“Jane Austen at Home: A Biography”, by Lucy Worsley

 

400 pages, St. Martin’s Griffin, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-1250799968

Jane Austen at Home: A Biography by Lucy Worsley (i.e., The Queen of PBS) is as complete a biography of the Divine Jane as one could wish for. In her opening statement Lucy describes her purpose in focusing her biography of Jane on her many abodes, for “where you were born and who you were born to for most 18^th Century people delimited where you ended up”. Geography counts, folks. And from there we have a history of Jane’s life told through the medium of her never-ending quest for a permanent home of her very own. And there were many homes, make no mistake: often inadequate, never permanent and sometimes grim, all Jane ever wanted for herself, her mother and her constant companion, elder sister Cassandra (her brothers could always, and did, take care of themselves) was a safe haven in which she could live in at least a little comfort, afford a good lamp and writing materials and spread her creative wings.

And so, throughout Jane Austen at Home, we are treated to one detail after another of the many homes the Austen women occupied, their furnishings, gardens and neighborhoods, and even some of the more memorable neighbors and relations whom Jane knew. Through it all, we see how this constant changing of address affected Jane’s novels; their subject matter, their focus, their drive. Lucy describes all of the ups and downs of Jane’s life, the family celebrations and disasters, the turns of fortunes both good and ill and, perhaps most revealingly, the everyday aspects of men and women that Jane so realistically observed and captured in her novels. And of course, seeing as this is a book written by Lucy Worsley, it is shamelessly ebullient and often breathless (I guess we shouldn’t be surprised; after all, she warns us in the forward that “[t]his is, unashamedly, the story of my Jane, every word of it written with love”).

Lucy is also given to some speculative writing – there are a great many “she must have” and “I believe that” and “it is possible” peppered throughout the book – which is understandable, seeing as so much of Jane’s insightful (and acerbic) correspondence was burned by her devoted, discreet, overbearing (envious?) older sister, Cassandra, after her death (Lucy’s theory as to why Cassandra did this was to protect the rest of the Austen clan from Jane’s lashing tongue; the woman said what she thought, make no mistake). But Lucy’s speculation centers, above all, on Jane’s motives and emotions; while she was, throughout the whole of her too-brief life, wonderfully free and sharp in her opinions and observations in the letters that remain, she never said much about her feelings, except when shielded under cover of irony (many of her observations about potential mates falls under this category, the sincere wishes of Austenites to the contrary).

What about these potential mates, anyway? Did Jane really have to end life a spinster? Lucy argues that Jane chose spinsterhood to preserve her freedom as she simultaneously locates no fewer than nine – NINE! – potential husbands for Jane: Tom Lefroy (of course), Samuel Backall, William Digweed, Edward Bridges (this was the most serious after Lefroy), Harris Bigg-Wither, an unnamed seaside wooer, William Seymour (her brother Henry’s partner), William Gifford and Charles-Thomas Haden (this is one spinster who saw a whole lotta action). What to say about this? As usual, let’s turn to Jane: she wrote of her most self-effacing heroine, Anne Elliot, that “[s]he had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older – the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning”; Cassandra, reading the manuscript, underlined this passage and added: “Dear, dear Jane…this deserves to be written in letters of gold”.

Should we feel bad that Jane never married? I, for one, still do, even though, as Lucy points out, “[i]f she had married, she would doubtless have produced human rather than paper progeny”. Perhaps. Depending upon whom she managed to corral, she may have been able to hire all the help an upper-middle class matron could afford to care for the living little darlings while she continued to produce her literary little darlings. But this is all speculation, and we must cherish that which Jane gave to us: six of the most perfect books ever to grace the English language. Meanwhile, I prefer to remember Jane as Lucy would have us: “What Mrs. Luff’s grandmother clearly remembered was their description of Jane Austen in the act of ‘running across the field to call on her friends’. Let our final image of Jane be one of speed and power, not lying immovable upon her unfamiliar bed in the cramped rented upper room in Winchester, but instead running, running across the field to see her friends once again”. A better ending to an Austen novel one could hardly imagine.

