qatsi: (dascoyne)
Book Review: Last Hope Island, by Lynne Olson
I picked this up in a work book sale a few years ago. For some time its title has seemed painfully ironic: Britain now rejecting Europe while perennially celebrating the War when "Britain stood alone". As a piece of land, it did stand alone for some time in 1940-1, but even then, many combatants from occupied countries found their way to Britain to continue the struggle.

Olson's history begins with the invasion of Norway, a story familiar to me from the excellent film The King's Choice. Haakon VII was the first of several heads of state who eventually found themselves, and often their governments, in exile in London. (The BBC receptionists at Bush House found it all too much, evidenced by the Ealing Comedy-esque title quote for this post). While Norway, along with other Scandinavian countries, had attempted neutrality, Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands had been in more forthright opposition to Nazi Germany and reluctantly left for London. ("I fear no man but Queen Wilhelmina", Churchill is alleged to have said later in the War). The story of Belgium's King Leopold III is more complicated and Olson's record of it is sympathetic.

Governments and particularly airmen came too from central and eastern Europe. Czechs and Poles were initially shunned by the RAF, in a stereotypical display of British arrogance, but like their latter-day plumbing counterparts, won some respect through their actions in the Battle of Britain. Though the Poles who originally cracked Enigma, who for some time continued their codebreaking within Vichy France, were considered too much of a security risk to serve at Bletchley Park.

Much of the second part of the book is concerned with the Special Operations Executive (SOE). Characteristically, Churchill was attracted to its pugnacious risk-taking, despite ample evidence of its disasters, and its antagonistic relationship with MI6. The catalogue recorded in this book is quite depressing. In particular, operatives parachuted into occupied territory were supposed to include a security tag at the start of radio transmissions, to confirm that they were operating freely. As many of these operatives were captured and forced to transmit fake messages, they omitted the security tag, but on many occasions these were disregarded as lapses rather than signals back in London, which led to many operations and individuals being compromised.

Indigenous resistance groups, whether independent or at least quasi-managed by SOE, could be effective, provided their security was maintained. A combination of unfulfilled expectations and exuberance could prove fatal though, with many groups suffering last-minute vengeance by the occupiers when Allied troops did not arrive on the expected timescale or in sufficient numbers. Indecision and misunderstandings led to the Netherlands being left to fend for itself and starve in the winter of 1944-5. Olson does not focus too much on the revenge sought by liberated peoples on collaborators, real or perceived, though there's no doubt the turmoil provided scope for a lot of unrelated local score-settling too.

For the occupied countries east of Germany, the liberation may have been a relief but was often not such an unalloyed celebration. The USSR suffered greatly from 1941 onwards, but the Red Army was already feared by many in occupied countries, and governments in exile were powerless. Churchill didn't like the situation, but Britain was spent too; Roosevelt was indifferent to the fate of much of Europe and had a cosy relationship with Stalin. Olson covers a lot of material, much of which ought to be better known and taught: they also served.
qatsi: (urquhart)
Book Review: The Fatal Shore, by Robert Hughes
I picked this up in the Libreria book sale in January. At the time I seem to recall being a bit indecisive about it, and I will admit it ended up being a more dutiful than pleasant read. Ironically, given that was January 2020, I had thought from the title it would have more about disease inflicted on the Aboriginal population, but in fact that is quite a minor theme - the title is taken from one of many convict-era ballads. On those people, as on everything else, Hughes is quite unsentimental, making a case that this was no Arcadia, sparsely inhabited by small groups who stank of fish oil, treated women badly, and had no concept of property; as such, they did not defend their lands initially, and never effectively, such that colonisation was inevitable. It's a disturbing attitude that may have dated badly (the book was written in the years leading up to the 1988 bicentenary of British settlement) but may nonetheless hold some truth.

As for the settlers themselves, who are the main focus of the book, they form a mixed bag. Hughes gives quite a favourable description of the First Fleet, who had to build everything from scratch and suffered great privations, with Cape Town several months away. But over time, the atmosphere of each colony would depend on its governor, from the more liberal Lachlan Macquarie in New South Wales in the 1810s to corruption, nepotism and sadism of despotic leaders in Van Diemen's Land and Norfolk Island.

