“The Emperor’s Last Island: A Journey to St. Helena”, by Julia Blackburn

 

277 pages, Pantheon, ISBN-13: 978-0679411505

Why the hell has it taken me this long to review The Emperor’s Last Island: A Journey to St. Helena by Julia Blackburn? I bought this book when I was a kid and was well into my Napoleon kick, so I’ve owned it…oh, going on four decades now. But I’m just now getting ‘round to it after having checked that it’s nowhere to be found on this blog. Hmmmmm…so, anyway…In short, Blackburn’s book is a history-cum-travelogue about Napoleon’s life on this remote rock in the Atlantic and her own journey to the same to check it out. Overall it is just as The Times of London described it: “a magically idiosyncratic collage of history, biography and travel writing” – and, thus, not all that easy to quantify (although I kinda did).

Blackburn begins with a fascinating natural history overview of St. Helena and the impact of human settlement on the same, but the bulk of the book is given over to her reflections about Napoleon’s sad years in exile. Overall, a foreboding sadness fills the accounts of these empty years, like a heavy fog landing atop a shuffling transient. One can only feel for this once Great Man, ruler of most of Europe, left to rot – emotionally, psychologically and physically – on a tiny corner of an inhospitable island while being watched constantly by British soldiers and their bitter commander. He is left in the end with nothing but his memories and a few imperial trinkets to play with, and Imperial Court Etiquette to insist upon.

Blackburn makes clear that this isn’t a proper history or biography, and there are several factual errors sprinkled throughout (Cardinal Fesch was Napoleon’s uncle, NOT his brother-in-law, is but one example). But it is her portrayal of Napoleon – Boney, The Corsican Fiend, The Ogre – as a fat, pale, short, middle-aged man condemned to live out his life in loneliness, boredom, absurdity and despair – and, in the end, in great physical pain – that makes for compelling reading and humanizes one of history’s most famous (notorious) marble men. Blackburn also weaves personal childhood and travel anecdotes into her story, lending it all a further poignancy and immediacy that stays with you and proves the Romans had it right: Sic transit gloria mundi.

“Dracula”, by Bram Stoker

 

200 pages, Penguin Classics, ISBN-13: 978-0140434064

Whenever I write one of these here reviews I try to get the exact edition of the book I read but, for the life of me, I don’t know which version of Dracula by Bram Stoker that was, so this edition by Penguin Classics will do. Well, then…what can one say about one of the most famous works of Western Literature ever written? First things first: Dracula was first published in 1897 as an epistolary novel, meaning that the tale is told through letters, diary entries and newspaper articles. The main protagonist is English solicitor Jonathan Harker, who takes a business trip to stay at the castle of a Transylvanian noble, Count Dracula, and make certain property transactions all across London at the nobleman’s behest. Hilarity ensues.

It was good to revisit a proper vampire – y’know, undead, fangs, blood-sucking, general disregard for human life – rather than these faggy emo pretty boys who spend their unlives bitching. Dracula is THE vampire Mac-Daddy who does as he likes and your life be damned. A proper goddam vampire with a Master Plan and the will to implement it. A life taker feeding on the blood of the living to perpetuate his own existence. Evil. E-V-I-L. Dead and loving it. “Living” for himself and not giving a damn about the world or others in it, except as food. A real nogoodnik. Bad with a capital “B”. A devil incarnate who makes no bones about his need and desire to dominate and oppress. And feed; this vampire drinks the blood of the living – and likes it.

So, yeah, there’s all that. Vampire and other tales of the supernatural are a dime a dozen anymore, amiright? But Dracula helped to start it all and probably sparked the imaginations of many wannabe writers, too. While gothic tales had been all the rage in the first half of the 19^th Century – forbidden castles, mysterious strangers, stormy nights, shrouded pasts, family secrets, etc. – they all dealt with villains and monsters that were all too human. But Dracula – and, it must be said, its precursors like Varney the Vampire from the 1840s or Carmilla from 1872 – was something new in which the antagonist was an inhuman thing that could not be vanquished merely by strong Englishmen and true armed with a writ from the Bench of High Court.

