England

Pens and Needles: Women's Textualities in Early Modern England

jenna — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Pens and Needles takes a new approach to the study of how women expressed themselves in Early Modern England (roughly 1500-1700). It has long been assumed that the gender roles we know today have been consistent over time. Pens, writing, communication, are the realm of men; needles, sewing, the home, are the realm of women.

Frye disagrees; she gives extensive examples of women writing in the Early Modern era, from poetry to household accounts. There are examples from old books defining a ‘virtuous wife’ as a woman who is educated enough to run her household well. A good wife is, in fact, “a vigilant businesswoman” who “considreth lande, and bieth it, and wyth the fruite of her handes she planteth a vineyard.” (Frye quoting The Common Book of Prayer and Proverbs)

Women of this era have left behind ample evidence that text—prose, poems, names—were ever a part of their daily lives, particularly their textiles. It is no coincidence, she asserts, that so many samplers, appliqués and tapestries incorporate letters and wording in their designs. Many a pillow case is inscribed with a verse or family motto in Latin.

Further still, Frye insists that these sewn objects were a way for women to communicate. These items were used as decoration within the home, allowing women to define their spaces. In the lower classes, an excellent ‘household store’ of good embroidery, well-made clothes, or decorations added to the family’s wealth and prestige.

In the case of Mary, Queen of Scots, her projects became gifts full of meaning to both allies and enemies. Through specific examples, Frye demonstrates how Mary wove her identity into everything she created, emphasizing her noble heritage and royal aspirations. Symbolism is rife in Mary’s work, especially when creating gifts for Elizabeth I, her cousin and captor. Frye contrasts Mary with Elizabeth, who was prone to more intellectual projects. Elizabeth began easing her way into Henry VIII’s court through books she translated and bound herself. These gifts to her father established a reputation for intelligence as well as skill and taste, paving the way for her ascension.

Even now, we’re too quick to dismiss ‘arts and crafts’ as less notable than writing. Sewing is utilitarian, but it is also artful, and a means of expression. When we scoff at them we are falling in line with the sentiments of men who never fully appreciated the labor and creativity that goes into each item. Contemporary women more prone to letters should listen to Frye’s arguments, and grant more respect to their ‘traditional’ peers.

Pens and Needles is an academic text, and its style is better suited to researchers and college classrooms. The language (such as ‘textuality’, a tricky idea to wrap one’s mind around) is not meant for the casual reader. Frye assumes that her reader is already familiar with the era discussed and her area of study.

That said, the book is a real gift for researchers and academics. Frye is meticulous with her citations, resulting in a hefty appendix made up of Notes, Bibliography, and Acknowledgments. The chapters are few, but each is broken down clearly, helping one identify each smaller section.

I would very much have liked to read nonfiction in a more easily digested style, something that would allow me—someone who is interested but has no formal background in the subject—to orient myself and read for the pleasure of learning something new. Instead, I battled to get through it, as I’m sure many students will as well.

Regardless of readability, Pens and Needles is thorough, detailed and well-researched. For all that Frye has cited all her sources, I have no doubt that she will become a source on many other bibliographies.

Written by: Richenda Gould, December 17th 2010

Mary Tudor: Princess, Bastard, Queen

alicia — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Anna Whitelock

Random House

Pay cable offers us a whole new realm of addictions and one of the most recent was Showtime's production of The Tudors. The program, now ended with the inevitable death of King Henry (no spoilers in history), portrayed the complicated realm of the Tudor Dynasty, which included two notable queens—sisters Mary and Elizabeth. This historic era, because of Queen Elizabeth, offers us a space to enter and critique how women were used for political gain, often not their own.

Anna Whitelock offers a similar proposition when she explores the life of Mary Tudor—a life often derided in British history. Daughter of Katherine of Aragon and King Henry, Mary later becomes known as Bloody Mary and as an overzealous threat to her own country.

Though historians have depicted the facts of the dynasty and the royal successions, Whitelock's argument is that historical texts have typically overlooked the fact that the value and vision of Mary and her contributions to history are greater than simply a slaughter of the non-Catholic community.

What makes Whitelock's book powerful is both its impeccable timing (the Tudors are the new pink) and its nuanced look at how women were political tools and machines simultaneously. The complicated graces involved in diplomacy, governed by the social mores of the time, lent to women having more space to enact persuasive maneuvers and machinations. This look at power in an era where even royal women seemed quite powerless (and were publicly thought of as weaker and merely vessels) is refreshing.

The truth of the matter, is, however, that Mary's story is also a sad one. Tossed about from prince to prince even as young as two and a half as a political token, a seal of trust and betrothal between men's nations, Mary's life is much more than the violent persecution of non-Catholics under her reign.  Whitelock frames the well-known history with a lens that offers just what she promises—a new look at Mary with perhaps the sympathy or value she's often been denied. Further, the story becomes timeless as Whitelock profiles just how close Mary and her indomitable mother, Catherine of Aragon, were. The strength of relationships between women is perhaps even more valuable in an era where there was little power to be held elsewhere.

