pax Britannia was second to none – if you were born right. That comes across plain as day in David Cannadine’s Victorious Century: The United Kingdom, 1800 – 1906 as he charts the rise and rise of Britain from Small Islands to Top Nation and the men who made it happen (yes, it was all men; Queen Victoria may have given her name to the era but all the Big Decisions were made by men. Deal).

As to the timeframe chosen by the author, it corresponds to the Acts of Union in 1800, in which the Parliament of Great Britain and the Parliament of Ireland resolved to unite the Kingdom of Great Britain and the Kingdom of Ireland and create the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland (Scotland having been united with England in 1707); the acts came into force on January 1^st 1801 with the merged Parliament of the United Kingdom sitting for the first time on January 22^nd, 1801. It ends with the landslide Parliamentary victory of the Liberal Party in 1906 in which the Conservatives under Arthur Balfour lost more than half their seats (including Balfour’s own, in Manchester East), leaving the Conservatives with its fewest recorded seats ever in history. Ouch. Talk about a political spanking.

As to Cannadine’s opinion of this most-important of eras, it can be best encapsulated in his quoting Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. In his telling, Britain was able to establish and maintain its status as a global power because of its leading role in the Industrial Revolution and her Royal Navy, the largest in the world at the time. However, severe internal problems and social conflicts rocked the nation, as well, leading to the Reform Act of 1832, the Chartist movement and the Reform Act of 1867, to name but three. With Queen Victoria’s ascension to the throne in 1837 a new era bearing her name opened for Britain in which active enthusiasm and the drive for a globe-spanning empire became the driving task of both the right-wing Conservative and left-wing Liberal Parties.

The Great Exhibition in 1851 is justly seen as a milestone in British cultural and imperial history, but none of the important wars, exploratory expeditions or cultural achievements are short-changed. The statesmen of the victorious century are also examined, especially William Pitt, Robert Peel, Viscount Palmerston, William Gladstone, Benjamin Disraeli and more, besides. The book analyzes Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee as a fitting tribute to the Queen’s reign that saw her nation become the largest empire in history and claim dominion over 412 million people (23% of the world population at the time) and cover 13,700,000 square miles (24% of the Earth’s total land area). By the time Cannadine concludes his history, the might of Britain looked permanent and unshakeable to all the world, the Brits especially.

That it would be rocked by the first European Ragnarök of 1914-18 and still sputter on through the second of 1939-45 is a testament to its strength and stability…alas, its end seems almost inevitable by today’s lights, as all of the diverse peoples around the globe at last found their footing and decided that they would much prefer their native bad government than foreign good government, thank you very much. That the British Empire ended as all empires end is not a testament to failure but rather a statement of honor, for so many of its former holdings have established and maintained the Westminster form of Parliamentary democracy that the Mother Country bestowed upon them. As Victorious Century shows, when the balance sheet is drawn up, Britain’s positive ledger is greater than its negative. 

“Primary Colors: A Novel of Politics”, by Anonymous (Joe Klein)

 

366 pages, Random House, ISBN-13: 978-0679448594

Primary Colors: A Novel of Politics was ostensibly written by “Anonymous” – who turned out to be Joe Klein in one of the worst-kept secrets ever in the history of secrets. It is a roman à clef (how’s THAT for a 5¢ phrase) about Bill Clinton’s first presidential campaign in 1992 and, as such, is full of fictional stand-ins for real-life people:

• Jack Stanton is Bill Clinton
• Susan Stanton is Hillary Clinton
• Henry Burton is George Stephanopoulos
• Richard Jemmons is James Carville
• Daisy Green is Mandy Grunwald & Dee Myers
• Howard Ferguson, III is Harold Ickes, Jr.
• Orlando Ozio is Mario Cuomo
• Jimmy Ozio is Andrew Cuomo
• Charlie Martin is Bob Kerrey
• Lawrence Harris is Paul Tsongas
• Bart Nilson is Tom Harkin
• Freddy Picker is a combo of Jerry Brown, Reubin Askew, Harold Hughes & Ross Perot
• Richmond Rucker is David Dinkins
• Luther Charles is Jesse Jackson
• Cashmere McLeod is Gennifer Flowers
• Lucille Kauffman is Susan Thomases
• Libby Holden is Betsey Wright & Vince Foster

