At this moment, most of my books are boxed up in the garage, waiting to be taken into storage. For this reason, I've decided to do a random review of a series that I know pretty well, instead of an individual book. As mentioned in a previous post that I don't feel like linking right now, I'm a lover of mysteries. I was first introduced to the Brother Cadfael series about ten years ago, when my mom saw a listing for a movie version on PBS. Now, for most people, the idea of a 12th-century Welsh monk who solves mysteries using the herbs he works with probably doesn't send chills of excitement down the spine (perhaps chills of another kind...). But we're strange. We watched the program and were fascinated. My mom promptly headed to the library and discovered that the books are even better than the movies, so a love affair was born. Over the course of the new few years, I devoured all of the Brother Cadfael books that I could find. I'm sorry to say that the author Ellis Peters died during the time I was just discovering her books, but she left behind a rich selection of stories that continue to interest me.
Now for a little context. The stories are set in Shrewsbury, in the county of Shropshire in England, during the 1140s. While this might not seem like a period ripe with historical interest, it was actually quite an active time in England's history. The old king, Henry I, has died, leaving only a daughter Maud, widow of the Holy Roman Emperor, behind. Before his death, he begged his barons to accept his daughter as their queen, which they rather begrudgingly agreed to do. One of those who gave his promise was the king's nephew Stephen. Shortly after the king's death, Stephen and a number of other barons realized the sheer impracticability of a woman on the throne (in their opinion, at least), and Stephen immediately had himself crowned king. Some medieval women might have accepted their fate, acknowledged the unlikelihood of rallying a kingdom around a female, and exited the stage quietly. Not Maud. Daughter of a king and granddaughter of William the Conqueror, widow of an emperor, wife of one of France's wealthy nobles (Geoffrey Plantagenet): Maud was not about to give up what she felt to be her rights. And thus, an eighteen-year civil war ensued, spread out across the English landscape.
Meanwhile in Shrewsbury, an aging monk goes about his daily business, managing the herbs for the Abbey of St Peter and St Paul--and solving the occasional murder mystery. Brother Cadfael is a man of many contrasts. He was born a Welshman but has given up his past in Wales for life in a thoroughly English abbey. He was once a Crusader, but has renounced the life of the soldier to take up a different kind of cross. He is now a monk, but hardly the most nobly devoted of the brothers, as he finds numerous opportunities to leave the abbey walls when a murderer is on the loose. All in all, it proves to be a truly delightful set up for a series of mysteries, each of which provides Brother Cadfael with a glimpse of the outside world that many of his brother monks are not afforded. For this reason, Cadfael is often in some sort of trouble, although the cause of justice always prevails in the end. Along the way, Cadfael makes the acquaintance of the under-sheriff (later sheriff) of Shropshire, so he has the connection he needs to pursue the mysteries. As a side note, it might be easy to assume that Cadfael is some kind of recalcitrant monk who should not have taken up holy orders if he did not want to abide by them. Peters deals with this quietly throughout the stories. Basically, Cadfael loves his life in the abbey and has no wish to leave it, but everyone has the occasional thirst for the outside. Because he joined the abbey later in life, he has more knowledge of the world and is also less afraid of it than some of the other monks, many of whom have been in the abbey since infancy. The combination of these elements makes him the perfect ambassador for the abbey in outside situations that involve the abbey. And you would be amazed how many dead bodies pop up around St Peter and St Paul.
There are twenty books in all, some of which are better than others. The stories are chronological, so it's a good idea to start at the beginning and go forward. A few surprises crop up along the way, so it makes for better reading not to complete book eight before book four, for example. My favorites in the series are the following:
A Morbid Taste for Bones (1)
The Virgin in the Ice (6)
The Pilgrim of Hate (10)
Brother Cadfael's Penance (20)
My mom would argue that Brother Cadfael's Penance is the best in the series, but I still stand by my original belief that The Virgin in the Ice is one of the most perfectly constructed stories that I have ever read. Everything fits together beautifully. There is nothing extraneous. It's simply the best.