The book is a generous read, even for those not familiar with Tudor history. As you read, you will recognize the political trumps and trollops that are not unfamiliar to us today. Described with the flourish they deserve, yet written clearly and in such a manner that all characters and dates can be digested, Whitelock's biography is an excellent lesson in the lives of powerful women, fortune and politics.

Written by: Dr. Julie E. Ferris, December 9th 2010

The Red Queen

brittany — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Philippa Gregory

Touchstone

Philippa Gregory’s most recent work of historical fiction, The Red Queen, describes the bloody War of the Roses from the perspective of Margaret Beaufort, a member of the house of Lancaster and, perhaps most famously, grandmother to Henry VIII. Gregory’s second book in the Cousins’ War series, The Red Queen serves as a foil to The White Queen, which presented the war from the perspective of the York Queen Elizabeth Woodville.

As a child, Margaret is fervently devout, with a special devotion to Joan of Arc and the Virgin Mary. Her desire to join a religious order is, however, of little importance to her family, who hope that she will provide an heir to the throne. She is married at the age of twelve to Edmund Tudor, King Henry VI’s twenty-four-year-old half brother, and widowed shortly after becoming pregnant. Margaret faces death herself during a difficult childbirth, and becomes convinced God spared her life in order for her to fulfill her destiny and make her son the King of England. Devoting her life to this ambition, Margaret carefully navigates the shifting court politics of a nation seething with civil war. Her determination and clever plotting allow her to infiltrate the house of York and orchestrate one of the greatest rebellions in British history—calling her son back from exile in order to wage war, seize the crown, and become the king she always knew he would be.

Margaret is presented as the antithesis of her rival Elizabeth, the protagonist of The White Queen: Margaret is plain, Elizabeth famously beautiful; Margaret’s life lacks romance, Elizabeth’s is a love story; Margaret is a pious Catholic and Elizabeth practices magic. Allied with opposing sides, the women’s experiences of the wars are also quite disparate. It was interesting to see the events presented from the women’s different points of view, but as divergent as their stories were, this approach to the series occasionally made it feel as if I had already read the book.

One of the most interesting aspects of Margaret in The Red Queen is her central role in the murder of the two princes in the tower, both Elizabeth’s sons. The person responsible for their murder is left a mystery in The White Queen, and remains one of history’s greatest unsolved mysteries. Gregory’s choice to have Margaret order their execution, while a historically plausible theory, is a risky one for an author. It is a testament to Gregory’s writing and character development that she can create a sympathetic character out of a cold-blooded killer.

Another intriguing aspect of the book is Gregory’s exploration of women’s religious beliefs and practices, which is also a central theme in The White Queen. Margaret’s constant assertions that she is favored by God and that her political plots are in accordance with divine will is repetitive and tiresome at times, but using religion to legitimize ambition and power was a frequent trope in women’s lives. Gregory uses this device, not to suggest any divine origin of Margaret’s unlikely rise to power, but to demonstrate the way Margaret herself might have negotiated and viewed that power. Furthermore, Gregory’s depiction of Margaret’s constant recourse to prayer—like Elizabeth’s use of magic—elucidates how women viewed their relationship with the divine as a way to control events over which they actually had very little control.

Serious historians may be frustrated with Gregory’s highly fictionalized writing, and Margaret is a very complex character to be explored in such an easy-to-read, breezy novel. Ultimately, however, Gregory is to be commended for bringing attention to women’s history. Margaret is a fascinating historical figure whose role in her son’s climb to power and influence over the early Tudor kings has often been overlooked. I recommend The Red Queen as a thoroughly enjoyable examination of Margaret and the War of the Roses, a delightfully crafted story of the woman who brought the Tudors to the throne.

Written by: Shannon Hill, October 13th 2010

The King’s Mistress

admin — Mon, 26 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Emma Campion

Crown Publishers

I’ve always had a special affinity for historical fiction, more specifically, historical fiction about the English courts of medieval times. As someone who has never excelled in the complex maneuverings of office politics, I find the level of intrigue and skulduggery that existed then alternately fascinating and mind boggling. The stakes were pretty high; if you found yourself on the wrong side of history, you could end up imprisoned in the tower of London, or worse still, with your head dangling on a pike for all to see.

Until I signed on to review The King’s Mistress for the virtual book tour, I was unaware that Alice Perrers is one of the most despised villains in British history. Perrers has been reviled by her peers and scholars alike—characterized as a woman who used her beauty, sensuality, and cunning to take advantage of an aging king for her own material and political gain. Described as the world’s leading authority on Alice Perrers, Compton has set about revealing the truth of the matter with a fascinating text that both rehabilitates and humanizes her.

It’s no secret that the combination of intelligence, erotic allure, and beauty is a dangerous mix for women, and throughout history these women have both fascinated and repelled us as far back as Eve. Because this novel falls in the genre of historical fiction, Campion admits in her author’s notes to taking some liberties with the facts to breathe new life into Perrer’s story, but much of this voluminous novel comes from her extensive research on Perrer’s life and times.