Don’t fret none if you don’t recognize all of those names as they have since left the public eye after being so damn important and powerful in the 90s. The book begins as an idealistic former congressional worker, Henry Burton, joins the presidential campaign of southern governor Jack Stanton, before following the Democratic primary election calendar, beginning in New Hampshire, where Stanton’s affair with his wife’s hairdresser, Cashmere McLeod, and his participation in a Vietnam War era protest come to light and threaten to derail his presidential prospects.

In Florida, Stanton revives his campaign by disingenuously portraying his Democratic opponent as insufficiently pro-Israel and as a weak supporter of Social Security. Burton becomes increasingly disillusioned with Stanton, who is a policy wonk who talks too long, eats too much and is overly flirtatious toward women. Stanton is also revealed to be insincere in his beliefs, saying whatever will help him to win. Matters finally come to a head, and Burton is forced to choose between idealism and realism.

One wonders as to Joe Klein’s motivation in writing this book. Was it a friendly critique of a president he admired? Or wanted to admire? A hit piece on a president he despised? Or at least should have been better? There can be no doubt that he comes at his subject, Jack Stanton (Bill Clinton) from a realistic, though sympathetic, angle, showing the man for who and what he is, warts and all. Just like his real-world stand-in, Jack Stanton is a born politician with a gift for gab and a will to power. But politics is the Art of the Possible and, inevitably, that means compromise.

Although the book shows that Stanton has compromised so much that he has forgotten where he started, his core impulse is to help people through an ever-expanding government (well, he is a Democrat, after all). The real Bill Clinton is a far less noble creature than the fake Jack Stanton, for Clinton wanted power above all else and to be loved by the multitude; in most ways the character of Jack Stanton in Primary Colors more attractive than the Bill Clinton in real life, which should come as no surprise; he is, after all, fictitious.

But getting back to Klein’s motivation for writing Primary Colors in the first place: I think he was trying to will the Clinton he knew and covered into becoming the Jack Stanton he invented; a flawed and, in some ways, despicable character who still, underneath it all, had a Heart of Gold and an honest desire to help The People through an ever-expanding government. At one point in the book, when his campaign is in deep trouble, Stanton speaks at a unionized shipyard; with little to lose, he reaches out to his audience:

Well, I’m here now, and I’m lookin’ at you, and you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what you wanted to hear in any case, right? So let me tell you this: No politician can bring these shipyard jobs back. Or make your union strong again. No politician can make it be the way it used to be. Because we’re living in a new world now, a world without borders – economically, that is. Guy can push a button in New York and move a billion dollars to Tokyo before you blink an eye. We’ve got a world market now. And that’s good for some. In the end, you’ve gotta believe it’s good for America. We come from everywhere in the world, so we’re gonna have a leg up selling to everywhere in the world. Makes sense, right? But muscle jobs are gonna go where muscle labor is cheap – and that’s not here. So if you want to compete and do better, you’re gonna have to exercise a different set of muscles, the ones between your ears. And anyone who gets up here and says he can do it for you isn’t leveling with you. So I’m not gonna insult you by doing that. I’m going to tell you this: This whole country is gonna have to go back to school. We’re gonna have to get smarter, learn new skills. And I will work overtime figuring out ways to help you get the skills you need. I’ll make you this deal: I will work for you. I’ll wake up every morning thinking about you. I’ll fight and worry and sweat and bleed to get the money to make education a lifetime thing in this country, to give you the support you need to move on up.

