Uhm . . . No.
I love me some historical fiction, and I love queens and such, but there are some expectations that come with those elements. For one, historical fiction usually has a sort of elevated writing style. This . . . did not. In fact, this was written like bad young adult fiction. The sentences are simple, the POVs hop around, and we're told instead of shown. In particular, the characters are flat. Bad guys are bad, and no one is well rounded, not even Victoria or Albert or Lord Melbourne, the three sides of the poorly constructed love triangle this book puts forth as the central "conflict," such as it is.
That's another problem with this book. There is no tension and no real conflict. I think we're supposed to feel worried that Conroy and the Duke of Cumberland will succeed in ruling over Victoria or setting her aside in some way, but that plot line comes and goes with nary a ruffle. And then maybe we're supposed to feel tension over Victoria + Melbourne versus Victoria + Albert, but since we all know how that ends, how can we really worry over it?
The "romance" between Victoria and Albert, too, is tiresome. They seemingly can't stand each other, yet we're told over and over again that they've fallen in love. What? It makes no sense, and there is zero chemistry on the page. The whole thing seems far more forcibly arranged by Leopold than a true romance between two people who, history shows, really did love one another.
Are we supposed to like Albert? It's impossible to in this incarnation. He's serious and borderline cruel at points. We're given the sad story of his mother leaving when he was young as though that might soften him, but again, we just don't feel it. This book is so much tell and so little actual feeling.
Overall, this book suffers from a lack of backbone. There is no strong through line, no development arc, and the characters are static rather than dynamic. I was disappointed.
Showing posts with label queens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label queens. Show all posts
2.11.2018
1.06.2018
Movies: Victoria & Abdul
This movie has been on my watch list for a while now, but I'll admit the reason I finally did sit down and watch it is that I'm reading Eddie Izzard's memoir and he mentions being in the movie. I thought, Really? And then he said he played Bertie, and I thought, Oh, but Bertie was such a dick. So then I kind of had to see Eddie Izzard play a dick.
Anyway, I don't pretend to know how much of this is true. That Queen Victoria had an Indian servant for the last fifteen years of her reign is documented, but the rest . . . It turns out Abdul kept a diary that was made public in 2010, so I guess that's where a lot of this comes from?
Victoria had a reputation for making fast, deep, and sometimes strange attachments. That she was drawn to Abdul Karim was, perhaps, not so surprising, but the people around her were alarmed at his rapid rise in her household. This movie . . . I won't say "explores" that because that suggests something deeper. This movie skims that. It passes over in a very surface way the fact that Victoria had this servant—she made him a kind of teacher—and lots of people didn't like it. I won't even say it delved into the bond between the titular characters because it didn't really. We understand Abdul has a kind of awe of Victoria, but he also lies to her, and then there is another Indian character who basically fades into the background until he dies of bad English weather.
I dunno. I wanted to like this movie, but it was only kind of meh.
I will say Dame Judi does a marvelous job as per usual, and Eddie Izzard really does pull off being an absolute dick. Ali Fazal as Abdul also does nice work. The frilly extra characters, however, do feel a bit like caricatures. And the main characters are stuck with an unfortunately shallow script. The whole movie is like jumping from one puddle to the next, but there's so little water that nothing really makes a splash.
Anyway, it was okay. Very pretty to look at. But not anything that requires a lot of attention. It just glides gently by without leaving any mess.
Anyway, I don't pretend to know how much of this is true. That Queen Victoria had an Indian servant for the last fifteen years of her reign is documented, but the rest . . . It turns out Abdul kept a diary that was made public in 2010, so I guess that's where a lot of this comes from?
Victoria had a reputation for making fast, deep, and sometimes strange attachments. That she was drawn to Abdul Karim was, perhaps, not so surprising, but the people around her were alarmed at his rapid rise in her household. This movie . . . I won't say "explores" that because that suggests something deeper. This movie skims that. It passes over in a very surface way the fact that Victoria had this servant—she made him a kind of teacher—and lots of people didn't like it. I won't even say it delved into the bond between the titular characters because it didn't really. We understand Abdul has a kind of awe of Victoria, but he also lies to her, and then there is another Indian character who basically fades into the background until he dies of bad English weather.
I dunno. I wanted to like this movie, but it was only kind of meh.
I will say Dame Judi does a marvelous job as per usual, and Eddie Izzard really does pull off being an absolute dick. Ali Fazal as Abdul also does nice work. The frilly extra characters, however, do feel a bit like caricatures. And the main characters are stuck with an unfortunately shallow script. The whole movie is like jumping from one puddle to the next, but there's so little water that nothing really makes a splash.
