Books read this week: The Eye of The World 5/10 (Robert Jordan), The Saxon and Norman Kings 6/10 (Christopher Brooke)
I've been reading a lot online about the Song of Ice and Fire series, as Game of Thrones is HBO's next big thing. The one comment that people keep making, and which continually surprises me is that the Song of Ice and Fire is original and subverts expectations. It's not a bad series, but it's a long way from original and most of the characters are pretty close to stock stereotypes (well written, enjoyable stock stereotypes, but stereotypes nonetheless). And then I read The Eye of the World, and it all made sense. This is the first book in Jordan's gigantic Wheel of Time series. It's one of the big, highly rated series in fantasy, but I just found it derivative. And by that I mean not that I could see the influences of other works in it, but that it read like a carbon copy of the Lord of the Rings; to the point where, when meeting new characters I would think who is this? Oh, you're an ent. And who is this now? It's Gandalf. And we've just arrived in Bree. When I realised how utterly unoriginal the characters and the setting were, I suddenly worked out why everyone is so impressed with the Song of Ice and Fire; the characters in that don't act like they've stepped straight out of Tolkien. They act like they've stepped straight out of medieval history. Which, it has to be said, does make them rather more convincing as characters, but it doesn't make them original; to understand Joffrey, one has to know Richard II; to understand Tyrion (and Ned Stark, actually) look no further than Richard III. It also explains why everyone hates Jaime Lannister (this isn't strictly on topic, but it's really been bugging me). Medieval society had a low literacy level, no proper police force and a massively inefficient legal system. The only thing that allowed society to function was the understanding that you could trust a sworn oath. If you can't trust someone's word (no matter how good a reason they had for breaking it) then you can't have any kind of dealing with them. This was, of course, Richard II's underlying problem. He never recovered from "villeins ye are, and villeins ye shall remain."
My second book, The Saxon and Norman Kings does exactly what it says on the tin. I found it quite interesting; the most entertaining bit of the book was the discussion of whether William Rufus was killed as part of some kind of satanic ritual staged by a witch cult he was a member of. There are two answers to this, a short one: no, and a long one: no, don't be fucking stupid. I also think it's interesting (and a fascinating hook to hang a story on) that both William II and Edward V were murdered by knights called Tyrel.
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Monday, 20 June 2011
Things Fall Apart
Books read this week: A Clash of Kings 8/10 (George R R Martin), Wintersmith 7/10 (Terry Pratchett), Naval Battles of the First World War 7/10 (Geoffrey Bennett)
The second volume of George RR Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series can be summarised in three word: it gets worse. Pretty much ever character we care about ends the book worse off than they began, and it is all quite depressing - although also fairly predictable. I think I have something of a leg up on a lot of readers in that I am very fond of medieval history, and of the Wars of the Roses in particular, and there are a lot of similarities, both in general theme and in the actual events (although some marked differences as well; Henry Tudor did not, in fact, have dragons at his disposal). The principle problem confronted by the series so far is that of legitimacy; basically, once people stop believing that the king is who the king is and that is the way things have to be, either because the current king is very very crap (Richard II, Edward II, etc.) or because there are multiple bods claiming to be the One True King (!!!!!!) (Stephen/Matilda, Lancaster/York, James II/William III) it becomes very easy to make the mental leap that goes: I support X because X would be a better king than Y..... but I would be a better king than X or Y, so why aren't I king? And in the absence of a non-violent method of conflict resolution, we get A Clash of Kings; this is, of course, the problem that the concept of primogeniture is supposed to resolve. It was never that people thought the oldest male child would be the best king; it was just a way to avoid destructive (and lethal) arguments; witness the early Ottoman empire, where the lack of a firm policy on succession meant that there was a gigantic civil war every time the sultan died; or the later Ottoman empire, where the same lack of policy led to ever possible claimant to the throne being kept in a small box in the palace (which wasn't exactly beneficial to the mental health or overall wellbeing of the next sultan, but that's another story).