Officially, that’s Jack Stanton talking, but really, it’s Joe Klein – and it’s what he wanted Bill Clinton to say and how he wanted Bill Clinton to say it. And how many other members of the Drive-by Media could say the same? After writing a realistic though ultimately sympathetic portrayal of a president he was supposed to report on in a non-partisan fashion, could anything Klein said about Clinton be taken at face-value? Of course not. And it can only make one wonder how much “reporting” the MSM does is, in fact, fiction.

“Jacobson’s, I Miss It So!: The Story of a Michigan Fashion Institution”, by Bruce Allen Kopytek

 

208 pages, The History Press, ISBN-13: 978-1609493240

If you happen to be from Detroit or, at least, Southeast Michigan, then the name “Jacobson’s” has a special resonance for you that no other luxury retailer has. My family and I would drive out to Grosse Pointe on special occasions to look round the place and, sometimes, even to buy something; one of my earliest memories was standing tip-toe to peer into the glass-and-wood cabinets at all of those wonderful Dinky diecast miniatures from far-away England that were the ultimate in collectable toys. When it went belly-up in 2002 it seemed as if something special had died, never to return or be replaced. And so it hasn’t.

So, when I saw Jacobson’s, I Miss It So!: The Story of a Michigan Fashion Institution by Bruce Allen Kopytek at my local library I checked it out to read up on this lost pillar of Michiganian lore. One of the first, shocking things I discovered was that Jacobson’s was not a Grosse Pointe exclusive retailer but was, in fact, one of a number of stores located throughout Michigan and Florida, along with stores located in other Midwestern States; the second, shocking thing I discovered was that the Grosse Pointe store wasn’t even the first location, that Jacobson’s got its start in Jackson, Michigan, home to one of the world’s largest prisons.

What Kopytek has managed in his book is to tell a concise but not-very-challenging history of this vanished retail pillar. He records its founding in Jackson, its acquisition by Nathan Rosenfeld and then follows with chapter after chapter of each and every store as it is founded and prospers. Not very heady stuff, and one would think that Jacobson’s was destined to succeed as each store is opened and operated under the benevolent guidance of Nathan and his Nathanisms (if I didn’t know better, I would have thought that the Grand Old Man was a relative of Kopytek’s, seeing as he is described as almost a secular saint).

Then again, Jacobson’s, I Miss It So! is not some kind of exposé, but rather a nostalgic look back at a store and an institution that many people still have fond memories of – yours truly, included. I’m sure the truth of Jacobson’s is not nearly so rose-colored and that it operated as many a retail operation has, both then and now. What we have instead is short chapter after short chapter of store after store, with some closing chapters in which the whole operation goes belly-up, seemingly overnight. Again, not an in-depth study, but rather an amusing and unchallenging look back at recent retail history and a much-beloved store that has shuffled off this mortal coil.

“The Great Gatsby”, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

208 pages, Arcturus, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-1839407581

Golly, what a swell book. No, really. I feel that, when one reviews a masterpiece of literature like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, they must give it a glowing review and praise it to the hilt, if only not to look like an utter philistine in the eyes of…everyone. But no, this is legit; I really liked this book and understand why it is an American literary classic. While a mere 208 pages and measuring a meagre 6.5” x 4.25”, Fitzgerald tells as complete a tale of extraordinary wealth, missed opportunities, crushing regret and melancholy remembrance as anyone could. While Gatsby has been on my radar for years, I only just now got around to reading it after having seen Baz Luhrmann’s lavish interpretation (a brilliant interpretation, I might add, having now become familiar with the source material; way to go, Baz).

The Great Gatsby is set on Long Island during the Jazz Age and is narrated in the first-person by Nick Carraway as he details his interactions with the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby and his obsession to reunite with his lost love, Daisy Fay Buchanan. The backstory, I find, is just as interesting as the novel, based as it is on Fitzgerald’s youthful romance with socialite Ginevra King and the riotous parties he attended on Long Island’s North Shore in 1922 (when the novel is set). Following a move to the French Riviera, Fitzgerald completed a rough draft in 1924 and submitted it to editor Maxwell Perkins, who persuaded Fitzgerald to revise the work; after said revisions, Fitzgerald was at last satisfied (but remained ambivalent about the title); interestingly, Francis Cugat’s cover art greatly impressed Fitzgerald and he incorporated aspects of it into the novel.