Anyway, it was okay. Very pretty to look at. But not anything that requires a lot of attention. It just glides gently by without leaving any mess.
12.24.2017
Television: The Crown, "Paterfamilias" & "Mystery Man"
More Philip. Sigh. The more they show him, the less I like him, which I think is the opposite effect of what they intend. I'm supposed to sympathize, I think? But I don't.
In "Paterfamilias," Philip insists that young Charles be sent away to the same school he attended. Never mind that Philip himself was unhappy there; he considers is "character building" to go someplace that is just shy of an abusive military school. So then we get Philip's story in flashbacks, and I think that's what is supposed to make us feel sorry for him or at least give us insight. But look, misery loving company is no reason to subject your child to said misery. And sure, maybe Philip thought the school would toughen Charles up, but not all children are the same, and they don't have the same reactions to external pressures. Some rise to the challenge. Others shrink. It doesn't mean the shrinkers are bad people; it simply means their strengths lie elsewhere, to be discovered in other ways.
The episode made me a bit frustrated with Elizabeth, too. She should have put her foot down. I understand the line she's walking in trying not to rule Philip in family situations, but in this case it would have been merited.
As for "Mystery Man," Jesus, what a mess of an episode. It was as though a bunch of plot bits were thrown into a pot and stirred.
So Philip gets a crick in his neck and goes to see an osteopath named Stephen Ward. He's invited by Ward to a house party, but instead of showing us whether Philip attends, we skip ahead a year to Ward being on trial for the Profumo scandal. You have to know a bit of British history to understand this bit because the episode doesn't make it very clear at all. Short version is that Ward's house parties introduced very young women to older government officials, including possibly a Russian agent or something? Anyway, Ward commits suicide, and in going through his personalty, drawings of Philip are found (Ward being an artist). There is also a newspaper photograph from one of Ward's parties, and a man with his back turned looks remarkably like Philip.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth is pregnant (as is Margaret). She goes off to Balmoral under doctor's orders to rest while Philip skips off here and there. Again, if they want me to like Philip . . . Well, but history is history, I suppose. When he does finally wander home, he and Elizabeth have it out. He swears he didn't go to Ward's house party, that he only even saw Ward the one time because the guy was weird. Elizabeth confronts Philip with the photograph of the ballerina, and he gives a really circumlocutory speech that, summed up, means he loves her and wants to stay with her. (The speech did nothing to warm my heart, and what choice does he have, really?)
We end with the birth of Prince Edward and a family photo.
In total, the season was a good one though not (in my opinion) as good as the first due to meandering interests that went away from Elizabeth much of the time. Things did always loop back to her eventually, but the episodes that heavily focused on Philip or Margaret only made me irritated with those characters. Also, a severe lack of corgi this season.
That said, it's still a fine show with remarkable production values and well worth watching. I look forward to more.
In "Paterfamilias," Philip insists that young Charles be sent away to the same school he attended. Never mind that Philip himself was unhappy there; he considers is "character building" to go someplace that is just shy of an abusive military school. So then we get Philip's story in flashbacks, and I think that's what is supposed to make us feel sorry for him or at least give us insight. But look, misery loving company is no reason to subject your child to said misery. And sure, maybe Philip thought the school would toughen Charles up, but not all children are the same, and they don't have the same reactions to external pressures. Some rise to the challenge. Others shrink. It doesn't mean the shrinkers are bad people; it simply means their strengths lie elsewhere, to be discovered in other ways.
The episode made me a bit frustrated with Elizabeth, too. She should have put her foot down. I understand the line she's walking in trying not to rule Philip in family situations, but in this case it would have been merited.
As for "Mystery Man," Jesus, what a mess of an episode. It was as though a bunch of plot bits were thrown into a pot and stirred.