A word of caution on approaching the series. I recommended A Morbid Taste for Bones to my book club in Washington, and while many of them enjoyed it, I think the general consensus was that it was slow. This is true with most of the mysteries. When she began writing the books, Ellis Peters was in her fifties or sixties, so she was not at a time in life to be writing cliff-hangers. Instead, she focused on a small period of history and wove it into a richly conceived tapestry. The books are a bit slow in places, but they are also deliciously well written. The dialogue is smooth and believable; the descriptions are so precise as to enable any reader to imagine them; and the characters are real. These are stories by a woman who has seen the world and has learned how to take it. There are no extreme positions or hill-to-die-on arguments. Through the person of Brother Cadfael, she manages to remind readers about what is really important. Cadfael may not always make it to prayer on time, but he shows love, mercy, and true Christianity to every person he encounters.
For anyone who is interested, here's a link with a list of all the books: http://www.wellscs.com/ann/reading/cadfael.htm
They are listed in order of publication. Please note that A Rare Benedictine is not a mystery, but is rather a brief history of how Brother Cadfael managed to go from Crusader to monk. Also, for those who would like a different take on the books entirely, I found Brother Cadfael's Herb Garden, by Robin Whiteman and Rob Talbot (Bulfinch, 1997). It's a description of medieval herbs and how Cadfael would have used them.
A brief note on the Mystery Theatre series.
The movie versions are very well done, particularly the early ones. They attempt to stick to the books as closely as possible, although in some cases (because of time constraints) the writers were forced to alter elements of the plots. The best part about them is the casting of Derek Jacobi as Brother Cadfael; I'm note sure I could picture anyone else as the character now! The only one I'd definitely stay away from is The Pilgrim of Hate, which butchers to pieces a perfectly marvelous story.
17 September 2006
A Word about Comments
It would seem that I'm having a problem with the comment feature on the blog. I'm not sure why, but I know it has something to do with the new beta system. I received an email a couple of weeks ago, inviting me to switch to the beta Blogger, which is linked through Google. I thought that I might get a head-start on technology for once in my life and jump on the bandwagon early, instead of just before it leaves town. Unfortunately, the few times in my life that I have attempted to do this have failed, and this particular occasion was no different. As has now become apparent, the beta system is still new and has a few kinks in it, and the Blogger people are trying to work them all out. One of those kinks has to do with posting comments. I did a little research and found a suggestion that might be helpful. Before posting a comment, click on "Preview." This is supposed to help, although I have no way of finding out because I'm not having any trouble adding comments for my own posts on my own blog.
So, the moral of the story is simple: When faced with the option of joining the "new thing," beware of geeks bearing gifts.
So, the moral of the story is simple: When faced with the option of joining the "new thing," beware of geeks bearing gifts.
08 September 2006
Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination, by Peter Ackroyd (New York: Nan A. Talese, 2002)
Occasionally, during interviews with celebrities, the question will be asked, "If you could invite three people--historical or contemporary--to dinner, who would they be?" I'm always fascinated by this question, possibly because I immediately wonder whom I would ask. (Inevitably, the celebrity in question chooses Abraham Lincoln as one of the people, which tends to disappoint me because of the lack of creativity in such an answer.) After reading Albion, I think that one of my choices would be the author Peter Ackroyd, not because he's a remarkable politician or because he's made great strides in bringing about world peace or anything like that, but simply because the conversation would be fascinating.
This is by far one of the most interesting books I have ever read. Ever. First, it covers a topic that has to be about as elusive as they come. After all, how do you track down the origins of a nation's imagination? Well, Peter Ackroyd has done it, or at least he's given it a good shot. He touches on just about every element of England and the English people, and he proposes a theory about how they developed the identity they have today. His primary thesis seems to be that the English imagination has less to do with the English race (and what exactly is that, anyway?) and more to do with the landscape of England. "We may identify here a sense of belonging which has more to do with location and with territory, therefore, than with any atavistic native impulses," he says in the introduction. England is England because it is, well, England. In other words, the island itself has shaped the people and their imagination.