“Kaiser Wilhelm II: A Life in Power”, by Christopher Clark

 

‎ 300 pages, Penguin UK, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-0141039930

This is the third book by Christopher Clark that I have read: the first being Iron Kingdom: The Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600–1947 (reviewed on July 23^rd, 2014) and the other The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 (reviewed on January 7^th, 2023). And so when I saw that he had also written a biography about Kaiser Bill, I snatched it up. Kaiser Wilhelm II: A Life in Power is what you would expect from a book by Christopher Clark: well-documented, engaging and thorough – but the title should have told me that it was not what I thought it was going to be; namely, a biography of this most perplexing of modern(ish) rulers. This is because it is written from a political point of view with all the action going on in the Deutscher Reichstag, the fights occurring in the Bundesrat, relations between the Prussian political parties, the goings on between the German States and reforms (or lack thereof) over the course of the Kaiserreich.

Consequently, there is very little written about Friedrich Wilhelm Viktor Albert – Kaiser Bill to us Yanks – concerning his private life, or his family and backgrounds, which I find very disappointing. There were, however, two revelations that were most useful. The first was that, while Wilhelm loved playing the soldier (especially dressing up in all of those uniforms) he was lousy at actual soldiering. All of those virtues one expects from a soldier – Duty, Honor, Loyalty, Competence, Selflessness, Integrity, to name a few – were not for him. It was mostly just show, and he loved playing his part. The second was that he was not a Nazi. Not that there has ever been a serious claim that the Last Kaiser sported a swastika, but Clark makes it clear that Wilhelm’s early cheerleading of the victory of German arms – especially over the French – was due to patriotism and not to championing the Little Corporal and his thugs.

There are other personal revelations, as well: his never-ending conflicts with his Anglophile parents, his envy of Bismarck and all that he accomplished, his love/hate attitude towards England and, especially, his uncle, King Edward VII, his increasing lack of any authority as the First World War progressed; all are amongst the intriguing facts that Clark brings to front. But make no mistake: this is a biography of His Imperial and Royal Majesty Wilhelm II, By the Grace of God, German Emperor and King of Prussia, Margrave of Brandenburg, Burgrave of Nuremberg, Count of Hohenzollern, Duke of Silesia and of the County of Glatz…and so on and so forth. As for Willy (as he was called in the family) there is precious little, which is a damn shame, for I would truly have loved to learn more of the private man with the shrunken arm who, while reviled as a warmonger, always sought a peaceful resolution to conflict. THAT is a man worth reading about.

“Cursed”, written by Thomas Wheeler, illustrated by Frank Miller

 

‎416 pages, Simon & Schuster, ISBN-13: 978-1534425330

Now, I have nothing against a little Arthurian reimagining – just read my review of A.A. Attanasio’s series, published on April 18^th, 2022. But then you knew that. But this…this…dreck. This woke shitball. This PC garbage masquerading as Arthurian mythos. This trash with a capital ‘T’ that rhymes with ‘P’ that stands for ‘Piss’. I am talking of course of Cursed, written by Thomas Wheeler but illustrated by Frank Miller, the first of what is obviously meant to be a multipart epic that, if there is any justice on this Earth, will never come to pass. I admit it, I was seduced by the “Illustrated by Frank Miller” in the title as I still remember his groundbreaking work on The Dark Knight Returns back in the Glorious 80s – that, and the fact that it was $2.99 at Ollie’s.

But what is it that makes Cursed so cursed? Well, I’ll tell ya: first, it has almost nothing to do with the original Arthurian myths. Oh, some of the characters pop-up, but not as they were originally imagined by those myth-tellers ages ago. Arthur is there, but as a young sell-sword, not the Once and Future King-to-Be. Merlin is there, too, but as a Druid who has lost his magic. Lancelot also pops up as The Weeping Monk who is not all that he seems. Percival – I mean, “Squirrel” as he is called here – is but a boy from whom, I imagine, more will be heard from later. Even Guinevere makes an appearance at the very end…as a Viking warrior (a Viking named “Guinevere”. Yeah, right). Oh, and Excalibur is also on board – but isn’t called Excalibur.