The book also does a very good job of showcasing just how destructive war, and particularly civil war in the middle ages was; there's no cleaned up, heroic combat here; lots of horse shit, rape and pillage. It's basically like the English medieval civil wars, if the peasant hadn't had longbows to discourage the nobility from being excessively unpleasant. (And also vikings, who are somewhat less convincing; if the vikings are close enough to the mainland that Ed Stark was able to cross the water and burn their towns, they're too close to their victims to be effective raiders).
I did enjoy a Clash of Kings, and I was pleased to see that my prediction that Tyrion Lannister would prove far more effective at dealing with the viper's nest that is politics at the royal court than Eddard Stark ever did was correct. I'm still expecting a Stark/Targaryan alliance at some point (following the Warwick/Lancaster pact of the later years of the Wars of the Roses). I would expect the blood letting to end with everyone with even a ghost of a claim to the throne dead, with one single exception (as British history has proved, this is pretty much the only way to end disputes of that kind); either a Robb/Danerys marriage or Jon Snow (as I'm fairly sure it's him Danerys saw in her vision, with his father saying "His will be a song of ice and fire", which is a pretty good indication that he's going to end up more important than he looks right now).
That said, I am fairly disappointed that the only viewpoint characters we get are nobles; even when we see the common people, it's through the eyes of a noble pretending to be one of the "smallfolk". It would be nice to have the perspective of someone outside the nobility. I'd also like it if there was more focus on the politics; I thoroughly enjoyed the political maneuvering that made up so much of Game of Thrones, and I would have liked more plotting and less fighting in this book.
I found Sansa Stark much less irritating in this book; in the first, her constant assumption that life was like a chivalric romance was both stupid and tiresome. In this volume I found her much more interesting, and becoming much smarter, partly because her trials make her much more sympathetic, and partly because she is starting to ask the right question: as she keeps observing, no "true knight" would do the horrible things she sees. The next question is why are there no "true knights"; and why are the knights not acting the way they should. I think this will probable be important in later books (and I'm certainly hoping that after all the hideous things that have happened to the characters, they are going to exact some payback soon). Ultimately it is a zero sum game; much like the Geneva Convention, really. Nations adopt the Geneva Conventions, and other agreements like it not out of the goodness of their own hearts, but as a silent quid pro quo; basically, you don't commit war crimes against us, and we don't commit war crimes against you. It is (as chemists would say) and equilibrium. However, that equilibrium can easily be disturbed, and end up at a new, more unpleasant equilibrium; you commit war crimes against us, and we'll commit them right back (case in point: the Wehrmacht in the Soviet Union). Anyway, I am looking forward to getting my teeth into the next volume.
My other two books this week were Wintersmith, the third in Pratchett's Tiffany Aching Discworld sub-series and Naval Battles of the First World War (which is exactly what it says on the tin). I did not enjoy Wintersmith as much as I did the Wee Free Men, but even a sub-par Pratchett is miles ahead of most other books, and it was very good. The book on naval history was an interesting insight into the way in which combat technology ran ahead on communications technology during the first quarter of the twentieth century; with wireless in its infancy, Admirals could fire at ships twenty miles away - if they could find them. Which was the difficult bit. It is also interesting to contrast the strict parsimony with which the British admirals protected both their ships and their men with the total profligacy towards human life shown by the generals. This can, I think, be put down to two major factors; i) Ships are expensive, and rare, and very difficult to replace, and have to be laid down four years before they are needed. Soldiers, of course, need to be laid down at least eighteen years before they are needed, but unfortunately generals don't tend to think like that and ii) unlike the generals of the First World War, the admirals were on the ships they sent into combat, and so had a deep personal interest in making sure they got home safe. This is not to say the book doesn't contain some stunning examples of incompetence and stupidity; most notably the defect in turret design which led to Admiral Beatty's famous comment to his flag captain; "There's something wrong with our bloody ships today, Chatfield." (as the third battlecruiser exploded with the loss of all hands). It is a generally good, solid account of the naval war between 1914 and 1918. As I said at the beginning; exactly what it says on the tin.