As much of interest as the development of the settlements is the state of things in the UK at the time, from which I learned quite a lot. I had not known that England was in the habit of dispatching criminals to the American colonies, partly for forced labour and partly to rid the motherland of its felonry. Obviously, this practice ceased after 1776, which was a factor in establishing the colonisation of Australia. The range of crimes that were punished by transportation was also much wider than I had realised - not just murderers and violent criminals, but thieves, fraudsters, and particularly Irish political dissidents. As the nineteenth century progressed, the campaign against transportation grew; stuttering in the 1840s, the practice was renamed "assisted exile" before finally coming to an end as the Australian Gold Rush began in the 1850s.

Overall, this feels like a well-written and thorough book, but it's too brutal to be an easy read.
qatsi: (dascoyne)
Book Review: The Third Reich is Listening - Inside German Codebreaking 1939-45, by Christian Jennings
I saw this last summer in the gift shop at Bletchley Park, and it later became a Christmas present. The story of how the Plucky Brits broke the Enigma while Jerry arrogantly insisted it was impossible is relatively well known. (Less well known, perhaps, is that the initial work was done by the Poles).

But what was going on the other way around? I'd always thought British messages had been encrypted using one-time pads, essentially unbreakable unless you can acquire said pad. Apparently some messages were encrypted that way, but many were encrypted using other more vulnerable systems, generally substitution tables. The various German agencies were listening to the airwaves just as much, and able to break quite a bit of it. However, organisational and cultural differences from the Allies played a big part: the German codebreaking agencies were fragmented and there was general antipathy and suspicion between those deriving from the military and those deriving from the Nazi party. This would often lead to funding and resourcing difficulties, and also to disbelief at much of the intelligence gathered.

The Germans were able to read traffic from many European nations, both adversaries and neutrals, and the USA, including scrambled transatlantic phone conversations. Amazingly, German codebreakers were able to crack messages encrypted by the Swiss Enigma machine (which was a simpler variant than that used by the German forces), but that still did nothing to raise any alarm. The Kriegsmarine had concerns from time to time that the Enigma was vulnerable and introduced an additional rota used in "Shark" encoding, but always found other explanations for Allied actions that combined with their confirmation bias on the impregnability of the Enigma. There was an assumption that Allied messages would allude to Enigma messages if the machine was compromised, but in fact the Allies were very careful to provide plausible evidence, such as reconnaissance flights, for any Ultra intelligence. The Allies, conversely, were aware that at least some of their communications were compromised, because they discovered them copied into Enigma messages. However, with most of the Allied systems using tabulated data rather than machines, it was a logistical nightmare to change or reissue books, having particularly devastating effect during the Battle of the Atlantic.

This isn't a technical book, and it's quite readable if perhaps a bit dry in places. Certainly it has an important role in rebalancing the landscape of interception and codebreaking in the period.
qatsi: (urquhart)
Book Review: The Dictators - Hitler's Germany, Stalin's Russia, by Richard Overy
This has been on the shelves for some time, a hand-down from my father when he bought the Kindle edition. It was never going to be a light or pleasant read, but in the end I did find it worthwhile.

It would have been quite appropriate for Overy to title the book The Dictatorships, as this isn't exclusively about the individuals at the top of the regimes, though they do play an obvious major role. Both men needed support and an element of luck to get to the top. It made me uncomfortable that there would be some quantitative comparison between the two, to find one "better" than the other. This did emerge, but in a fairly natural way. It feels as though Stalin gets the benefit of the doubt over the Great Terror, as Overy catalogues much more modest execution counts outside of the period 1937-8. There's a dissonance between the suggestion that Stalin's military regime was defensive, and its actions across Eastern Europe in 1939-40 and after the end of the war. But there's an overarching sense, without feeling biased, that many of the systematic failings in the USSR during Stalin's dictatorship can be attributed to emergence from the chaos of the Tsarist regime and 1917 revolution; on the other hand, the Nazi regime took a recognisably, if weak, democratic state and consciously destroyed it.

Beyond the historical record and analysis, I was curious to see whether the book might suggest things to me about our current leaders. My conclusions are not flattering. If you choose to see them, there are parallels for Trump, Putin, and others. The attempted erosion of checks and balances, whether successful or not, is disturbing: it's not always obvious whether "small" changes can have large consequences. The arrogance of news management, and the curious use of focus groups - but only the right focus groups - by Dr Goebbels, does smell like Classic Dom.
qatsi: (vila)
Book Review:Ælfred's Britain - War and Peace in the Viking Age, by Max Adams
A friend recently shared an article on why it's so hard to read a book right now which resonated with me. This was a work book sale find, that had been on the shelves for a couple of years, and I decided it was time, but I was disappointed and found it hard to concentrate. I felt it wasn't really the book it purported to be: the clue is more in the subtitle than the title.