But they don’t matter. The only character who does is Nimue (that’s “ni-moo” to you and me) who is, if you’re up on your Arthurian mythos, The Lady of the Lake. That’s right: that strange woman lying in a pond distributing swords in some farcical aquatic ceremony is the star of Cursed. Why? Because she’s a Strong Diverse Female Character, of course; after all, the myths of King Arthur Et al. are just brimming with Straight White Dudes, while most of the females to be found are of the feminine, retiring, Damsel-to-be-Saved-and-then-Had type, which we can’t have any more. To compare this trash with Attanasio’s aforementioned work is to contrast the former author’s respect for the source material with Wheeler’s contempt for the same.

The naming conventions (aside from those lifted from Arthurian lore) are jarringly inconsistent with regard to origin and bespeak a haphazard approach to research that carries throughout, and not a single character in Cursed bears the slightest resemblance to their namesake, to the point where it becomes cringe-worthy in the extreme to even claim a connection between the myths and this crap. This whole doesn’t feel original, but rather like a hodgepodge of stuff in which the male author is doing his damnedest to be Woke by making his protagonist female, not because the story is enhanced in doing so, but because he feels like that a female-led Arthurian retelling is necessary to Right the Wrongs of the sexist and Christian past.

And that’s where Wheeler differs again from Attanasio, for while the later included pagans and Norse Gods and a whole litany of other beings that would have been during the Time of Arthur, the Christians – who were just starting to rise and assert themselves in his telling – were treated with respect as one faction amongst many. Not Wheeler. To him, all Christian characters are evil, intent on wiping out the Fey (a more multicultural lot you couldn’t imagine) who are all Good and Kind and Peaceful and oh brother make it stop you bleeding heart piece of…okay, I’m back now. A more modern take – that is, craptacular – on the Arthurian Mythos than Cursed would be hard to imagine. Here’s to this dreck being a one and done, like the Netflix show it inspired.

“Bran Mak Morn: The Last King”, by Robert E. Howard, illustrated by Gary Gianni

 

 

376 pages, Del Rey, ISBN-13: 978-0345461544

 

In the early oughts, Del Rey began producing the complete works of Robert E. Howard; Bran Mak Morn: The Last King, illustrated by Gary Gianni, was the fourth volume to be published. This edition likewise has all of the tales ever published dealing with the doomed King of the Picts, along with a collection of sundry materials: the stories Men of the Shadows, Kings of the Night, Worms of the Earth, The Dark Man, The Lost Race, The Little People (along with a facsimile of the original typescript) and Children of the Night; the poems Chant of the White Beard, Rune, Song of the Pict, Song of the Race, The Drums of Pictdom and The Bell of Morni; Bran Mak Morn: A Play; a variety of untitled fragments and drafts; and appendices that cover the whole of Bran Mak Morn.

 

Along with Solomon Kane, I found Bran Mak Morn to be a fascinating character, again probably because of his semi-historical roots. As the last king of the dying Picts, an historical people that Howard embellishes, Bran does battle with the ever-hostile legions of Rome while simultaneously struggling to draw his people from out of the pagan pit of savagery. But all of his actions are tinged with melancholy, as King Bran knows that he is ultimately doomed to fail and the Picts will fall; but he battles on regardless, as Kings must carry on for the good of their people, no matter the consequences.

 

Why is it some characters succeed and others fail? I have no problem with Conan being so popular and transcending his niche, but Howard wrote so many interesting characters besides, like…well, Bran Mak Morn. Maybe the historical setting threw people off, or his aggrandizing history to add in occult elements – hell, may be people just didn’t like his poetry. Anyway, if only Howard had lived longer he may today be seen as the American answer to Tolkien – or, to be strictly accurate, Tolkien would be seen as England’s answer to Howard (ah, how different things might have been if only Robert E. wasn’t such a mama’s boy).