When we first meet Alice, she is fourteen, and her beauty is already in full bloom. Her mother, an aging and discontented beauty, seems to view Alice as competition, yet resents her father’s decision to betroth Alice to a charismatic, wealthy merchant twenty years her senior. Alice fears leaving the comfort and safety of her family, but is excited to embark on this new chapter in her life. What she doesn’t realize is that her husband is withholding secrets that she will only discover once she is enmeshed in her own web of intrigue.

Suffice it to say, Compton’s sympathetic rendering of Perrer’s story presents her as a woman who finds herself in circumstances beyond her control, and forced to use her attributes to survive in a world where a person who appears to be your ally one day could turn out to be your enemy the next. Emma Campion has reimagined history into “herstory” in this beautifully written, riveting novel.

Written by: Gita Tewari, July 26th 2010

Captive Queen: A Novel of Eleanor of Aquitaine

admin — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Alison Weir

Ballantine Books

Alison Weir is first a historian, and it shows in Captive Queen. She studied Eleanor of Aquitaine in the 1970s and 1990s and realized one day that “the nature of medieval biography, particularly of women, is the piecing together of fragments of information and making sense of them. It can be a frustrating task, as there are often gaps that you know you can never fill.”

Captive Queen explores Eleanor’s life from just before her marriage to Henry FitzEmpress (later Henry II, King of England) until just after Henry’s death in 1189. There is also an epilogue that covers her death in 1204. At the beginning, there’s a map of lower England and Aquitaine, Normandy, Brittany, and France, which are all parts of present-day France. Also included is a helpful flowchart of Eleanor and Henry’s genealogy, which I referred to numerous times when I was trying to remember minor characters.

The novel itself is split into five parts, each representing a stage in Eleanor’s life and marriage to Henry. The first part is a rosy depiction of Eleanor’s early life with Henry. At the time of their wedding, he was eighteen and she was twenty-nine and already had two daughters. They were married just two months after the annulment of her marriage to the King of France, Louis VII. Eleanor’s marriage to King Henry was tumultuous: she fought with Henry often about his rule of her lands. At the same time, however, it was steamy; it wasn’t even twenty pages in before the first bedroom scene occurs. Still, it’s clear she wanted a partnership of equals, not a man to rule over her as husband and lord, which was the norm at the time, especially for women in royalty.

The following four parts accentuate her desire to be included in affairs of state, rule her lands equitably, and be treated as more than “the wife of King Henry and mother of his children.” The second part covers her apparent rivalry with Thomas Becket. In the third part, Weir writes about Eleanor and Henry’s sons: Young Henry, Richard (who would become Richard the Lionheart), Geoffrey, and John (later to become King John, best known for signing the Magna Carta and for being a primary antagonist in most Robin Hood legends).

After encouraging her sons to rebel (unsuccessfully) against their father, Henry placed Eleanor under house arrest for more than fifteen years, most notably in Sarum, Wiltshire (the earliest settlement of present-day Salisbury, England). There, she received very little news from outside the confines of her imprisonment but was finally freed upon Henry’s death in 1189. In the novel, she says to her gaoler, “Master Berneval, I command you, in the name of King Richard, to set me at liberty at once.” And he does.

Two things irked me about Captive Queen, and neither are the author’s fault. The first is Henry’s repeated insistence (and everyone else’s assumption) that women are meant to be child-bearers and nothing more. Eleanor herself even notes that she is most proud of her daughters when they produce children—hopefully sons—for their husbands. The second is that Eleanor’s life revolves around the men in it, no matter how much she wants to rule her lands herself or how intelligent and magnanimous she is in acting as Henry’s regent. The first thing is the unfortunate sexist reality Eleanor had to deal with during her lifetime. The second is related; Weir’s frustration at being able to find only a very few fragments of Eleanor’s life basically forced her to study the men surrounding Eleanor and often make conjectures about her based on what was written about them.

It’s clear in reading that Alison Weir did a lot of research before penning Captive Queen as a fiction. After all, she writes, “What is the point of a historical novel... based on a real person if the author does not take pains to make it authentic as possible?” For fans of medieval Europe, this book is a must read. Just beware that the author made it as authentic as possible, right down to the sexism of the time period.

Written by: Viannah Duncan, July 18th 2010

Lady of the Butterflies

admin — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 07:59:00 +0000

By Fiona Mountain

G.P. Putnam’s Sons

One reason I gravitate towards historical fiction is that I enjoy discovering individuals in history whom I normally wouldn’t learn about on my own. Eleanor Glanville was a seventeenth century English entomologist from Somerset. Her specialty was butterflies and some of her collections still live in the Natural History Museum today. Though Glanville’s work is several centuries old, Fiona Mountain brings Glanville’s contributions and character to life in Lady of the Butterflies.

As a child, Glanville grew up under the strict guidance of her Puritan father who forbade her to participate in Christmas or other Catholic celebrations. At the same time, this father also encouraged her to embrace and understand her environment at Tickenham Court, which was located in the middle of a moor. Eleanor’s passionate interest in insects, specifically butterflies, started at a young age but was seen as abnormal behavior among her neighbors and servants. In the late seventeenth century, education for women was not encouraged or looked upon kindly.