The second volume of George RR Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series can be summarised in three word: it gets worse. Pretty much ever character we care about ends the book worse off than they began, and it is all quite depressing - although also fairly predictable. I think I have something of a leg up on a lot of readers in that I am very fond of medieval history, and of the Wars of the Roses in particular, and there are a lot of similarities, both in general theme and in the actual events (although some marked differences as well; Henry Tudor did not, in fact, have dragons at his disposal). The principle problem confronted by the series so far is that of legitimacy; basically, once people stop believing that the king is who the king is and that is the way things have to be, either because the current king is very very crap (Richard II, Edward II, etc.) or because there are multiple bods claiming to be the One True King (!!!!!!) (Stephen/Matilda, Lancaster/York, James II/William III) it becomes very easy to make the mental leap that goes: I support X because X would be a better king than Y..... but I would be a better king than X or Y, so why aren't I king? And in the absence of a non-violent method of conflict resolution, we get A Clash of Kings; this is, of course, the problem that the concept of primogeniture is supposed to resolve. It was never that people thought the oldest male child would be the best king; it was just a way to avoid destructive (and lethal) arguments; witness the early Ottoman empire, where the lack of a firm policy on succession meant that there was a gigantic civil war every time the sultan died; or the later Ottoman empire, where the same lack of policy led to ever possible claimant to the throne being kept in a small box in the palace (which wasn't exactly beneficial to the mental health or overall wellbeing of the next sultan, but that's another story).
The book also does a very good job of showcasing just how destructive war, and particularly civil war in the middle ages was; there's no cleaned up, heroic combat here; lots of horse shit, rape and pillage. It's basically like the English medieval civil wars, if the peasant hadn't had longbows to discourage the nobility from being excessively unpleasant. (And also vikings, who are somewhat less convincing; if the vikings are close enough to the mainland that Ed Stark was able to cross the water and burn their towns, they're too close to their victims to be effective raiders).
I did enjoy a Clash of Kings, and I was pleased to see that my prediction that Tyrion Lannister would prove far more effective at dealing with the viper's nest that is politics at the royal court than Eddard Stark ever did was correct. I'm still expecting a Stark/Targaryan alliance at some point (following the Warwick/Lancaster pact of the later years of the Wars of the Roses). I would expect the blood letting to end with everyone with even a ghost of a claim to the throne dead, with one single exception (as British history has proved, this is pretty much the only way to end disputes of that kind); either a Robb/Danerys marriage or Jon Snow (as I'm fairly sure it's him Danerys saw in her vision, with his father saying "His will be a song of ice and fire", which is a pretty good indication that he's going to end up more important than he looks right now).
That said, I am fairly disappointed that the only viewpoint characters we get are nobles; even when we see the common people, it's through the eyes of a noble pretending to be one of the "smallfolk". It would be nice to have the perspective of someone outside the nobility. I'd also like it if there was more focus on the politics; I thoroughly enjoyed the political maneuvering that made up so much of Game of Thrones, and I would have liked more plotting and less fighting in this book.
I found Sansa Stark much less irritating in this book; in the first, her constant assumption that life was like a chivalric romance was both stupid and tiresome. In this volume I found her much more interesting, and becoming much smarter, partly because her trials make her much more sympathetic, and partly because she is starting to ask the right question: as she keeps observing, no "true knight" would do the horrible things she sees. The next question is why are there no "true knights"; and why are the knights not acting the way they should. I think this will probable be important in later books (and I'm certainly hoping that after all the hideous things that have happened to the characters, they are going to exact some payback soon). Ultimately it is a zero sum game; much like the Geneva Convention, really. Nations adopt the Geneva Conventions, and other agreements like it not out of the goodness of their own hearts, but as a silent quid pro quo; basically, you don't commit war crimes against us, and we don't commit war crimes against you. It is (as chemists would say) and equilibrium. However, that equilibrium can easily be disturbed, and end up at a new, more unpleasant equilibrium; you commit war crimes against us, and we'll commit them right back (case in point: the Wehrmacht in the Soviet Union). Anyway, I am looking forward to getting my teeth into the next volume.