So Philip gets a crick in his neck and goes to see an osteopath named Stephen Ward. He's invited by Ward to a house party, but instead of showing us whether Philip attends, we skip ahead a year to Ward being on trial for the Profumo scandal. You have to know a bit of British history to understand this bit because the episode doesn't make it very clear at all. Short version is that Ward's house parties introduced very young women to older government officials, including possibly a Russian agent or something? Anyway, Ward commits suicide, and in going through his personalty, drawings of Philip are found (Ward being an artist). There is also a newspaper photograph from one of Ward's parties, and a man with his back turned looks remarkably like Philip.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth is pregnant (as is Margaret). She goes off to Balmoral under doctor's orders to rest while Philip skips off here and there. Again, if they want me to like Philip . . . Well, but history is history, I suppose. When he does finally wander home, he and Elizabeth have it out. He swears he didn't go to Ward's house party, that he only even saw Ward the one time because the guy was weird. Elizabeth confronts Philip with the photograph of the ballerina, and he gives a really circumlocutory speech that, summed up, means he loves her and wants to stay with her. (The speech did nothing to warm my heart, and what choice does he have, really?)
We end with the birth of Prince Edward and a family photo.
In total, the season was a good one though not (in my opinion) as good as the first due to meandering interests that went away from Elizabeth much of the time. Things did always loop back to her eventually, but the episodes that heavily focused on Philip or Margaret only made me irritated with those characters. Also, a severe lack of corgi this season.
That said, it's still a fine show with remarkable production values and well worth watching. I look forward to more.
12.20.2017
Television: The Crown, "Matrimonium" & "Dear Mrs. Kennedy"
Ah, God, another Margaret episode. So many people love them, but I don't. I find the episodes that focus on her to be pretty boring. And this one focused even more on Tony, and it tried to be all arty—I mean, even more arty than the show normally is—and *yawn*.
Okay, so the whole thing begins with Margaret getting word that love-of-her-life Peter, the man she was forbidden to marry and for whom she's pledged undying spinsterhood, is marrying someone else. ::record scratch:: So now it's very important to Margaret that she get married, too, and more than that—she needs to announce it before Peter does. She cannot bear to be the jilted one, at least not in the eyes of the world.
So she goes to Tony, and he turns her down, which miffs her. But then Tony has dinner with his mother and she suh-suhs* him, and so he thinks maybe he needs to marry Margaret in order to please Mummy. Or, more than please, but beat Mummy at her own game of snobbery.
Bad reasons on both sides to get hitched, but there you have it. There's a bunch of Tony having sex with other people, all presented as, "Well, you know, artists are like that." Barf. And there's the revelation that Tony had a sort of poly relationship with a Mr. and Mrs. Fry, and that Mrs. Fry is carrying a baby that she's pretty sure is Tony's, but I don't care enough about Tony to care about that. I don't even care enough about Margaret to care about that because Margaret isn't very likable. (At least, I don't find her likable in these past couple episodes, or even sympathetic. I did last season, so I don't know what happened.) Far more interesting to watch men try to break the news of Tony's reputation to Elizabeth.
Oh, and Elizabeth gives birth to Andrew.
Then we toss all that aside because, as I've mentioned in previous posts, the concept of flow has been completely lost this season, and we get the Kennedys. You know, John and Jackie. Elizabeth is feeling old and frumpy, and she's faced with this beautiful young American first lady that even her husband is keen to make time with. One really feels for Elizabeth in this episode. We're supposed to feel for Jackie, too, but her litany of excuses for her bad behavior feels like just that—excuses. I know it had to suck for her, the philandering husband and all the exposure. But (and maybe I'm feeling my British roots here; the DNA test says I'm pretty massively British along with the French) her outpouring bordered on distasteful to me. Get thee to a therapist, woman! Don't spill it all over tea!
I recently heard that Olivia Colman will be taking over as Elizabeth in future seasons, and I can see how they're styling Claire Foy in that direction. Ms. Foy has done a lovely job, and we'll miss her, but of course Elizabeth can't stay young forever. That was kind of the point of the Kennedy episode. I have faith in Ms. Colman's talents; she's done so well over a broad variety of work. So I'm looking forward to seeing her in this.
But! Before that happens, there are still two final episodes to watch. I'll bring them to you once I've had the opportunity to indulge.
Okay, so the whole thing begins with Margaret getting word that love-of-her-life Peter, the man she was forbidden to marry and for whom she's pledged undying spinsterhood, is marrying someone else. ::record scratch:: So now it's very important to Margaret that she get married, too, and more than that—she needs to announce it before Peter does. She cannot bear to be the jilted one, at least not in the eyes of the world.
So she goes to Tony, and he turns her down, which miffs her. But then Tony has dinner with his mother and she suh-suhs* him, and so he thinks maybe he needs to marry Margaret in order to please Mummy. Or, more than please, but beat Mummy at her own game of snobbery.