The book begins around the year 789, with the hostile arrival of raiders on the coast of Wessex, followed in subsequent years by raids on Lindisfarne and elsewhere along the North Sea shore. Initial defences were weak, and during the ninth century parts of Britain, in particular along the east coast and east midlands, but also in Orkney, Shetland, the Western Isles and the island of Ireland, became settled by the Vikings. Adams paints this very much as a clash of cultures, with Britain governed by the rule of law, managed by Kings and the Church, with a generally ordered succession, stability and continuity; in contrast, the Vikings (strictly nameless tribes of Nordic / Scandinavian warriors, the word "viking" being a verb meaning to go raiding) ruled by force and had few accepted institutions to prevent upheaval. Although some became resident and became somewhat assimilated, raiding and skirmishing continued. Alfred established defences throughout Wessex and part of Mercia, holding firm a line approximating to the course of Watling Street. But perhaps only the central third of the book is given over to Alfred's time; the later chapters deal with his legacy and the emergence of something that might be called "England".

This isn't particularly a book about King Alfred, but it is about the Viking age in Britain and it did at times feel like War and Peace (which I haven't read, so that's a rather metaphorical comparison). It did feel quite diligent, but I'm uncertain what the target audience was: in the introduction to I, Claudius, Robert Graves explains his reasoning for using modern country and place-names; here, the use of æ, þ, and ð is noted but only serves to make the reading more difficult. The text is scattered with both endnotes (bibliographic) and footnotes (supplementary explanations or opinions). The overall impression is of a quite academic approach in a book that gives the outward impression of being a more lay history, and I observed afterwards that my impression corresponded to that of many readers on Goodreads.

I did learn something of Alfred, but not a great deal more than I already knew. There were interesting fragments, such as the unimportance of the modest settlement at London at the time. I had not heard of Æðelflæd and I found her story rather more interesting. In contemporary English culture, the character of St George seems quite toxic; I gather the traditional patron saint is Edmund, but given the vision experienced by Alfred prior to the Battle of Edington, I feel a case could be made for the Northumbrian St Cuthbert.

I CLAVDIVS

Jun. 3rd, 2020 07:11 pm
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: I, Claudius, by Robert Graves
I was far too young to have seen the TV series when it was originally broadcast in the 1970s, but it did get a repeat showing in the 1980s (possibly after Graves' death in 1985) and I recall seeing at least one episode towards the end of the series. At the time the thing I found instantly striking was the spectacularly maelstromic and maniacal theme music by Wilfred Josephs.

In the author's note at the beginning, Graves draws attention to the laboured writing style, saying that it is in imitation of Claudius himself. Whilst the style is laboured, it seemed to me to be a good match for translations of classical works by, for example, Julius Caesar and Suetonius, and is the style of such contemporary writing. The conceit for the book, that a Sybil prophecies that the word of Claudius shall be heard nineteen-hundred years hence, is undeniably clever. Writing frequently with humour and self-deprecation, Claudius gives a history from the time of his birth to his becoming Emperor, more often playing the fool than being it.

Although Claudius claims to be writing an autobiography, the first half or so of the book is really about Livia, and to a lesser extent, Augustus. If it seems difficult to believe that one person could have poisoned so many without consequence, then we have to remember that might was right, there was little in the way of law enforcement, no forensic science, and a highly superstitious population who would believe all sorts of prophecies and omens. The idea that Augustus eventually chose Tiberius as his successor on the basis of being less popular seems vain but plausible. That Tiberius would then choose Caligula says much about both of them. In the past few years I've often thought that the current POTUS and his court reminds me of Caligula, and the book does little to dissuade me of that, with its arbitrary charges, executions, falling out of favour and back in again, and mismanaged economy. At least as far as I know, in DC no horses have been made senators. I'm looking forward to the sequel.
qatsi: (baker)
Book Review: State of Emergency - The Way We Were: Britain 1970-1974, by Dominic Sandbrook
This had been on my to-read list for a while, and it was a Christmas present. Now, somehow, seemed a good time to pick it up. Apparently as an infant I had baths by candlelight, due to power cuts (presumably in 1972, as power cuts were actually less of an issue in 1974). I do remember my mother tended to keep the cupboards "well-stocked", with typically two or three bags of flour (and I still have a couple of packs of left-over candles). Admittedly she did more baking, and also had a smaller range of items, but little risk of running out bar a major incident.