In her early twenties, Eleanor married Edmund Ashfield whom she loved dearly, and bore him two children. However, she had a rather unhealthy desire and longing for his closest friend, Richard Glanville, who was a dashing but extremely moody young man. There are sections of the book that are reminiscent of a romance novel, especially in the descriptions of Eleanor and Richard’s interactions. Fiona Mountain wants the reader to know that this was a fiercely passionate woman whether it be toward the men she loved, her butterflies, or her children.

What I found the most interesting about Glanville was her love of nature and learning and her ability to win the respect and admiration of male scientists, young and old. Many naturalists of that time were interested in her quest to understand the metamorphism of the butterfly and were quick to support her discoveries.

While reading this book, there was always a touch of apprehension. Glanville was sometimes on the edge of danger because many of her neighbors, servants, and acquaintances accused her of being insane. After all, what self-respecting woman would run chasing butterflies with her hair down when she had responsibilities at home? This was also during the period of the witch hunts, in which a woman caught interacting with nature might likely be accused of cavorting with the devil.

Lady of the Butterflies was an illuminating read about a fascinating woman. The Glanville Fritillary butterfly was named after Glanville, and I must admit that I have developed a renewed interest in those painted winged beauties.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, June 23rd 2010

Robin Hood

admin — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 05:53:00 +0000

Directed by Ridley Scott

Universal Pictures

Being the rabid Ridley Scott fan that I am, last week I went to go see his new movie, Robin Hood, at the theatre. (Being the cheapskate that I am, I went in the morning and paid four dollars less than going at night, because really, ten dollars to see a movie is ridiculous.)

Robin Hood isn't Kingdom of Heaven, let's start with that. I know a lot of reviewers, myself included, went in thinking it would be much of the same material, and it wasn't... to a point. Robin Hood takes place about nine years after the events in Kingdom of Heaven, close to the end of Richard's wars in France, which come to an unforeseen halt when Richard dies. The main character, Robin Longstride, is an average man in the ranks of Richard's army, pulled to the king's attention when Richard, on a whim, goes through the camp looking for "an honest man." Scott set out to retell Robin Hood, and in that he succeeded. And while he was doing it, he took a lot of the fun out of the Robin Hood story and inserted a lot of politics.

I think the big draw of Robin Hood is that he's a man who exists outside of political interests, or if he is involved, his intentions are always very clear: he's King Richard's man, he supports Richard's causes, and he supports the people. Simple and easy to remember. Scott's Hood should be simple, but instead comes off as much more complicated and politically embroiled than a character who, up until a half hour into the movie, was just a common archer. He expresses himself much better than a common man would have. That's kind of a theme in Scott's movies, which Balian somehow got away with, but Robin's high-handed speeches just sound dull.

What's interesting about this movie is the extremely mixed response it got throughout the reviewing world. Most people disliked it, and I can see why. Two sources that liked it a little more than the rest, however, interested me. One major feminist blog reviewed it with evident enthusiasm, the writer reporting that she loved the strong female lead offered by Cate Blanchett (appropriate sentiments for a feminist blog) and the revolutionary aspects of the idea that you didn't have to be a noble to speak up an affect change in a society.

The other interesting review is from the National Catholic Register, which is the only weekly paper my house now receives. Their film critic, Steven Greydanus, said it was "more watchable in most respects" than Kingdom of Heaven (a statement I'd like to vehemently disagree with) and judged that "the moral issues [were] less muddled, the hero more compelling, the heroine more relevant, and the romance at least relatable, if not especially engaging."

As much as I love Blanchett and the idea of a feminist Marian, that was one of the elements in the movie that didn't sit well with me. Both critics bring it up as something to be praised in Scott's epic, and I'm going to have to disagree. Kingdom of Heaven had a strong female lead in Princess Sybilla, a woman who was interesting because she was hard to understand at times and remarkably transparent in others. Sybilla made sense in the context of her story; for part of her life she had been a political pawn and needed to continue being a political pawn (something that went against her personality) if she wanted to see her kingdom survive.

Marion, on the other hand, makes less sense. Even if her husband had been gone with Richard for ten years, the idea that she would have become this Amazonian leadership lady in that time didn't seem possible in England circa 1200. Is she more relatable? Yes, more people could probably relate to Marion than they could to Sybilla. That doesn't necessarily mean she belonged in the story. A woman taking up a sword at the end of the film? It doesn't even begin to make sense. The feminist element in Robin Hood contributes just as much to the revisionist view of history that Greydanus (rightfully) accuses Scott of as any of the other wildly inaccurate historical elements in the film.

As I tried to figure out how to write this review, I attempted to find some lesson I could take away from the different ways these different people reviewed this film. Anna watched it as a feminist and found something she liked. Steven watched it as a Catholic and found it lacking. As for myself, watching the film as both a Catholic and a feminist (as well as a lot of other things), I found my lens as an amateur historian taking more and more of my attention away from the others.