 

What this collection of tales shows also is Howard’s versatility, as the character of Bran Mak Morn is every bit as alive and fascinating as the Cimmerian and the Puritan without being like them. Our stubborn and forlorn king cannot just yield to fate but struggles on, going so far as delving into the underworld to seek the aid of long-dead kings as he tries to maintain the First Race. Of course, his failure is complete as the Picts are destroyed, although Howard’s tales are maddeningly incomplete; however, as they stand, the unfinished chronicles of our doomed King serve as a rather poignant and proper ending to these tales.

 

In the last dozen years of his sadly truncated life, Howard created a whole universe of pulpy goodness. If you’ve read all the Conans and the Kulls and the Solomon Kanes, you still have these jewels of fast-paced blood-drenched bosom-heaving skull-cleaving story-telling to look forward to. These are among my favorites in Howard-world: he’s hip-deep in the kind of lost-race mythology that he loves, and the stories here of Bran Mak Morn really sing. Nobody did it better, for even when Howard uses a cliché he makes it his cliché, and you instantly forgive him for it. He took such joy in creating these fantasies of wish-fulfillment that you’re swept heedlessly along and find yourself wanting more.

“The Kings and Queens of England: A Tourist Guide”, by Jane Murray

 

 

Charles Scribner’s Sons, 308 pages, ISBN-13: 978-0684138893

Why would I buy a book like Jane Murray’s The Kings and Queens of England: A Tourist Guide? I mean, it’s as old as I am almost (published in 1973) and really can’t add anything that other, more recent books I have read on the subject. Partly it was the title, and I was expecting there to be several terrestrial locations explored and described in connection with the kings and queens in question – say, William the Conqueror’s landing place, or a tour of Bosworth Field…something like that – but no, what Murray has written are a series of thumbnail sketches of all of the monarchs of this sceptred isle in reverse chronological order, for as the author says in the introduction, when you talk about your ancestors you always start from your parents and work your way back (oh, and the price: $3.25 from 2^nd & Charles).

Although typically skimpy in political and social contexts (each ruler only gets three or four pages each, give or take), The Kings and Queens is a pleasant read, particularly for one who loses track of which Henry is which or can’t remember who built this castle or that one. Each chapter begins with a statement of how each ruler copped the crown, either by divine right or unholy wrong (each option is equally viable). Some purists will not like some of Murray’s snap estimates – is Elizabeth I really “more celebrated for being the Virgin Queen than for any other of her achievements”? – but the author is not offering a scholarly dissection of these men and women, rather a grand procession to keep the tourist marginally informed and entertained while on that slow boat down the Thames to the Tower.

“The Cartiers: The Untold Story of the Family Behind the Jewelry Empire”, by Francesca Cartier Brickell

 

‎ 656 pages, Ballantine Books, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-0525621638

The Cartiers: The Untold Story of the Family Behind the Jewelry Empire by Francesca Cartier Brickell (the great-great-great granddaughter of Louis-François Cartier, the company’s founder) breaks down the history of this French institution point by point and describes how the House of Cartier became the well-known, high-end, globe-spanning name that it is today. From pearls to giant engagement diamonds to watches to all the rest, this book spans the Cartier catalog and the history behind the pieces.

Now, while I am the first to admit that The Cartiers is well-written and gives a thorough description of the Cartiers’ jewelry business succession, it must also be said that it’s just too damn easy to get distracted by other things (including other books; especially other books) when reading it. And I’m not sure why that is, either, ‘cause it’s not like Brickell has padded the book with trivial information or too many details. I think it’s because there were far too many moments in which she didn’t do history justice.

Throughout the book, Brickell wastes not a single opportunity to praise the Cartiers (none too surprising as she is a member in good standing of the extended clan). This relentless cheerleading results in an off-kilter history in which many of the problems regarding some of the family’s actions are downplayed or explained away, such as – hmmmmm, lemme see now – sending women to psychiatric sanatoriums for menopause, or the exploitation of diamond discoveries in Africa, and other events in history that were quite problematic (hate that word).