Sandbrook is a few years younger than me, born "about nine months after the start of the Three Day Week" (we are left to draw our own facile conclusions), so the book is all researched and unearthed rather than remembered first-hand. Part of a larger series, this book essentially covers the Heath premiership, though it doesn't pay too much attention to the date range, quite often looking forward into the late seventies or even eighties when a theme requires it.

Most, though not all, of the book is driven by political events, which Sandbrook chooses to discuss thematically, with a liberal chronology. Starting with the General Election of 1970, which unexpectedly promoted Heath to the office of Prime Minister: a time of relative affluence (certainly of greater affluence than previous generations) and parlous industrial relations, with the cracks (metaphorical and literal) beginning to appear in the post-war programme. One thing that strikes me is that Sandbrook is very scornful of Heath's naïvety and arrogance over the short-termism and greed of British companies and management (Heath expresses recognisably the same exasperation in rather different terms in his own autobiography). Add to this a powerful and political trade union movement, where the workers were rather more militant than their leaders in a time of near-full employment, and an overheating economy, and it all begins to break down rather quickly. Perhaps World War I is a comparison in the sense that it was probably no-one's intention, but combined stubbornness and denial brought about the events anyway. Yet there are other events to which the public seemed perhaps sceptical but largely indifferent - decimalisation in 1971 and entry to the EEC in 1973. Wilson's opposition was entirely opportunistic.

The couple of chapters on the Troubles in Northern Ireland are grim reading, at once for themselves, and also in comparison both to the state of Ulster unionism some sixty years earlier (described in The Strange Death of Liberal England) and also today: a combination of insecurity, intransigence and a belief in some sort of "Britishness" that doesn't exist in the rest of the UK.

Other chapters deal with race and gender politics in the period, with frequent reference to television and films of the era. Sandbrook's fondness for Doctor Who comes through in titling his chapter on environmentalism The Green Death. It was news to me that the Peladon stories are allegories for entry into the EEC and the miners' strike. Survivors (again stretching beyond the book's strict timeframe) seems all too relevant to today. The book draws to a close with the February 1974 General Election, again producing an unexpected, and this time inconclusive, result. Sandbrook notes that there are so many what-ifs in this period. Overall, this is an engagingly written book, mixing gloomy and desperate times with more light-hearted reflections, and makes you realise quite how much happens in just a few years.

Bi-ography

Mar. 14th, 2020 03:45 pm
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: In the Shadow of Vesuvius - A Life of Pliny, by Daisy Dunn
Granted, this is a book mostly about Pliny the Younger, but it also throws in some material about Pliny the Elder. Dunn doesn't take a strictly chronological path, but starts with the eruption of Vesuvius in AD79, when Pliny the Elder's curiosity was roused, though his mission rapidly changed to one of rescue, and in which he ultimately died. His nephew, Pliny the Younger, was invited to join the expedition but declined, preferring to stay home with his books. That turned out to be a good decision.

Pliny the Elder had a fairly standard military career, but also an insatiable curiosity about the natural world, eventually recorded in his Natural History, an early encyclopedia. Stoic to the point of ascetic, Dunn certainly portrays him in many ways as a Grumpy Old Man, though he must also have been very hard-working, frequently writing after dark by oil-lamp. Pliny the Younger took a somewhat more relaxed path, becoming a lawyer and senator, eventually sent to Bithynia as a provincial governor. Concern for his self-image and posterity seems rather at odds with his uncle's stoicism; he decided to collect and publish a number of his letters during his own lifetime, providing insight into his class of society in the late first and early second century AD. This is, of course, why he remains a figure known to this day, and Dunn discusses his legacy throughout the book. At one time there was confusion over whether there were in fact two Plinys, or just one - and there was a constant battle between Como and Verona to claim his family seat; despite putting down early Christianity in Bithynia during his governorship, both Pliny the Elder and Younger found their way into significant carvings on Como Cathedral.

This is a very readable book and I enjoyed it; I also learned by reading it. I had not realised (or had long-since forgotten) that Lucius Caecilius Iucundus of Cambridge Latin Course and Doctor Who fame was a real historical figure; serendipitously, the story about Dr Polidori, Byron and the Shelleys would have meant much less to me prior to this season's Doctor Who episode.