My other two books this week were Wintersmith, the third in Pratchett's Tiffany Aching Discworld sub-series and Naval Battles of the First World War (which is exactly what it says on the tin). I did not enjoy Wintersmith as much as I did the Wee Free Men, but even a sub-par Pratchett is miles ahead of most other books, and it was very good. The book on naval history was an interesting insight into the way in which combat technology ran ahead on communications technology during the first quarter of the twentieth century; with wireless in its infancy, Admirals could fire at ships twenty miles away - if they could find them. Which was the difficult bit. It is also interesting to contrast the strict parsimony with which the British admirals protected both their ships and their men with the total profligacy towards human life shown by the generals. This can, I think, be put down to two major factors; i) Ships are expensive, and rare, and very difficult to replace, and have to be laid down four years before they are needed. Soldiers, of course, need to be laid down at least eighteen years before they are needed, but unfortunately generals don't tend to think like that and ii) unlike the generals of the First World War, the admirals were on the ships they sent into combat, and so had a deep personal interest in making sure they got home safe. This is not to say the book doesn't contain some stunning examples of incompetence and stupidity; most notably the defect in turret design which led to Admiral Beatty's famous comment to his flag captain; "There's something wrong with our bloody ships today, Chatfield." (as the third battlecruiser exploded with the loss of all hands). It is a generally good, solid account of the naval war between 1914 and 1918. As I said at the beginning; exactly what it says on the tin.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Rum, Sodomy and the Lash
Books read this week: The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, 1649-1845 7/10 (N.A.M. Rodger)
The Command of the Ocean is a fascinating insight into a unique institution, tracking the Royal Navy from it's early beginnings under Cromwell (when, obviously, it wasn't Royal) through until the end of the Napoleonic wars, when over half the warships afloat in the world were flying the Union Jack.
It's an interesting story, and also one that showcases the importance of developing institutions; we can see how the institutional memory and logistical skills developed during the 18th century were vital to success in the Napoleonic wars - for instance how continual incremental improvements in technology and logistics meant that a fleet which in 1649 could barely remain at sea for two weeks continuously could, by 1801, maintain blockade fleets off the French coast for years at a time.
Rodger's does suffer from a few blind spots; he is, for example, convinced that Charles II was both in general and in the specific naval field a very successful monarch; against this, we do have to set that incident where the Dutch sailed up the Thames and stole the flagship of the fleet (theNasebyRoyal Charles). But it only happened the once.... (there was a very entertaining vignette in the book I read on Cromwell last week, where a plaintive Charles II asked the Dutch ambassador why they didn't treat him with the respect they'd shown Cromwell; the ambassador replied that they'd been scared of Cromwell).
Of course, the Restoration navy was pretty much run by Samuel Pepys - and some of the most entertaining parts of the book involve excerpts from his diary. I think my favourite passage in the book is an excerpt where Pepys discusses a conversation with a friend in the civil service, who "told us his horse was a bribe, and his boots a bribe, and told us he was made up of bribes ... and that he makes every sort of tradesman bribe him; and invited me home to his house to drink of his bribe-wine." Still, I remain unconvinced by Rodger's thesis that the Restoration navy was less corrupt than the republican one; for one thing, Pepys' criteria for advancement in the navy included the condition "do you have an attractive wife or daughter who is willing to let Samuel Pepys fondle her breasts?" (answers on a postcard...). It's hard to believe Oliver Cromwell letting anyone get away with that.
Other highlights are the section on the execution of Admiral Byng - particularly the hideously botched attempt to get George II to pardon him by appealing to the camaraderie of enormous cowards (that didn't go down well), and Rodger's observation that Voltaire was right - shooting one admiral did encourage the others. The discussion of the war of 1812 is also entertaining - mainly for demolishing the American myth that it was some kind of draw. The war of 1812 was essentially an attempt by the fledgling United States to steal Canada while Britain wasn't looking. The end result was the destruction of the American navy, and the British army burning Washington to the ground (although not before the soldiers had made off with the contents of the First Lady's underwear drawer). And Canada remained, well, Canadian (yay!). Hard to call that one a draw really.
I found this book fascinating - I think as much because it is a history of the evolution of the civil service in Britain as well as a piece of military history. I don't often read institutional histories like this, and so I will be seeking out some more in the future. I'll also be trying to track down the first book in the trilogy (this is the second, the third is as yet unpublished).
The Command of the Ocean is a fascinating insight into a unique institution, tracking the Royal Navy from it's early beginnings under Cromwell (when, obviously, it wasn't Royal) through until the end of the Napoleonic wars, when over half the warships afloat in the world were flying the Union Jack.