As to why it gripped the Victorian imagination, perhaps it was because Dracula – and vampires – represented the superstitions of the Old World as opposed to the scientific rationalism of the Modern, represented by the vampire hunters and their wares. Furthermore, seeing as how Dracula – this bloody foreigner – is also buying up properties all around London, perhaps he also was seen by Victorians as one of the unwashed masses descending on their capitol as a dark symbol of untrammeled immigration, feared especially as leading to ever-increasing levels of crime in the city and the rise of blighted, ethnic ghetto communities (remember, Jack the Ripper’s exploits ended a mere decade before Dracula was published).

There is, of course, the blood, with vampirism and tainted blood suggesting the fear of sexually transmitted diseases, or the physical and moral decay that was believed by many commentators to be afflicting society of the time. Such fears are not to be lightly dismissed, as the spread of maladies was still misunderstood by many. It was only in 1854 when John Snow at last proved that cholera was spread through contaminated water, while Mary Mallon – known to you and me as Typhoid Mary – spread that disease by her mere presence in the early 20^th Century. That a creature could do its worse by feeding on the blood of the living and spreading its curse in the same manner is hardly shocking in this context.

And then there’s sex, with the vampire used as a sexual allegory in which English female virtue is menaced by foreign predators. Dracula’s attentions are, at first, focused on the beautiful Lucy Westenra, the dangerously modern young woman who succumbs to the Count and his foreign, mysterious ways, while Mina, Jonathan Harker’s fiancé, is a quite different woman, symbolized especially by her selfless – and symbolic – nursing of her intended in a convent…on what was supposed to be their honeymoon, no less. It is because she is traditional and virtuous that Mina is able to resist the contemptable continental’s advances, while the much more free-spirited Lucy is quite powerless without a traditional moral grounding.

The writing style, meanwhile, is…okay, not to say curious. When the characters make diary entries almost unto their moment of death, or record supernatural predations before they nod off, or write in accented English (as Van Helsing does), it all adds a whiff of disbelief to a work already asking said disbelief to be suspended (it puts me in mind of found-footage films in which people continue to record everything even as the world is crashing down around them). Would one really take the time to record everything they see, even if they are on the trail of an inhuman monster and time is of the essence? Somehow, I don’t think so. But it is what it is, so just power through like I did and crack on (oh, and Dracula’s death at the end was pathetic, especially for such a powerful creature).

There’s a reason certain books, music, plays, movies and what have you endure: because they speak to something immortal in us; they touch a deep truth that we all recognize; they stir something within that drives us forward; or, they’re just ripping good yarns that entertain as they distract. And so that’s what Dracula does. Like all good fiction, it is escapism, even if dark and brooding escapism.

“Kane of Old Mars”, by Michael Moorcock

 

 

450 pages, White Wolf Publishing, ISBN-13: 978-1565041844

 

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. Kane of Old Mars was the ninth in this series featuring the character Michael Kane, and includes the tales City of the Beast, Lord of the Spiders and Masters of the Pit. The Kane of these tales is a man from Earth, circa 1965, who is accidentally transported to a pre-historic, post-apocalyptic Mars during an experiment in teleportation; a Mars in which the original Martian races have all been wiped out. What’s left of their civilization, however, remains, especially their technology, and Kane ends up founding the Kane Dynasty. These stories take place millions of years later, in which Kane is remembered by the current races of Mars, the Hither People, as a man from their shrouded past. This is some vast mythos that Moorcock has created for this latest iteration of his Eternal Champion.