Two films

Feb. 22nd, 2020 10:29 am
qatsi: (lurcio)
It's been a busy week with two films this week at Reading Film Theatre. On Tuesday I went to see 2040. I found myself uneasy at a handful of Extinction Rebellion supporters in the audience; I suppose protest never got anywhere by leaving people in their comfort zones, but they do remind me of the Yes Minister joke that the Greenham Common camp was "a protest against Men, the USA, and Nuclear Weapons - in that order". It also irritated me that the film's opening credits stated that the production had been fully carbon-offset, and began with Damon Gameau boarding a plane. If carbon offsetting is just a matter of paying a tenner extra for a flight and washing your hands of it, then it shouldn't be an option, governments should just legislate for it. But overall the film was better; rather than paint a doom-and-gloom picture of life in the future, Gameau shows us what is already possible, and how it could have a positive impact if more widely adopted. Solar power and micro-grids are no-brainers; driverless cars seem inevitable though always just a bit further off than you had thought; a return to more traditional agricultural and land stewardship methods, but with smarter technology; and giant seaweed colonies to absorb additional CO2.

On Thursday it was the turn of Harriet, based on the life of Harriet Tubman. Perhaps this was selective and dramatised to produce a more entertaining film, but it seemed to have honesty in its essentials, and there were good performances all round.
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: Heyday - The 1850s and the Dawn of the Global Age, by Ben Wilson
Awkwardly, there's a howler in the map at the opening of the book, which places Bahrain on the Red Sea rather than the Gulf, but fortunately this does not reflect the overall quality of the work. Ben Wilson begins by describing the laying of the cross-channel telegraph cable and the Great Exhibition of 1851, an opportunity for Britain and the Empire to show its wares, but which also became an opportunity to discover developments and innovations of other powers. The book was written in 2016, and it's difficult not to read it with the parallels of Brexit running through the self-delusion of inherent British superiority. (At least in 1851 there was a good case for it being British, rather than English).

The action quickly moves across the world, to the gold rushes in Australia and California, the first attempt at an Atlantic telegraph line, westward expansion of the United States, and the development of the cotton trade. Here we start to see the darker side to the bonanza, the hints of the bust that will follow the boom. The middle section of the book discusses corruption in central America, Russian expansion and the Crimean war, the breaking of isolation from the West in Japan and China, and the Indian Mutiny. Wilson does his best to be even-handed in analysing the grim events of the time. Moving into the final section, the use of the telegraph for both military and civilian news-bearing purposes gives the innovators the advantage, but also unleashes populism in the papers of the day. There's a good explanation of the origins of the US Civil War, and of Britain's ambivalence towards it between moral and commercial imperatives. An epilogue shows how the boom ended, with financial crashes and the Long Depression, but retaining the technological improvements that had emerged in the era.

Precisely

Jan. 26th, 2020 04:39 pm
qatsi: (baker)
Book Review: The Perfectionists - How Precision Engineers created the Modern World, by Simon Winchester
Perhaps seeking out ever more niche areas for writing, Winchester brings the rather dry subject of precision engineering to life in this book. It's not an easy subject to grasp: some things in our everyday experience require relatively little precision, and so the extent of engineering may seem pointless, whilst in other areas we just take it for granted, as it is ubiquitous. Winchester starts history with cannons and the advent of the steam engine, both of which required cylinders bored to previously unattainable accuracy to function reliably and safely. But quickly the tale turns to one of mass production and the requirement for interchangeable parts - a previously unknown concept. There follows a stream of ever more modern technology, through car engines to aeroplanes and the Hubble Space Telescope - for both these latter items Winchester also examines the failures resulting from a lack of expected precision - before concluding with GPS and an examination of how the fundamental units of measurement are now defined.

One thing puzzled me throughout the book: Winchester refers to "high precision", meaning constructed with great predictability, and also to "high tolerance", a term he seems to use as a synonym. To me, being "highly tolerant" would imply not requiring such precision, but being able to "make do" with less precise constructs. But this oddity did not prevent me from enjoying the book.
qatsi: (urquhart)
Book Review: The Phoney Victory - The World War II Illusion, by Peter Hitchens
If I had to choose one of the Hitchen brothers, it would not be Peter, but I found the title and the premise of this book interesting enough to find out what he had to say, especially coming from someone on the right of the political spectrum.