I won't claim that I took note of all the inaccuracies in Robin Hood, and I'll certainly admit to ignoring some of the revisionist elements in Kingdom of Heaven. Both movies inspired me to do more research on the period in question. I have four books from the library on William Marshall and a growing collection of literature on what life was like in Europe and the Latin East in the 1100s. To me, the idea that a piece of media can be a gateway into a wider world of fact checking and research is a valuable one, and one that is helping me find the joyful Middle Ages behind Hollywood's "faux-realist medieval world," the real links of mutual respect between the Muslim world and the Christian one, and the real proto-feminist figures in the medieval history (women like Eleanor of Aquitaine, Hildegarden of Bingen, and Queen Melisande of Jerusalem).

Overall, I'd recommend avoiding the admission price (however low) at the theater and waiting for the DVD if you were thinking of going to see Robin Hood. In the meantime, you're welcome to join me in reading Warriors of God by James Reston and Four Queens by Nancy Goldstone for a more historically accurate look at the the Crusades and women in the middle ages.

And if you must have your ridiculous but fantastic crusades, there's always the other Scott named Walter.

**Review by **

Cross-posted at The Village Wordsmithy

Written by: Mercury Gray, June 1st 2010

The Lute Player: A Novel of Richard the Lionhearted

admin — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 17:04:00 +0000

By Norah Lofts

Touchstone Books

Like an exquisite medieval tapestry, The Lute Player, a novel of Richard the Lionhearted, has a bit of historical truth and a good measure of romantic fiction. There is historical evidence of the existence of Richard, Berengaria, Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and the leading power figures of the day. However, the lute player, Blondel, is mentioned only in legends. The true reason for Richard’s indifference to his wife is subject to the author’s imagination.

With well-crafted writing, Norah Lofts takes the reader to the time of the Third Crusades, to the medieval castles of Europe and to the sun-drenched landscapes of Palestine. This is the tale of Richard Plantagenet, son of Henry II, King of England and Eleanor of Aquitaine. The story of this legendary soldier of the Crusades and future king is told from the prospective of three very different individuals: Blondel, the lute player and Richard’s close companion during the Third Crusade, Anna Apieta, the illegitimate half-sister of Berengaria, princess of Navarre and Richard’s wife, and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

This is a tale of love. Berengaria falls in love with Richard at first sight of him during a tournament at her father’s castle in Navarre. She will not consider marriage to any other suitor. After much pleading with her father, a suicide attempt, and many delays, Berengaria succeeds in her plan to become Richard’s bride. But the marriage is ill-fated.

Blondel, the lute player to Berengaria and the King of Navarre, longingly loves the beautiful princess. He becomes lute player to Richard. Upon Berengaria’s request to watch over Richard and as an escape from the life as the royal ladies’ minstrel, Blondel joins Richard on the quest to liberate the Holy Land from the infidels. Anna Apieta, the physically deformed illegitimate daughter of Sancho, King of Navarre, loves Blondel but knows that it is a love that can never be fulfilled.

It is a tale of betrayal. Richard is determined in his pursuit to march triumphantly into Jerusalem. He is betrayed by his allies, Philip of France and Leopold of Austria. While on campaign in Palestine, Richard is betrayed by his brother, John, who is left to rule England during the king’s absence.

The main characters in this novel evolve, the seemingly acquiescent become resolute and the tenacious become weak. The exceptions are Richard and Anna. The conclusion of this novel is very poignant. “But you come in the end to the place where your heart is, that is, if you set your heart in an attainable place. And it occurred to me that of them all I [Anna Apieta] was the only one who had done that.”

Written by: Maryann Gromisch, January 30th 2010

The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn

admin — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Alison Weir

Ballantine Books

Having been drawn to the history of midwifery and peasants/working classes, I’ve always shied away from studying aristocrats. When I first picked up The Lady in the Tower, I was a bit apprehensive. Over 350 pages in length (not including the bibliography, source notes, or illustrations), it appeared to be a daunting reading task. Despite my worries, the work turned out to be thoroughly engaging and interesting.

From Anne Boleyn to Henry VIII and Thomas Cromwell, Alison Weir examines the medieval context that they existed in, handing over no prejudices, just facts (as well as omitted evidence). Whether Anne slept with five men behind Henry’s back, well, that is for the reader to interpret. Contrary to popular knowledge, Weir states that Henry was not behind Anne’s fall, since he clearly could have done away with her as he did his previous queen, Katherine.

On top of all the primary source investigation, Weir utilizes a historical methodology which covers interpretations in different eras down through the ages. She explains that yes, the masses saw Anne in a better light during her daughter Elizabeth I’s reign. Later in the Victorian era Anne’s image was romanticized, so Weir effectively notes the easy sway of public opinion.

Today, however, Weir observes past records and argues that it was near impossible for a queen in Anne’s time to find the privacy to take up with five different lovers (including her own brother). The role of modern science explains issues like miscarriages and Katherine’s death (cancer), which the superstitious and god-fearing people of sixteenth century England were not privy to. Weir’s work incorporates archaeological examination of the burial area where Anne’s beheaded body was approximately laid to rest.