Now, this is very simplistic and doesn't really do Mr Ackroyd any justice for the complexity of his ideas, so I'll explain some of the main points he develops in addition to his theory of place. He touches extensively on the ability of the English to assimilate and easily take on the qualities of other peoples and nations without losing their own sense of identity. He goes far back in history to explain the necessary assimilation of the Roman and Briton peoples with the invading Anglo-Saxons (and later the Danish), and carries this forward through time, adding language, art, music, etc. into the mix. The result is that the English ability to survive so intact for so long is that they aren't really intact, in a literal sense, anymore. They have added a bit of this and that from various cultures, and it would be difficult to identify what is truly English about them. But that is Ackroyd's argument. What makes them English is that they are a mixture, but not in the American sense of a melting pot. The English have taken on the features of others but made those features unique for England. It's really quite brilliant, if you think about it, and probably explains why people often feel that there is something familiar about England, even if they've never been there before. Ackroyd says at one point, "...English literature, in particular, borrowed elements and themes from continental texts only to redefine them in the native style." Carry this over into other areas, and you have the basic idea.
In addition to the element of assimilation, Ackroyd touches on the English embarrassment or tendency to shy away from strong feeling or emotion. Ackroyd actually links this to art, music, and drama. In art, there was an early preference for decorated scriptural texts and engravings instead of sculptures and portraits. The people have liked the clean lines over florid colors. In music, there has been a preference for simply melody instead of complex harmonies. In drama, the actors and playwrights have used the drama itself to convey strong emotion instead of feeling or conveying it for themselves; additionally, they have tended to mix drama and comedy because of an embarrassment about being completely dramatic. I guess this is where the idea of a "comic relief" originates. It also seems that Ackroyd suggests the English passion for animals and gardens comes from that preference to express strong emotions toward non-human elements. I would add that I remember an English teacher (who was English) insisting that when we write our papers, we use such terms as "suggest," "indicate," etc. to avoid sounding too opinionated. I still do it. Ackroyd even mentions this at one point as being a distinctly English quality. "It partly represents the risk of seeming superior, or of expressing too much enthusiasm for one's work..." I think many people have adopted this modus operandi, without realizing its origin.
Besides assimilation and embarrassment, the English have a definite passion for history. In fact, Ackroyd says clearly that the English love of history is one way for them to avoid anything about the present that they don't like. Avoid the messy or ugly situations being faced right now; look to the past, draped in mysterious fog and calling to us. I was really reminded of Tolkien when I read this. He was so entranced by the history of the area where he lived that he developed an entire fantasy for it, a fantasy that is clearly linked to real places still in existence. And that's one of the things everyone loves about Lord of the Rings, isn't it? It has that feeling of being shrouded in a deep history that just demands exploring. Of course, the true history of any country is never as clean as one might like, so it's a simple task to clean it up a bit and reinvent the past. How many people would like to visit England because we have an idealized vision of what its past must be. Some of it is true, but quite a bit of it is invention. Then again, is there really anything wrong with this? It makes everything much more fun, and who wants to be around someone who is nothing more than a stickler for perfect historical fact. Everyone loves a legend, and we'd all like a little for it to be true.
I'll stop here with just a taste of what's in this book. It's not necessarily an easy read, but it's not particularly difficult either. Ackroyd touches on so many points that it feels a bit overwhelming in places, but he divides it up so it doesn't become too dull or erudite. My only problem with the book is simply that while interesting, it's also hard to prove one way or the other. After all, how do you measure and quantify imagination? I'm not an expert in the field, and I don't know that many are, so we simply have to take Ackroyd's word for it and go along with him for the ride. I'd recommend it, by the way, as a fascinating read and one worth the time for any person interested in understanding more about the English. I'm only partly English, but I learned quite a lot about myself and about American culture (picked up from English) through reading this book. Definitely a thumbs up for this one.
This is by far one of the most interesting books I have ever read. Ever. First, it covers a topic that has to be about as elusive as they come. After all, how do you track down the origins of a nation's imagination? Well, Peter Ackroyd has done it, or at least he's given it a good shot. He touches on just about every element of England and the English people, and he proposes a theory about how they developed the identity they have today. His primary thesis seems to be that the English imagination has less to do with the English race (and what exactly is that, anyway?) and more to do with the landscape of England. "We may identify here a sense of belonging which has more to do with location and with territory, therefore, than with any atavistic native impulses," he says in the introduction. England is England because it is, well, England. In other words, the island itself has shaped the people and their imagination.