 

All of the books are unapologetic homages to the John Carter tales of Edgar Rice Burroughs, and so we find in the first book, City of the Beast, originally published in 1965 as Warriors of Mars under the nom-de-plume Edward Powys Bradbury, to whom Michael Kane supposedly told his tale. It is a story with everything that Burroughs could have wanted: battles galore, devious traps, daring escapes, an underground city, a dark pit with a wicked creature within, chases hither and yon the Red Planet and a Martian Princess, to boot…its all the pulpiest pulp a pulp fiction fan could ever want. And as with all pulp fiction, Moorcock wastes precious little time on deep plots or character development – it’s all about the action and the world building. Moorcock was well suited for just this sort of work, seeing as his admiration for the Sci-Fi stories of his youth was the driving inspiration for his own Earthling-cum-Martian protagonist. And as for productivity, there are few who can top Moorcock; the entire trilogy, according to the author, was written in no more than a week. This means, however, that the book suffers in the Scientific Credibility department, along with the other aforementioned problems from above…but that’s not the damn point: Moorcock’s Mars is the Old West of Outer Space, with action set in an alien world that the author can – and does – do with as he pleases in terms of technology and whatnot. Brain Candy at its finest.

 

The second book, Lord of the Spiders (originally published in 1965 as Blades of Mars by the fictional Edward Powys Bradbury), picks up where City of the Beast left off, which should come as no surprise seeing as how Moorcock churned all three books out one after another. Edward Powys Bradbury, the “writer” of these books, supplies him with the finances to construct another matter transmitter which transports Kane back to Mars…but not the Mars that he battled for; instead, Kane is confronted with man-sized spiders, ancient mutated races and a brutal civil war between the planet’s familiar Blue Giants. Can it be that he’s arrived thousands of years too late to find his beloved Shizala? There is precious little difference between the first two books of the Michael Kane trilogy as we once again plunge into an action-packed pulpfest of fantastic Sci-Fi (fantastic as in unrealistic but fun as hell). Whereas in the first book Kane was taken to Mars quite against his will, in the second he returns voluntarily, only to find everything is a mess and that he may not even be in the same time as whence he was – and there’s precious little more to distinguish Spiders from Beast (or Warriors from Blades, if you prefer). But again, that’s the point: these books are not deep meditations on philosophy or humanity or technology or whatever; they are classic yarns meant to entertain and to distract, so take it for what it is and enjoy yourself.

 

Last we come to Masters of the Pit (originally published in 1965 as Barbarians of Mars by dear old Bradbury again), which finds a comfortable Michael Kane having gown into his new role as a prince of ancient Mars…until a new peril threatens his adopted planet, and so we find Kane and his blue giant companion, Hool Haji, traveling to the far reaches of the Red Planet in order to halt the hideous Green Death. This unstoppable disease, spread by zealots who are more machines than men, rots the mind as well as the body; in order to find a cure, our heroes must cross oceans, battle hideous mutants, fight savage barbarians and, perhaps, even sacrifice his adopted kingdom. From gorgeous Karnala, City of Green Mists, to the empty streets of tainted Cend-Amrid to the forgotten weird-science laboratories of the lost, highly advanced Yaksha culture, Masters of the Pit promises stunning locales, disgusting Martian creatures and relentless action. Well, then, what else can I say that I didn’t say about the other two books in this volume? Lots of action, outrageous locales, impossible technology…and a whole lotta fun. Escapist fiction at its finest, written years before we knew anything concrete about the Red Planet and before any woke bullshit intruded into every nook and cranny of our lives.

“Kings & Queens: A Chronicle of History’s Most Interesting Monarchies”, by Brenda Ralph Lewis

 

Amber Books, ISBN-13: 978-1782744788

Our minds, like our bodies, must be nourished with healthy fare if they are to flourish and grow throughout lives – but c’mon, it can’t be healthy stuff all the time, right? Sometimes you just gotta scarf down some junk food, for mind and body alike – which brings me to Kings & Queens: A Chronicle of History’s Most Interesting Monarchies by Brenda Ralph Lewis, which is brain candy of the first order. As histories – or biographies – go, its okay; the book – $3 cheap at Barnes & Noble! – is packed with flashy photos and gorgeous reproductions of art, all interspersed with lurid tales of royal debauchery.