It's an interesting story, and also one that showcases the importance of developing institutions; we can see how the institutional memory and logistical skills developed during the 18th century were vital to success in the Napoleonic wars - for instance how continual incremental improvements in technology and logistics meant that a fleet which in 1649 could barely remain at sea for two weeks continuously could, by 1801, maintain blockade fleets off the French coast for years at a time.
Rodger's does suffer from a few blind spots; he is, for example, convinced that Charles II was both in general and in the specific naval field a very successful monarch; against this, we do have to set that incident where the Dutch sailed up the Thames and stole the flagship of the fleet (the
Of course, the Restoration navy was pretty much run by Samuel Pepys - and some of the most entertaining parts of the book involve excerpts from his diary. I think my favourite passage in the book is an excerpt where Pepys discusses a conversation with a friend in the civil service, who "told us his horse was a bribe, and his boots a bribe, and told us he was made up of bribes ... and that he makes every sort of tradesman bribe him; and invited me home to his house to drink of his bribe-wine." Still, I remain unconvinced by Rodger's thesis that the Restoration navy was less corrupt than the republican one; for one thing, Pepys' criteria for advancement in the navy included the condition "do you have an attractive wife or daughter who is willing to let Samuel Pepys fondle her breasts?" (answers on a postcard...). It's hard to believe Oliver Cromwell letting anyone get away with that.
Other highlights are the section on the execution of Admiral Byng - particularly the hideously botched attempt to get George II to pardon him by appealing to the camaraderie of enormous cowards (that didn't go down well), and Rodger's observation that Voltaire was right - shooting one admiral did encourage the others. The discussion of the war of 1812 is also entertaining - mainly for demolishing the American myth that it was some kind of draw. The war of 1812 was essentially an attempt by the fledgling United States to steal Canada while Britain wasn't looking. The end result was the destruction of the American navy, and the British army burning Washington to the ground (although not before the soldiers had made off with the contents of the First Lady's underwear drawer). And Canada remained, well, Canadian (yay!). Hard to call that one a draw really.
I found this book fascinating - I think as much because it is a history of the evolution of the civil service in Britain as well as a piece of military history. I don't often read institutional histories like this, and so I will be seeking out some more in the future. I'll also be trying to track down the first book in the trilogy (this is the second, the third is as yet unpublished).
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Warts and All
Books read this week: God's Englishman: Oliver Cromwell and the English Revolution (Christopher Hill) 7/10
And with Oliver Cromwell, there were a lot of warts to paint. Cromwell is a hard man to like, and God's Englishman doesn't try to hide his faults. The book is more a collection of essays about Cromwell's contribution to the revolution of the 1640s - and what happened in England between 1640 and 1660 was the first of the world's great revolutions, not matter how many historians want to refer to it as the "great rebellion" (handy tip: it's not a rebellion if it wins) - than a true biography.
The comparison between Napoleon and Cromwell towards the end of the book I found very interesting - it is not one that had occurred to me before, but once suggested it was obvious - two gifted generals who both saved and destroyed the revolutions they were supposed to protect. The only thing one can say about Napoleon is that he had Cromwell's example to learn from. Indeed this is one of the most fascinating things about the 1640s and 1650s in general. Weak and incompetent kings had been deposed, even killed before (Edward II, I'm looking at you). But to put the king on trial - to establish that the monarch was personally subject to the law of their own country - that was something entirely new. One can see here that Cromwell made every effort to reach a modus vivendi with Charles I, just like the revolutionaries of 1789 and 1917, but ultimately his efforts foundered because Charles I was mindnumbingly stupid. Stupid enough to believe that he was indispensible (boy was he wrong). Some men you just can't reach. Throughout the book, you can see Cromwell struggling with the problems of legitimacy and reform, of how much to destroy the old order and how much to keep, which confronted the revolutionaries of 1789 and 1917. It is a testament to the value of experience that every time our answers to those questions have got a little better; eventually, maybe we'll get it right.