In the century since its publication, The Great Gatsby has been subject to all sorts of interpretations as to its Profound Message and Hidden Meanings – Antisemitism, Battle of the Sexes, Class Differences, Identity, Race (of course), Sexuality (again, of course), Technology and so on – most of which I believe are caca…except for the most obvious one, the one that Fitzgerald intended: disillusionment with the American Dream during the Jazz Age (a term Fitzgerald claimed to have coined). In a nutshell, the American Dream states that every individual, regardless of their origins, may seek and achieve their desired goals in the Land of Opportunity. Under Fitzgerald’s pen, however, there is precious little optimism that this will, in fact, happen, not only for Gatsby, Nick and others in their circle, but for those down the economic scale, especially the Wilsons.

Fitzgerald posits that the “hero” of his tale, Jay Gatsby – or rather, James Gatz – is in fact a false prophet of the American Dream, showing through his life that those who pursue it often fail and, as a result, live lives of dissatisfaction due to its ultimate unattainability. This is illustrated in The Great Gatsby by the green light on the Buchanan’s dock, visible in East Egg from Gatsby’s house in the less-fashionable West Egg, serving as it does as Gatsby’s unrealizable goal to win Daisy who is, to our protagonist, the living embodiment of the American Dream. This is also relevant in that Gatsby is, in fact, not the successful businessman he poses as: while he worked hard and honestly under Dan Cody, he lost his rightful inheritance to Cody’s ex-wife, forcing Gatsby to become a bootlegger and earn his wealth through nefarious means.

The Great Gatsby takes place in 1922, with the Great War won and disillusionment over the same firmly in place in America and elsewhere, what with the awesome decadence and vast wealth, shown through the lavish parties Gatsby throws week after week. In addition to the very rich – Gatsby, Tom and Daisy Buchanan and even Jordan Baker – we meet the very poor in the form of George and Myrtle Wilson (who is also Tom Buchanan’s mistress). We learn that Gatsby courted Daisy before the war but couldn’t win her dues to his pennilessness, that she married Tom while Gatsby was still in Oxford but that, through his unceasing efforts, rekindles their affair and tries mightily to win back his lady love – to achieve the American Dream through hard work and dedication, as it were, like we’re all supposed to.

But all for naught: while Daisy is tempted to leave her husband for the man she once loved, she never does; Tom Buchanan’s powers of persuasion keep his wife firmly by his side, and Gatsby can only sputter at his failure after having come so close – that damn green light was almost in his hands at last. And then, everything really falls apart: Myrtle Wilson is killed when, after Gatsby and Daisy leave the Plaza hotel together, Daisy runs her husband’s mistress down and leaves the scene, although all and sundry believe that Gatsby is responsible for the deadly hit-and-run (they were, after all, driving his car). Gatsby is ultimately murdered by George Wilson and is buried, mostly unmourned and unremembered by the legions who attended his parties and never asked who gave them or why he bothered.

And that’s it. In a mere 208 pages F. Scott Fitzgerald skewers the era he lived in and punctures the myths that Americans told about themselves. I, as you can well imagine, find his disdain for the American Dream to be just a little overwrought, seeing as his sight was fixed firmly on the upper classes and the grasping throngs who sought to catch their coattails. This is, after all, a big country filled with millions who do not see success as what you own or who you strive to be, but on other small-scale victories, like living your life without hurting anyone, or building a modest fortune that ensures the survival of those you love rather to impress total strangers with all the stuff you own. But all of this was not what Fitzgerald was focused on; his was a critique of the Great and the Good of the upper classes who were not so great or good.

But there can be no doubt that Fitzgerald painted a portrait of his time that resonates across the ages, which is rather tragic considering that, when he died in 1940, he believed himself to be a failure and his work forgotten. Good God, what a failure.