For anyone wanting to mentally bring down our Royal Betters this book will do the trick, as these blue-blooded ne’er-do-wells are shown to be all-too-human and a pack of over-sexed sluts, men included in that description (incidentally, Kings & Queens was published before as Dark History of the Kings and Queens of Europe and Dark History of the Kings and Queens of England, so check your shelves before getting this)

But it’s good that I paid a mere $3, ‘cause I wouldn’t use this work as any sort of source material for a book or paper, as it is filled with trashy gossip and rumor presented as lurid fact, which is unnecessary as the lives of these monarchs are more than enough to entertain the average person. And as for the writing quality…well, how about some examples:

“Physically, the infant Carlos was a monster, a hunchback with his right leg shorter than his left. He was mentally retarded and unable to speak until he was five years of age”.

“Babington went into hiding in St. John’s Wood, in north London. But Washington’s agents soon found him. Babington was taken to the Tower of London. The young man was scared witless”.

“Whatever the reason, Christina’s [of Sweden] sex remained ambiguous throughout her life and later led to claims that she was a hermaphrodite, part male/part female, a bisexual or a full-blown lesbian [this after the author devotes a great deal of time to regaling us with tales of her male lovers]”.

And many others, besides. But anyway, for $3 (cheap!) I liked reading about all of these useless gadabouts with too much money and free time roaming Europe and screwing everything on two legs. It knocked them down to Earth from off their gilded pedestals. But mostly I liked all of the pictures and paintings and stuff. So there’s that.

“Heart Berries: A Memoir”, by Terese Marie Mailhot

 

160 pages, Counterpoint, ISBN-13: 978-1619023345

Heart Berries: A Memoir is the debut book from the Canadian First Nation writer Terese Marie Mailhot and describes her troubled childhood, tumultuous motherhood and adult struggles with mental health and personal identity. Critics and readers have, as far as I can see, fallen all over themselves to praise this book to the stars as a raw, honest work of a Woman With Issues. And it’s true that Mailhot’s memoires give insight as to her innermost thoughts and struggles, things that are not to be belittled or taken lightly. This explains the book’s structure for, while officially divided into 11 chapters, the whole thing is really a kind of stream-of-consciousness strand in which the writer’s voice mimics the reality of her world of an indigenous woman as she struggles with mental issues and poor taste in men.

I’m not the only one to notice this, either, for Minnesota’s Star Tribune described Mailhot’s writing as “spooky and powerful…although many critics have described this book with stuttering superlatives, readers will differ on whether it’s poetic or incoherent, brilliant self-examination or wordy narcissism”. I think I fall into the later category, mostly due to her style, which are lots of short, jabbing sentences, like I was being poked by a beefy wrestler in the temple with an iron thimble on his finger (this is the same reason I don’t like Hemingway, either). Her habit of starting each essay as if it were part of a conversation that I just stumbled into was jarring, as well, and I felt like I had to spend several pages catching up before I could join in. And she keeps talking to “You”, but I quickly lost track over which inadequate man “You” is supposed to be at any given time. There are so many.

Sooooo…I dunno; after completing this book in a single sitting – I mean, its only 160 pages – I still don’t know what makes this woman tick, except, perhaps for sheer stubbornness and to avenge herself in print on all those men who Done Her Wrong.

“The Problem with Me – And Other Essays About Making Trouble in China Today”, by Han Han, translated by Alice Xin Liu and Joel Martinsen

 

240 pages, Simon & Schuster, ISBN-13: 978-1451660036

According to all I have read, Han Han, the author of The Problem with Me – And Other Essays About Making Trouble in China Today (translated by Alice Xin Liu and Joel Martinsen) is China’s most popular blogger, creator of the literary magazine Party, a singer, professional rally car driver and best-selling author, having published five novels to date. In May 2010 he was named one of the most influential people in the world by Time magazine, while in September of the same year he was listed 48^th in “The World’s 50 Most Influential Figures 2010” by The New Statesman; in June 2010 he was interviewed by CNN as China’s rebel writer who has become the unofficial voice for his generation. And I had never heard of him. So…..