Weir does a great job of keeping the context in focus, while keeping the narrative compelling. The only disappointment of the book, as an advance copy, was that the illustrations were not included. The only historical figure that I could not muster sympathy for was Thomas Cromwell (the man who spearheaded the king's disposal of Anne, and who also later faced his own execution), but don’t let me be the judge or hand-picked jury on the final verdict of Cromwell’s character.

This account of the Tudors has really piqued my curiosity to go beyond the surface of the occasional pedigree chart or Hollywood movie for Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII came alive in the pages.

Written by: Nicolette Westfall, January 16th 2010

Another Life Altogether

admin — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Elaine Beale

Spiegel & Grau

Elaine Beale crafts the engrossing coming-of-age and coming out story of Jesse Bennet in Another Life Altogether. Jesse lives on the northeast coast of England, one of the world’s fastest eroding coastlines. The constant threat of the breakdown of the cliffs is mirrored by Jesse’s mother’s constant threat of mental collapse. The book begins with her mother in Delapole, the local mental hospital, though Jesse tells her classmates that her mother is on a cruise; her hope is to impress a girl she has a crush on in her class. But when her mother is discharged, in an attempt to escape judgment and get a fresh start, her father moves them into a dilapidated house in a small village.

Jesse is desperate to begin her own new life at the new school somewhere higher in the pecking order. She gets her wish as she develops a friendship with Tracey, a girl with a mean streak and an older sister, Amanda, that Jesse falls for. With her unrequited love for Amanda, and a mother who spends most of her days and nights in bed, Jesse spends much of her time writing letters to Amanda that she never sends. The letters allow her an escape and provide an outlet for her feelings in a world where she feels no one understands her or cares about her.

The layers of life develop throughout the book as Jesse battles to reconcile what she thinks her life should be and what it actually is. She wrestles alone trying to understand her sexuality and steals a book from the local mobile library on homosexuality that still doesn’t help her reconcile her feelings towards Amanda to the fact that nearly everyone around her judges homosexuality as perverse and wrong. Her father ignores the stress and trauma of the family life, preferring to yell at the television, hoping that his wife will snap out of it, and assuming Jesse can carry on by herself. Jesse’s mother struggles with what seems to be bipolar disorder; manic at times and nearly catatonic at others, she is trapped by her own brain.

The idea that mental illness is something that can be shaken off like a blanket permeates the book; the mother wants to be better but can’t. Another theme throughout is the almost impossible cruelty that kids can inflict upon each other; regardless of the time period (the book is set in the 1970s), those who are different are relentlessly picked on.

At the book’s climax, I kept desperately hoping that Jesse would do the right thing. (Don't worry. I won’t spoil it for you!) And at the end of the book, while Jesse has changed and grown throughout, we see that her life still has to carry on. There is no happily-ever-after, but there is a waking up: an acknowledgment that appearances and popularity often mean nothing and that ignoring things won’t make them go away.

Another Life Altogether is an extraordinary true-to-life book, and Beale tells a number of important and poignant stories all at once with great skill.

Written by: Kristin Conard, December 3rd 2009

The Children's Book

admin — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 08:58:00 +0000

By A.S. Byatt

Alfred A. Knopf

When I think of the works of author A. S. Byatt, I think of layers built upon layers and stories within stories. The first novel I read by Byatt was Possession, and I found the story of two modern day English professors solving a love mystery enjoyable. With that said, however, I also found the book to be overly detailed, thinking at the time that 100 pages could easily have been edited out. When I delved into The Children's Book, I expected a similar reading experience, but I was pleasantly surprised that, at almost 700 pages, the novel flows nicely.

The setting for The Children's Book is Edwardian England during the years 1895-1919. The story surrounds the Wellwood family and their mysterious almost dreamlike existence. Olive Wellwood is the matriarch of the family and she, along with her husband Humphrey, are parents to seven very curious and passionate children. Olive writes children’s fairy tales for a living and for each of her children, she writes a special private story. Some of Olive’s tales are frightening and the reader who looks closely can see a correlation to her daily life.

The opening of the novel shows Olive taking in a young homeless boy named Philip who is a gifted artist. He becomes an apprentice to Benedict Fludd, a potter whose many dark secrets are hidden within his art work similar to how Olive’s fairy tales are layered with secrets that cannot be spoken out loud. Philip is an outsider, an observer of these two unusual families, the Fludds and the Wellwoods, and the reader experiences his surprise when mysteries are revealed and begin to unravel.

The Children's Book is hard to describe in a short review. For me, the dominate theme is a mother’s love for her child and this is demonstrated with not only Olive but also with her sister, Violet, who is a caregiver for the children. The reader is introduced to many characters right at the beginning and the flow of the novel seems to focus on one or two people, a conversation or a situation and then move on rather quickly to a different experience. As guests arrive at the family estate for the annual midsummer party, the reader is treated to a tantalizing description of plays, marionette shows, feasts and heated political discussion, a perfect forewarning of things to come. Byatt incorporates, in interesting detail, the progressive political beliefs of the Wellwood family and their friends. The Children's Book is a story within a story and is layers upon layers where so much is happening that the reader is afraid to blink her eye for fear of missing something important.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, December 3rd 2009

For the Love Of Animals: The Rise of the Animal Protection Movement

admin — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Kathryn Shevelow

Henry Holt

Most people seem to agree that on some level, animal abuse is wrong. Whether this judgment is applied equally across species, however, is another matter. One hardly has to look further for modern examples of animal rights cognitive dissonance than the public outcry against Michael Vick’s dogfighting ring. Overwhelmingly, the people most outraged are those who also continue to support factory farm systems that abuse cattle, sheep, pigs, poultry, and countless other animals in the name of convenient clothing, beauty products, and meals.

