This is another one of those books that wasn’t what I thought it was. I’ve had it on my shelf for a while. I thought it was an archaeology book about early humans. It sort of is, but mostly Ancient Traces by Michael Baigent is a conspiracy theory book.
The central premise is that evidence exists that suggests that humans evolved much earlier than is generally believed and didn’t evolve from apes. The academic establishment has systematically suppressed any evidence that doesn’t support the current dominant paradigm.
Baigent presents a number of related ideas: humans evolved much earlier than thought; we co-existed with dinosaurs; dinosaurs still exist in remote areas of the world; humans evolved from a sea creature rather than from apes.
I’m not sure how much I believe but I hadn’t heard many of these stories/theories before and it is all very entertaining. Baigent style does verge on the hysterical when talking about how evidence has been suppressed but otherwise it’s pretty readable. The ideas in the book are thought-provoking if not well-supported. It was fun.
I read a lot of fantasy fiction (amongst other things) and write some too. Fantasy worlds are overwhelmingly based on medieval European societies and the genre does come in for criticism for its lack of diversity. I love to read fantasy with other sources of inspiration. And I love really good medieval Europe style fantasy, not least because I love that period of history.
Medieval Lives by Terry Jones and Alan Ereira is the book of the BBC television series. Each chapter gives a snapshot of what a person’s life might have been like based on the role they had: peasant, minstrel, outlaw, monk, philosopher, knight, damsel and king. The format enables the authors to draw distinctions about how position and wealth affected peoples lives. There’s a conscious effort to do some myth-busting and include some surprising facts.
I especially enjoyed the chapters on damsels and knights. The one on damsels makes the point that women’s status in society is not a straight line of progress and that medieval women probably had more equality than Victorian women. There’s a fun bit about women arranging their own abductions in a effort to game the system. The chapter on knights discusses the concept of chivalry as a attempt to control the extreme violence of what were basically warlords.
It’s all very entertaining. As it’s the book of the TV series it’s understandably lightweight. That makes it accessible and it’s ideal as an introduction to the subject matter. I was left wanting to read more in-depth books that I could really get my teeth into and I think that’s a good thing.
I’ve been watching the series The Borgias and enjoying it enough to want to find out more about the actual Borgias. Because, you know, TV tends not to be terribly historically accurate and I was curious to know what it was all based on.
There’s not a lot out there, unless you want to pay thirty quid for something very academic. Christopher Hibbert’s book had good reviews so I chose that. It covers a large period of history and is a relatively short book, so it is necessarily superficial.
It covers the election of Rodrigo Borgia to Pope and gives some interesting background on the state of the papacy in the fifteenth century. We tend to forget just how corrupt the system was, just how tied into the political power-broking of the time. There’s a section about Cesare and his military exploits. And finally something about Lucrezia. It focuses quite heavily on her ability to rule and the fact that Rodrigo often entrusted the running of the Vatican to her rather than any of the Cardinals.
It was interesting and a very easy read. Certainly, a decent place to start. It wasn’t quite what I was looking for though. I think I wanted something that took apart all the juicy, salacious rumours about the Borgias and separated fact from fiction. I think I was also looking for something more in depth about the personalities involved. I guess I might have to shell out for one of those more academic books after all.
I’ve been reading a lot of non-fiction lately. Sometimes I don’t notice until I write my reviews. A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain by Marc Morris is an historical biography of Edward I, king of England 1272 – 1307.
Historical biographies are as much about the social and political landscape of the times as they are about the person at the centre of the story. Which is why I will read historical biographies but have very little patience with contemporary ones. But give me a bit of medieval history and I’m happy.
Given that Edward didn’t become King until he was thirty-three and the book starts with his birth, it also covers the second half of his father’s reign. Henry III, by contrast, came to the throne at the age of nine. The two men were of very different character, which provides a nice ‘compare and contrast’ element to the story.
What comes across was that Edward I was an effective king. Many of the things he did were questionable by modern standards, such as his treatment of the Jews or of the conquered Welsh, but he wouldn’t have been judged as harshly by his contemporaries. There is some interesting discussion on the changes in the moral climate and I liked that Morris didn’t excuse or gloss over anything while at the same time put his actions in context. It’s a fine line to walk.
The book also highlights how hard it is to judge an entire life. Edward I did more than any other medieval English king to create the modern kingdoms that form Britain. And we still live with the legacy of that today. He was an action-hero figure of a king, constantly on the move and almost permanently at war. His expertise at diplomacy was a bit patchier; sometimes he seemed to have a golden touch and at others everything went to pieces.
There is much more to Edward I than being the villain of Braveheart. This was a fascinating read, I learnt a lot, and I really enjoyed it.
The book for Book Club in March is Shadows of the Workhouse by Jennifer Worth, who also wrote Call The Midwife, now a BBC series. I know something about workhouses and the conditions that inmates experienced, the values that inspired them and some of the reasons why they didn’t work. I was interested in reading this but I didn’t pay too much attention beyond the title and I think this is another example where my expectations didn’t align with what the book is.
The first three chapters tell the stories of three people who grew up in workhouses, their experiences there and how it affected the rest of their lives. Then there is the story of the kleptomaniac nun . And lastly the long story of a lonely old man whom the author was friends with and who ended his days in a home in a building that used to be a workhouse.
While Jennifer Worth does give some background into the establishment of workhouses, which was very interesting, this is not a book that will tell you anything about the structure of a society that brought these places into being. Neither does it examine the legacy that the workhouse has left us, except in the most personal sense. Worth touches on the values and attitudes that create beliefs that the poor must be punished, that being destitute must be so awful that it inspires people to better themselves, that ending up in a workhouse is a failure of character. This is fascinating for me and I can see echoes of those beliefs in contemporary attitudes towards people on benefits, but this is not explored. It’s not an intellectual book.
What it is, is memoir. I’m not a fan of memoir or biography; I find that focussing on an individual’s story loses sight of the bigger picture and to me that’s more interesting. But besides being memoir, this is a version of misery-lit. The pain is not the author’s own but it is presented in the same gratuitous way. I have a wide contrarian streak and I resent being told what to feel in such a heavy-handed way. The stories that Worth tells are tragic. She tells them in a way that I find sentimental. We are supposed to be shocked and appalled and to see the perpetrators as evil. For me, sentiment is the enemy of compassion; it romanticizes tragedy and removes the call to action. Instead, the reader is invited to feel self-satisfied and righteous.
One other thing that I found unsettling was the lack of any mention of where these stories had come from. Worth lived with the people she writes about and it is her memory of what happened and who they were. But in some instances she recounts events that happen to the person at an age where memory would not have been formed, so I suspect the stories came from somewhere else. Where? Without an understanding of the context in which these stories were relayed to the author, and given the fact that she is writing fifty years on from the period the book covers, I find it hard to know what is fact and what is interpretation. Maybe it doesn’t matter, as this is memoir and is one person’s perception, but for me it lacks seriousness. Perhaps that’s my intellectual snobbery showing. On the plus side, I am rather motivated to learn more about the legacy of the workhouse. Unless your bookshelves are filled with misery-porn I’d give this a miss.