There were one or two claims that were at best dubious and unsubstantiated - the idea that Chamberlain and Halifax wanted a war in 1939 struck me as quite peculiar (though the fact that the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact threw everyone's calculations aside is clear), and there is a later, perhaps predictable, tirade about abortion and social degeneracy all being a consequence of the war - but most of the book rings true enough: the shaky guarantee to Poland, hardly a liberal democracy; the disinterest and even hostility of the United States; Dunkirk and the fire-bombing of German cities; and the forced movement of peoples at the end of the war. So Hitchens deconstructs the notions that Britain went to war to save the Jews, that it forged the "Special Relationship" with the US, that all the actions were heroic and just. Hitchens goes to some length to clarify (repeatedly, and perhaps too much) that he is not arguing against the war or in any way in favour of the Third Reich - though he questions the choice of Poland as a tipping point, and makes no convincing arguments for an alternative.

In the early chapters, Hitchens points out that Britain somewhat sat out two thirds of the European war; he does not, of course, go quite as far as to give credit to the Red Army. I did learn some things from the book - such as that Britain defaulted on its World War I debts to the United States and that radar nearly didn't get built. Oddly, Hitchens seems to think the Dam Busters raid was one of the more successful acts of Bomber Command; whilst it's a great legend of derring-do, the consensus is that its military effect was slim.

As the New Statesman points out, anyone who has taken an interest in history will have discovered and understood these things; but its review rather simplistically overlooks the inconvenient fact that large swathes of the population appear not to have understood these things, if one is to judge from contemporary British popular culture. Yet Hitchens is also reluctant to do more than scratch the surface on this; he could and should have asked more probing questions of why our popular view of this period is the way it is. He isn't afraid to take chunks out of Churchill; why not the Gammonati and readers of the Daily Mail?

The blurb talks about the myth of the "Good War" being used to justify more recent conflicts that have had such dismal results, but this is another point that doesn't actually get any serious discussion, which is a shame. Curiously, I take a different interpretation: that mass media and our collective squeamishness prevents military action on a scale taken to defeat Germany in 1945. This is no bad thing, but the successful resurrection of Germany and Europe - rapidly in the West, eventually in the East - surely arises at least in part from such total defeat, forced to start again from a tabula rasa. For example, the West encouraged uprisings in Iraq in 1991, but chose not to give them enough support to ensure overthrow of the regime - until the US returned to the subject a decade later and a world apart. And then, suffering a crisis of confidence, it proffered the same half-hearted support in the Arab Spring of 2011 and onward. The level of military involvement, its purpose and objectives, is a fair question for discussion, but the disproportionate popular expectation for outcomes is a constant and problematic. Ultimately one is left obliquely to infer that Hitchens' objections are largely faith-based - a position he is entitled to take, but would be better if he made it clear.

Clearly, this book was a thought-provoking read, and therefore a good thing, but it's a bit like the reveal in Murder on the Orient Express: like Poirot, Hitchens discusses the things he feels are important, but there is a sense that the simpler, more comforting, yet false explanation will prevail.
qatsi: (capaldi)
Book Review: Watling Street, by John Higgs
Another psychogeographical ramble, this book follows the course of Watling Street from Dover to Holyhead. Like many books of this genre, there's a hint of melancholia, as even when peering into the past and finding it grim, it comes with an implied suggestion that we're missing our heritage and that somehow things must have been better in The Olden Days. Inter alia we learn that the route existed for thousands of years before the Romans, though it is named after a warlord from the Dark Ages; about the connection between Dickens and Rod Hull; the two routes taken through London, before and since the Romans; highwaymen (and women), public schools, ball games, and druids. Published in 2017 and obviously researched beforehand, it tentatively mentions Brexit but sticks to simple facts on leaving the EU rather than expressing any opinions about it. I found the chapter on Bletchley Park worthy but slightly misunderstanding of the Bombes. Nevertheless, I did learn the origin of the phrase "money for old rope" and three possible reasons why James Bond has the codename 007; and Higgs persistently slips in Doctor Who references at various locations, appropriately enough for a book that travels in space and time.
qatsi: (bach)
Book Review: The Prague Sonata, by Bradford Morrow
I try to read something musical during the Proms season, but this remained hidden on my bookshelf at a critical moment and it got missed until after the end of the season. In any case, I wasn't really sure what to expect: I feared disappointment.

Meta Taverner is a musicologist working in New York; a career as a concert pianist was cut short by an injury. A friend telephones her shortly after her thirtieth birthday, giving her the name and address of an elderly lady and encouraging her to make a visit. The lady, a Czech immigrant, shows her what appears to be an eighteenth century manuscript, the middle movement of a piano sonata, and tells her the story of how it came to be separated from its companion movements during World War II. Meta is intrigued by the music, and entrusted with the manuscript and the quest to reunite the work. The novel proceeds to Prague, where she makes friends and enemies, discovers old stories, rivalries and multiple layers of history, before ultimately concluding back in America.