Regardless of how you justify these contradictions—whether or not you participate in the paradox—a book like Kathryn Shevelow’s For the Love of Animals puts the history behind animal rights into perspective. Using her training as a historian, Shevelow begins in seventeenth century England and teases out the nuances of the last few centuries of animal abuse and animal activism. While you may learn a lot of trivia—that, for instance, the word “vivisection” was first recognized in the 1707 Oxford English Dictionary—the content is by no means trivial.

Throughout Shevelow’s comprehensive account, early animal activists like Margaret Cavendish and Richard “Humanity Dick” Martin are introduced and colorful scenes of early London marketplaces are depicted. Like many accounts of gradual revolution, much of Shevelow’s narrative takes place in the streets, where animals were bought, sold, and beaten. Along the way, as animal cruelty in public ran parallel to the rise of domesticated pets, animals were recognized in humanistic ways. Animal performers—that is, dancing dogs and drum-beating monkeys—served to remind people that all living beings are less removed from one another than we’d like to believe. Animals were taken to court for crimes, and many were found guilty and executed. Even more bewildering, stories of “monstrous births” emerged in the early 1700s. While the obsession of women giving birth to non-human animals eventually died down, even these notably strange events proved that the relationship between animals and humans was becoming inextricably complicated.

Shevelow details the heinous attractions of not-so-distant times: cockthrowing and cockfighting, bullbaiting and bullrunning, dog and horse racing, ratting, and hunting with hounds. Though it’s tough to be objective, I’d like to assume that even the most outspoken, animal-hating carnivore might be disturbed by Shevelow’s descriptions. She also documents that even centuries ago, several prominent observers of animal-based amusements were deeply disturbed by what they witnessed.

She additionally makes mention of many contemporary issues in animal rights activism and vegetarian practice. Citing the story of Dr. George Cheyne, who restored his once doomed health by removing meat from his diet, Shevelow offers historical evidence that plant-based diets can have notable health benefits. There is also mention of religious beliefs that indicate souls moving between species. If you belong to a faith that believes in reincarnation, for instance, you’re less likely to kill animals, lest you become one in a later lifetime.

The book ends with the successful founding of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) in the mid-nineteenth century. As a history text, this one is thorough and happily ends on a victorious high note.

On the other hand, analysis of contemporary activism and food justice movements only receives a frustratingly short two-page conclusion and lacks a lot of analysis about the current state of animal cruelty in the Western world. Praising the efforts of typical figureheads Michael Pollan, Peter Singer, and PETA’s Ingrid Newkirk, Shevelow seems convinced that consciousness and change has advanced as it should. Maybe that’s why she’s a historian and I’m not. For me, progress can never come quickly enough.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, December 1st 2009

Neither Fugitive nor Free: Atlantic Slavery, Freedom Suits, and the Legal Culture of Travel

admin — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 16:33:00 +0000

By Edlie L. Wong

New York University Press

In this superb book, Edlie Wong analyzes the territorialization of freedom and slavery in the antebellum Atlantic. While reading it, I frequently recalled Martin Luther King, Jr.’s warning that “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Yet Wong’s work also suggests the converse is true: the existence of free blacks threatened institutionalized slavery on practical and moral grounds, while the continuation of legal slavery in any jurisdiction challenged core notions of freedom, including freedom of movement and travel. This conflict played out in courtrooms and the court of public opinion as slaves sued for legal emancipation—a strategy fraught with its own contradictions.

Wong considers not only American struggles, but also how freedom on European soil and slavery in the West Indies influenced and was influenced by American slavery. Slave narratives, novels, popular press, and legal documents are the material from which Wong makes a dialectical critique of pro- and anti-slavery thought as it crystallized around legal cases. As befits her topic, she organizes the book locally rather than chronologically.

Chapter one deals with nationalistic British abolitionism, which championed freedom while confining it within British borders. Chapter two moves across the Atlantic to northern American free states, which offered southern slaves traveling there a choice: sever social ties and gain individual freedom, or return to home and slavery. Chapter three focuses on the Dred Scott decision and examines legal emancipation in the southwest U.S. Chapter five and the concluding chapter again take a transatlantic standpoint. The former examines the criminalization and de facto enslavement of free blacks—both American and foreign-born—who traveled into southern slave states as sailors. The latter briefly treats the question of American citizenship after emancipation and travel abroad.