Now, this is very simplistic and doesn't really do Mr Ackroyd any justice for the complexity of his ideas, so I'll explain some of the main points he develops in addition to his theory of place. He touches extensively on the ability of the English to assimilate and easily take on the qualities of other peoples and nations without losing their own sense of identity. He goes far back in history to explain the necessary assimilation of the Roman and Briton peoples with the invading Anglo-Saxons (and later the Danish), and carries this forward through time, adding language, art, music, etc. into the mix. The result is that the English ability to survive so intact for so long is that they aren't really intact, in a literal sense, anymore. They have added a bit of this and that from various cultures, and it would be difficult to identify what is truly English about them. But that is Ackroyd's argument. What makes them English is that they are a mixture, but not in the American sense of a melting pot. The English have taken on the features of others but made those features unique for England. It's really quite brilliant, if you think about it, and probably explains why people often feel that there is something familiar about England, even if they've never been there before. Ackroyd says at one point, "...English literature, in particular, borrowed elements and themes from continental texts only to redefine them in the native style." Carry this over into other areas, and you have the basic idea.
In addition to the element of assimilation, Ackroyd touches on the English embarrassment or tendency to shy away from strong feeling or emotion. Ackroyd actually links this to art, music, and drama. In art, there was an early preference for decorated scriptural texts and engravings instead of sculptures and portraits. The people have liked the clean lines over florid colors. In music, there has been a preference for simply melody instead of complex harmonies. In drama, the actors and playwrights have used the drama itself to convey strong emotion instead of feeling or conveying it for themselves; additionally, they have tended to mix drama and comedy because of an embarrassment about being completely dramatic. I guess this is where the idea of a "comic relief" originates. It also seems that Ackroyd suggests the English passion for animals and gardens comes from that preference to express strong emotions toward non-human elements. I would add that I remember an English teacher (who was English) insisting that when we write our papers, we use such terms as "suggest," "indicate," etc. to avoid sounding too opinionated. I still do it. Ackroyd even mentions this at one point as being a distinctly English quality. "It partly represents the risk of seeming superior, or of expressing too much enthusiasm for one's work..." I think many people have adopted this modus operandi, without realizing its origin.
Besides assimilation and embarrassment, the English have a definite passion for history. In fact, Ackroyd says clearly that the English love of history is one way for them to avoid anything about the present that they don't like. Avoid the messy or ugly situations being faced right now; look to the past, draped in mysterious fog and calling to us. I was really reminded of Tolkien when I read this. He was so entranced by the history of the area where he lived that he developed an entire fantasy for it, a fantasy that is clearly linked to real places still in existence. And that's one of the things everyone loves about Lord of the Rings, isn't it? It has that feeling of being shrouded in a deep history that just demands exploring. Of course, the true history of any country is never as clean as one might like, so it's a simple task to clean it up a bit and reinvent the past. How many people would like to visit England because we have an idealized vision of what its past must be. Some of it is true, but quite a bit of it is invention. Then again, is there really anything wrong with this? It makes everything much more fun, and who wants to be around someone who is nothing more than a stickler for perfect historical fact. Everyone loves a legend, and we'd all like a little for it to be true.
I'll stop here with just a taste of what's in this book. It's not necessarily an easy read, but it's not particularly difficult either. Ackroyd touches on so many points that it feels a bit overwhelming in places, but he divides it up so it doesn't become too dull or erudite. My only problem with the book is simply that while interesting, it's also hard to prove one way or the other. After all, how do you measure and quantify imagination? I'm not an expert in the field, and I don't know that many are, so we simply have to take Ackroyd's word for it and go along with him for the ride. I'd recommend it, by the way, as a fascinating read and one worth the time for any person interested in understanding more about the English. I'm only partly English, but I learned quite a lot about myself and about American culture (picked up from English) through reading this book. Definitely a thumbs up for this one.
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