The Problem with Me are a series of essays about any number of topics that spark Han Han’s interest, which turns out to be rather broad, even in totalitarian China. And through it all he seems to be rather honest: about his shortcomings as a husband, as an activist, writer and speaker. He recognizes that, for all his verbal boldness, he really isn’t that radical and is more on the political Right (relatively speaking; it’s China, after all) than his friends would like, and he is, like most people, selfish. And I’m sure the translators struggled with his writings because he isn’t really all that nuanced with Kanye West level arrogance. I guess that’s to be expected, seeing as how successful he’s been at such a young age, but it can grate after a while.

Han Han earned a reputation as a dissident in China because he criticized various institutions – educational and political, but others besides – but only when he was affected by the same, not because of any concrete aims for reform. Most of his writing is simply what passes through his mind, the stuff of diaries and memoirs (school days and rally races and reunions and interviews). Nevertheless, he’s evidently popular, with the entries where he argues with his comment section or debunks conspiracy theories (that he’s merely been installed as an arm of the state, that there is no actual Han Han) bear this out. So: a portrait of a place from a popular critic-incrementalistic, not exactly someone who’s really concerned with “making trouble” or inspiring revolutions.

“Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All”, by Allan Gurganus

 

718 pages, Alfred A. Knopf, ISBN-13: 978-0394545370

My mother bought Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All by Allan Gurganus way back in the early 90s but never got ‘round to reading it, which is about when I came along and “borrowed” it. So, what to make of it? The premise is that it is the oral reminisces of one 99-year-old Lucy Marsden (that’s the Widow) as she speaks to an unnamed visitor to her nursing home, circa 1980 or so, about her life and times, most of which were spent with her husband, “Colonel” William Marsden, who was 50-years-old when she married him in 1900 at the ripe of age of…15. And there is the first issue I had with this book: while she explains that, after having made a fool of herself at her first cotillion which led her to become Persona non grata in proper society – and, evidently, the perfect match for a 50-year-old bachelor – I had a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of parents allowing their child to be wed to a man old enough to be her grandfather. Different culture, different rules, I know, but…lordamighty.

This “Oral History” structure of the book allows for certain privileges on the author’s part, like letting Lucy ramble on and on about one topic or another in little self-contained vignettes, which more often than not are out of chronological order; in this way it sounds very much like an old person rummaging through their memories and picking up whatever thought they find before moving onto the next (anyone who has ever spoken to an elderly person for an extended period knows what I’m talking about). This literary devise often works well…until it doesn’t, for all too often one feels that the book is too well-structured to be a true oral history, as Gurganus has a handle on balancing the descriptiveness of the story while moving the plot along, something I suspect a woman closing in on a century of life wouldn’t be able to accomplish in her fly-by-wire ruminations on her long life. But Gurganus the author must keep the story turning, so this supposed memoir has a proper, professional structure to it after all.

But, for all that, this is an uneven book. The first 200-pages, give or take, are good, cleverly written and formally structured; again, beyond what would be believable as an old woman’s spoken recollection. So much so that it is painfully obvious that these words, supposedly spoken ex tempore by an almost-100-year-old woman, were in fact carefully crafted over long hours by a professional writer (so much for suspension of disbelief). But after that the tale quickly goes south (heh), and Widow dissolves into a series of brief vignettes in which Lucy – and thus, the reader – find themselves lost in a string of disconnected tales, some of which were quite engaging while others were tedious as hell, if not pointless. Perhaps this was Gurganus’ way of correcting his overly-written book and making it seem more like the memories of an old woman pouring forth? I doubt it; any editor worth their salt would have detected this and made him correct this obvious change in tone and focus.

So while I really, really wanted to like Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All, there were just too many literary inconsistencies for my liking for me to really enjoy it. All well and good for a book club, maybe, where discussions can be started and controversies sparked (hmmmmm…), but for a one-on-one read I would find better things to do.