Throughout, Wong sharply analyzes the rhetoric of pro- and anti-slavery literature. Whites on both sides generally acceded to the “chattel principle” that slaves are an extension of their masters' wills. Thus, unlike fugitive slaves, American slaves brought by their masters onto free soil might sue for their freedom precisely because the masters had made the decision, effectively consenting to their emancipation. Paradoxically, the movement onto free soil instilled slaves—now to be considered free agents—with their own wills, and any who returned with their masters to slave territory were argued to have chosen re-enslavement. Slaveholders, thus, saw their slaves as will-less objects, at the same time considering their enslaved status was the slaves' own choice. On the other side, White abolitionists constructed a rescue narrative in which they heroically spoke for slavery's helpless victims. Slaves whose active resistance challenged this gallantry were censored in the liberal media, or left out altogether.

Not surprisingly, Wong finds this paternalist viewpoint particularly strong where Black children and women are concerned. In the case of six-year-old Med, both lawyers claimed to speak for the girl, one presuming her desire to remain in free Massachusetts while the other argued her best interest was returning to Louisiana and her enslaved mother. Slaveholders vilified abolitionists for tearing apart families whose members were not all emancipated, while abolitionist literature suppressed the difficult decision of emancipated or escaping slaves to leave still-enslaved kin.

Wong seeks to restore the Black actors missing from these accounts. Some slaves turned the legal principle partus sequitur matrem (“the offspring follow the mother”) to establish emancipation for themselves and their children. Harriet Scott, for instance, wife of Dred, simultaneously sued for her own freedom and in so doing also established the legal emancipation of her two daughters. Thus matrilinear arguments could subvert paternalistic slave laws.

A foreknowledge of antebellum history and law would be helpful to the reader, but isn’t prerequisite. Including a timeline might have been useful, but that hardly detracts from the intelligence of the argument and the important recovery of overlooked source material. Though Wong refrains from drawing explicit connections to modern racial profiling, incarceration, migration, and an evermore tightly entwined global economy, the parallels lie on the page for any modern reader to draw.

Written by: Charlotte Malerich, October 26th 2009

Fabriclive.47

admin — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 08:29:00 +0000

By Toddla T

Fabric Records

From what I hear, Sheffield England is not a bumping metropolis. From listening to Toddla T, though, you’d gain a quite different impression.

Toddla T, the boy wonder known off-stage as Tom Bell, has been DJing since his mid-teens, is a resident DJ at Fabric, and makes frequent appearances on the BBC radio show “In New DJs We Trust.” His debut album, Skanky Skanky, was released earlier this year, and he produces fellow young British DJs and remixes the likes of Hot Chip.

On Fabriclive.47, Toddla T serves up many of his own tracks and remixes. Compared to the numerous other Fabric albums I’ve sampled over time, this came as a surprise—though a happy one. More accustomed to hearing almost-recognizable samples under old funk tracks and ‘90s R&B jams, TT’s blend of electro, house, drum and bass, and dancehall was a welcome change.

Of particular note are the small things: a random hymn sample that brought back days growing up in an evangelical church, singing “amen” in five part cycles, the women’s voices who fill in where beats just wouldn’t be enough.

It would be easy to mistake skinny white boy Toddla T for a large man of color based on his samples and influences alone. But who says race and ethnicity—or even gender—is directly linked to musical style, aptitude, or production? From the voices that boom from the tracks, it’s tricky to tell much about the young man behind the music. Maybe that subterfuge is all part of the plan.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 18th 2009

The White Queen

admin — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 23:54:00 +0000

By Philippa Gregory

Touchstone

Philippa Gregory’s latest novel, The White Queen, opens her series on the War of the Roses with a tale of blood and lust shrouded in historic mythology. Told from the perspective of Elizabeth Rivers, country maiden turned Queen of England; we follow the fall of the House of Lancaster and rise of the house of York through a Romeo and Juliet love story with a conspiring twist.

Elizabeth loses her husband in battle fighting for King Henry, leader of the house of Lancaster. As Lancaster falls and the Yorks take the reigns of Britain she loses her property and in turn her sons inheritance and only hope of a prosperous future. As the daughter of a nobleman she decides to plead with the new king, Edward IV. It is at this fated and possibly magically guided first meeting that our story truly begins. Lust at first sight is followed by a series of desperate mysterious acts, the most fascinating of which is the possible use of magic by Elizabeth’s mother to propagate her daughter’s second marriage. The King, an infamous womanizer, would be nearly impossible to pin down especially when he was still at war. It is implied that a water goddess, Melusina, a fabled descendant of the Rivers line, intervenes after Elizabeth mom invokes her. The Rivers family calls upon Melusina throughout the book for luck and hope bringing fantastical explanations for some quite unbelievable but true turns of events.

Magic aside, it is a beautifully woven story that heeds to the integrity of the historical record while still maintaining the lightness of a beach read. My one complaint would be the repetitiveness of Elizabeth’s language, she at times seems more of a conniving robot then a person but to be fair in order for her rise to power to have been plausible at all she had to have a one track mind.

As summer turns to fall, you may have a hankering to be back in the classroom. With this book you can easily reap all the benefits of a history class plus the easy reading pleasure of a good romance novel.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, September 30th 2009