The story is well told and carries enough authenticity in the way it references composers, musical and research techniques, and also for the way it paints Czech and Slovak history through the twentieth century. Confusingly but necessarily, the story is spliced together from several timelines, which trace back to the mid-nineteenth century. It felt a bit long-winded at times, and one episode in the middle did feel rather predictable, but on the whole, I enjoyed it.
qatsi: (meades)
Book Review: Churchill and Orwell - The Fight for Freedom, by Thomas E Ricks
This was a random selection from the work book sale, but the time I chose to read it was hardly random, as one Churchill fan had recently ascended to the Prime Ministership in a time of national crisis. Unlike his predecessor, this crisis was self-inflicted, and the current incumbent shut down Parliament in an Orwellian attempt to silence debate and dissent.

There is no doubt that Churchill was the right leader at the right time, but had history been different, the book acknowledges he would have been little more than a footnote in history, an entertaining writer as an adventurer, journalist and historian in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. For Orwell, too, the start was not especially promising, but his bit-part in the Spanish Civil War gave him the energy to write about freedom and totalitarianism, in any form. Animal Farm struggled to find a publisher in the wake of the Second World War, but it sold out immediately.

Churchill's life seems to have more ups and downs, from escapades in South Africa in the Boer War, through mixed political fortunes in the First World War, the wilderness of the 1930s, triumph in the Second World War, and sharp decline thereafter. Our folk memories are highly selective and cover only a narrow segment of his life. Orwell, on the other hand, suffers more from the downs: an indifferent if humanising career as a Police Officer in colonial Burma, a lucky escape with a neck wound in the Spanish Civil War, a brush with the divisions and purges of communism, a long period of declining health. The successes of Animal Farm and 1984 were immediate, but late - very late - in his career.

The two never met, but Ricks's joint biography carefully joins the threads of their lives together. This isn't a detailed history of either man, but it isn't superficial, either. Both names have become adjectives, but in different senses.
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: The Encircling Sea, by Adrian Goldsworthy
It's almost a year since I read Vindolanda, the first in this series. Whilst there are a few repetitions or flashbacks to the previous novel, the next in the series does nevertheless stand on its own, with Ferox and Vindex tackling a kidnapping that has taken them to the far north. On their return to Vindolanda, they find the Romans have been invited to Hibernia (Ireland), by one of the candidates for the process of selecting a Great King. Of course, things do not quite go according to plan. Northern tribes are raiding the area, taking cattle and setting fire to local settlements; and they seem particularly interested in one particular Roman family.

Again, I found it interesting to read of the fluctuating alliances between tribes or groups, seeming to swap sides quite readily. I did find it a bit surprising that more wasn't made of the Romans' reluctance to set sail, as they navigate first the Irish Sea and later up to the Western Isles of present day Scotland, though even the "Roman" characters come from various parts of the Empire, including of course Britain. On the downside, somehow the kidnapping of (supposedly) important people felt a bit reminiscent of the earlier novel, and the battles later in the novel were at times confusing. For those for whom life was not short, it apparently was nasty, brutish, and repetitive. Again, the author offers historical notes at the end of the book, with the basic plot inspired by the revolt of the Usipi documented by Tacitus.

Hot air

Sep. 3rd, 2019 09:20 pm
qatsi: (capaldi)
Book Review: The Invention of Air - An experiment, a journey, a new country and the amazing force of scientific discovery, by Steven Johnson
I'm behind with book reviews again. This is a short but well-written biography of Joseph Priestley; it's not particularly in-depth but chooses to pick out some focal points in his life. There is an early howler, when Johnson places Warrington in Yorkshire, and throughout one has the feeling it's written with an American audience primarily in mind. The journey takes in his friendships with Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, his early meetings with leading science researchers in the coffee houses of London, and experiments and writings on electricity, before moving on to his most famous (if flawed) discovery of oxygen, which he continued throughout his lifetime to believe was the absence of something ("dephlogisticated air") rather than the presence of a pure chemical. But there are also darker threads in Priestley's life, as he pursued nonconformist religious and unpopular political views, and the description of rioting in Birmingham that would ultimately drive him, as an old man, from his house and from his country, is a disturbing reminder of the power of the mob. Johnson also offers a genuinely educative interlude, describing how the carboniferous era likely came about, and how we have benefited from it (but at what cost?) in the last few centuries.
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: SPQR - A History of Ancient Rome, by Mary Beard
Interestingly, after reading this, I discovered on Goodreads that two friends had already rated this with five stars, and I agreed with them. The book is perhaps not comprehensive, coming to a conclusion in 212 CE, with Caracalla's extension of Roman citizenship to all free inhabitants of the Roman empire; therefore it omits the later decline, fall, division, etc. But within its scope, the book feels definitive.