The picture of Cromwell's character that emerges differs considerably from the humorless puritan of popular imagination; he remarks are blunt, simple and plain, but there is often a rough humour to them, and a certain self-deprecating charm ("paint me warts and all", "trust God and keep your powder dry") as well as a good eye for the pertinent details - his verdict on Charles II is particularly memorable: "Give him a shoulder of mutton and a whore, that's all he cares for." His defence of religious toleration is also worth noting: "One might as well ban wine from the Kingdom for fear that men would get drunk."
Of course one can't discuss Cromwell without remembering that he did terrible, unforgivable things in Ireland. The massacres at Drogheda and Wexford cannot be justified, and today they would be considered war crimes. That said, there are relatively few English rulers between Henry II and George V who didn't do terrible things in Ireland, and the careers of Robert Peel and Lord John Russell get discussed without continuous reference to their responsibility for the Irish Potato Famine. This is not in any way to excuse Cromwell - rather I think that we should pay more critical attention to the crimes of other historical figures (Lord John "The free market can solve all our problems" Russell, in particular*).
As I said at the beginning, Cromwell is a hard man to like. But without Cromwell, there would be no parliamentary democracy in the UK (quite possibly no democracy at all), no United States of America, no French revolution. That's quite an epitaph.
* It seems to be a common political blindness, to forget that we tried laissez faire capitalism in the 19th Century. It was shit.
And with Oliver Cromwell, there were a lot of warts to paint. Cromwell is a hard man to like, and God's Englishman doesn't try to hide his faults. The book is more a collection of essays about Cromwell's contribution to the revolution of the 1640s - and what happened in England between 1640 and 1660 was the first of the world's great revolutions, not matter how many historians want to refer to it as the "great rebellion" (handy tip: it's not a rebellion if it wins) - than a true biography.
The comparison between Napoleon and Cromwell towards the end of the book I found very interesting - it is not one that had occurred to me before, but once suggested it was obvious - two gifted generals who both saved and destroyed the revolutions they were supposed to protect. The only thing one can say about Napoleon is that he had Cromwell's example to learn from. Indeed this is one of the most fascinating things about the 1640s and 1650s in general. Weak and incompetent kings had been deposed, even killed before (Edward II, I'm looking at you). But to put the king on trial - to establish that the monarch was personally subject to the law of their own country - that was something entirely new. One can see here that Cromwell made every effort to reach a modus vivendi with Charles I, just like the revolutionaries of 1789 and 1917, but ultimately his efforts foundered because Charles I was mindnumbingly stupid. Stupid enough to believe that he was indispensible (boy was he wrong). Some men you just can't reach. Throughout the book, you can see Cromwell struggling with the problems of legitimacy and reform, of how much to destroy the old order and how much to keep, which confronted the revolutionaries of 1789 and 1917. It is a testament to the value of experience that every time our answers to those questions have got a little better; eventually, maybe we'll get it right.
The picture of Cromwell's character that emerges differs considerably from the humorless puritan of popular imagination; he remarks are blunt, simple and plain, but there is often a rough humour to them, and a certain self-deprecating charm ("paint me warts and all", "trust God and keep your powder dry") as well as a good eye for the pertinent details - his verdict on Charles II is particularly memorable: "Give him a shoulder of mutton and a whore, that's all he cares for." His defence of religious toleration is also worth noting: "One might as well ban wine from the Kingdom for fear that men would get drunk."
Of course one can't discuss Cromwell without remembering that he did terrible, unforgivable things in Ireland. The massacres at Drogheda and Wexford cannot be justified, and today they would be considered war crimes. That said, there are relatively few English rulers between Henry II and George V who didn't do terrible things in Ireland, and the careers of Robert Peel and Lord John Russell get discussed without continuous reference to their responsibility for the Irish Potato Famine. This is not in any way to excuse Cromwell - rather I think that we should pay more critical attention to the crimes of other historical figures (Lord John "The free market can solve all our problems" Russell, in particular*).
As I said at the beginning, Cromwell is a hard man to like. But without Cromwell, there would be no parliamentary democracy in the UK (quite possibly no democracy at all), no United States of America, no French revolution. That's quite an epitaph.
* It seems to be a common political blindness, to forget that we tried laissez faire capitalism in the 19th Century. It was shit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)