As usual, it’s not all bad; I especially love the descriptions of the people and society of interwar Europe, one of my favorite eras in history. As a wannabe historian, reading about past lives and lost cultures (even rather decadent ones) is always a thrill. And, having at one time sold several Cartier timepieces in one of my past lives, reading the history of the inspiration and development of these gorgeous devices was interesting in themselves and made me wish I had these little tidbits of knowledge back then to boost my presentation (if I had I may very well still be selling them).

Francesca Cartier Brickell gives the attentive, patient reader a thorough overview of the foundation, expansion and loss of family control of the Cartier Empire from its founding in 1847 to its incorporation in 1974. The Cartier’s corporate tagline “never copy, only create” comes out clearly in the firm’s relentless drive for beauty, timeliness and high craftsmanship, with the premium of Cartier’s creations appealing to their buyer’s psyche. Furthermore, Brickell offers insights into the motivations of the purchasers and sellers of Cartier’s product offerings over time.

However, as noted above, all is not well. I understand that The Cartiers is meant to focus on the Cartiers’ business and the personalities that built the company, but I suppose I was just a little flummoxed by contrasting one woman who was deemed insane by her husband juxtaposed to the long description about royal women praised for the amount of diamonds they could wear at once. I guess the world of haute couture is just not for me.

“Black Diamonds: The Downfall of an Aristocratic Dynasty and the Fifty Years That Changed England”, by Catherine Bailey

 

Penguin Books, 576 pages, ISBN-13: 978-0143126843

Who knew that the proper English world could resemble an episode of Jerry Springer? In Black Diamonds: The Downfall of an Aristocratic Dynasty and the Fifty Years That Changed England, Catherine Bailey describes how the 7^th Earl Fitzwilliam, William Charles de Meuron Wentworth-Fitzwilliam (or “Billy” to his friends) may or may not have been the natural son of William Wentworth-Fitzwilliam, Viscount Milton MP, and his wife, Laura Maria Theresa Beauclerk, the granddaughter of William Beauclerk, 8^th Duke of St Albans. You see, the “de Meuron” part of his name refers to Pointe de Meuron in deepest darkest Canada where he was born – or traded like a later day changeling; that is, an unrelated baby was inserted into the family line in order to purge the bloodline of the epilepsy from which his ostensible forebears had suffered and to provide that arm of the family a male heir to inherit the earldom.

The mystery surrounding Billy’s birth would come to head when he inherited the Fitzwilliam fortune upon the death of his grandfather (his own father predeceasing him), and, brother, what a fortune it was. You see, the Fitzwilliam wealth was not, like that of so many aristocrats, based on land (although they weren’t short of that, either), but on coal – the “black diamonds” of the title – worth some £3.3 billion today (or over $4.5 billion in real money). With that amount of wealth on the line, several of Billy’s relations sought to strip him of it all by the accusation that he was not, in fact, a Fitzwilliam. But this is only a part of the story in Black Diamonds, for in examining “the Fifty Years That Changed England” Bailey shows how class differences and the effect of two wars, union strikes and the final blow of the postwar Labour government brought down much of the aristocracy and their vast fortunes.

While the Fitzwilliams were generally considered beneficent landlords and employers (especially compared to others in their class who can best be described as Total Bastards), the life of a coal miner in early 20^th Century Britain was hell on earth (the life of a coal miner in late 20^th Century Britain, on the other hand, was quite different; it’s easy to forget in our modern age that Unions once had a point). And although the Fitzwilliams are always at the center of the story, Black Diamonds necessarily detours into the worlds of the coal miners, British Parliament and even the friggin’ Kennedys, if you can imagine. Black Diamonds is full of fascinating, real-life stories of the spectacular lives led by England’s aristocrats, and Bailey has provided a page-turning chronicle of the Fitzwilliam coal-mining dynasty and their breathtaking Wentworth estate (the largest private home in England) and the downfall of a way of life.