Beard chooses to begin with Cicero's revelation of the Cataline conspiracy, before returning to chronology. The mythical foundation of Rome by Romulus and Remus clashes immediately with the story of Aeneas, and the evidence for the ancient Kings of Rome is thin, too. Beard does her best to make sense of the legends, but the archaeology only dates back to the Republic, where there's a reasonable foundation for ancient lists of consuls. The wars and skirmishes with Rome's neighbours, and later further afield, lead to the increasing power of Roman armies; these are essentially private militias, and promised post-service settlement for increasing numbers of retired soldiers strains the later Republic. The discussion of reforms and reaction from the period of the Gracchi through to Julius Caesar is particularly well done, and makes this history much clearer to me. From this there follows the Civil War and the rise of Octavian / Augustus, and a new form of government and politics in which the army is explicitly state-sponsored. Beard highlights that the transfer of power from one Emperor to another was often peaceful, with relatively few interventions.

But it's not just war and politics; Beard covers domestic life and death, social structures and practices, slavery, and the extent of the Roman world. Inevitably, she reminds us, evidence favours the well-off who had possessions that might be preserved; and it's very obviously a male-dominated society too, though gravestones in particular provide some eulogies to wives and mothers. The level of the writing is pitched right, avoiding assumptions about the reader's knowledge but never patronising.
qatsi: (lurcio)
Book Review: A Vineyard in Andalusia, by Maria Dueñas
For holiday reading I decided I wanted something sufficiently detached from the present, so this work sale book fitted well. Despite the title, the story begins in Mexico: it is 1861, and Mauro Larrera has just found out the war in the United States has lost him a shipment of mining equipment. Living close to the edge, he is financially ruined by this loss, but he is determined to keep up appearances as a wealthy mine-owner, borrowing from a money-lender on eye-watering terms while he considers how to recover.

He decides to seek short-term opportunities in Cuba, but eventually finds his way to Spain, having become the owner of a dilapidated house, a local vineyard and winery, in Jerez. Initially he intends to sell the properties, but various complexities arise.

An entertaining mixture of researched historical authenticity and well-trodden literary tropes, the story contains a number of surprising twists as it proceeds to its almost-but-not-quite predictable conclusion. The only anachronism I spotted was the use of the word "micro-organism", which was first used in 1880, though it's possible that's a translation error rather than a literal in the original. In any case it doesn't detract from the atmospheric quality conveyed by the book.
qatsi: (baker)
Book Review: Exploring the Earth and the Cosmos, by Isaac Asimov
I first read this book as a teenager in the 1980s, and I was prompted to put it back onto the to-read list a few years ago when I visited Lisbon, triggered by the mention of Henry the Navigator. It turns out my memory was not quite right - it was the Phoenicians who first noted the appearance of the Sun in the north of the sky, thus demonstrating they had reached the southern hemisphere (because no-one would have imagined such a possibility); and Henry himself in fact never left Portugal.

The account of various stages of exploration of the Earth's surface is reasonably comprehensive; perhaps some more detail could now be added about deep ocean trenches. But in its exploration of other horizons, the book has not dated so well. It was first published in 1982, and so rides on the same wave as such broadcasting epics as The Ascent of Man or Cosmos; it just about covers the Voyager encounters with Saturn, but of course there is no mention of their later flybys of Uranus or Neptune, nor the various rovers that have landed on Mars, the Cassini mission to Titan, or the New Horizons encounter with Pluto. It's a reminder how much planetary science has achieved in the last 40 years. The sections on time and energy may not require much updating; the section on matter halts at neutrinos, and inevitably doesn't cover any of the more recent achievements in particle physics, such as the discovery of the Higgs boson.

Also irritating, for me, is the constant explanation of metric units; clearly it's written for an American audience. But not only that, the metric units used are a mix of CGS and SI units; while this is easier to handle, it still grates a bit. All told, this book was a bit of a disappointment, and I can recommend it for historic interest only.

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