Bad reasons on both sides to get hitched, but there you have it. There's a bunch of Tony having sex with other people, all presented as, "Well, you know, artists are like that." Barf. And there's the revelation that Tony had a sort of poly relationship with a Mr. and Mrs. Fry, and that Mrs. Fry is carrying a baby that she's pretty sure is Tony's, but I don't care enough about Tony to care about that. I don't even care enough about Margaret to care about that because Margaret isn't very likable. (At least, I don't find her likable in these past couple episodes, or even sympathetic. I did last season, so I don't know what happened.) Far more interesting to watch men try to break the news of Tony's reputation to Elizabeth.
Oh, and Elizabeth gives birth to Andrew.
Then we toss all that aside because, as I've mentioned in previous posts, the concept of flow has been completely lost this season, and we get the Kennedys. You know, John and Jackie. Elizabeth is feeling old and frumpy, and she's faced with this beautiful young American first lady that even her husband is keen to make time with. One really feels for Elizabeth in this episode. We're supposed to feel for Jackie, too, but her litany of excuses for her bad behavior feels like just that—excuses. I know it had to suck for her, the philandering husband and all the exposure. But (and maybe I'm feeling my British roots here; the DNA test says I'm pretty massively British along with the French) her outpouring bordered on distasteful to me. Get thee to a therapist, woman! Don't spill it all over tea!
I recently heard that Olivia Colman will be taking over as Elizabeth in future seasons, and I can see how they're styling Claire Foy in that direction. Ms. Foy has done a lovely job, and we'll miss her, but of course Elizabeth can't stay young forever. That was kind of the point of the Kennedy episode. I have faith in Ms. Colman's talents; she's done so well over a broad variety of work. So I'm looking forward to seeing her in this.
But! Before that happens, there are still two final episodes to watch. I'll bring them to you once I've had the opportunity to indulge.
12.18.2017
Television: The Crown, "Marionettes" & "Vergangenheit"
This season thus far seems to have less flow than the first. For example, in the episode "Marionettes," Elizabeth must deal with Lord Altrincham, who points out that she's not very good at things like speaking to the common people. He antagonizes Elizabeth, and rather than get the usual bucking up from the press, the papers eat up the feud with a spoon—it's good for business, after all.
In the end, Altrincham's "constructive" criticism proves correct in many ways, and he offers a number of opportunities to improve/modernize the monarchy.
And then the episode ends and we all move on apparently. That's where the flow thing comes in. There's the Altrincham episode and then he's gone. (On the plus side: corgis!)
Look, maybe that's how it really happened, too. He was a flare that burned out. But it feels really random that he introduced an entirely new normal to the monarchy and then is never heard from again or even mentioned.
"Vergangenheit" instead moves on to a bit of a PR crisis when historians find old Nazi files that tie the Duke of Windsor to Hitler's regime. At about the same time, said Duke of Windsor returns to England via his niece's sufferance to poke about in hopes of landing a diplomatic position. Life in France has begun to bore him, and he says he wants to serve his country, but it's intimated that perhaps he just misses hanging out with the high and mighty. There's a lifestyle he wishes to lead, and to do so he must have the means, namely connections and a bit of money and freedom to move around. He comes very close to getting it, too, with three possibilities on the table, when Elizabeth is forced to tell him no. The historians are given permission to publish their findings, and any hope the Duke of Windsor might have had are irreparably dashed.
There's a subplot in this episode involving the reverend Billy Graham. Elizabeth invites him to Buckingham Palace and, after discovering the truth about her uncle, asks the reverend about the nature of forgiveness. Not having been alive back then, it's difficult for me to wrap my brain around the idea that Graham was such a draw and influence, but those were different times, and hey, I grew up in the American South—I remember when Jimmy Swaggart and Robert Tilton were big deals. So I guess this was kind of the same thing?
Both these episodes were some of the best thus far in the season. Though very contained (again, that issue with flow), they were interesting. I didn't feel the need to play games on my phone like during the Margaret episode. That has to be worth something in this day and age.
In the end, Altrincham's "constructive" criticism proves correct in many ways, and he offers a number of opportunities to improve/modernize the monarchy.
And then the episode ends and we all move on apparently. That's where the flow thing comes in. There's the Altrincham episode and then he's gone. (On the plus side: corgis!)
Look, maybe that's how it really happened, too. He was a flare that burned out. But it feels really random that he introduced an entirely new normal to the monarchy and then is never heard from again or even mentioned.
"Vergangenheit" instead moves on to a bit of a PR crisis when historians find old Nazi files that tie the Duke of Windsor to Hitler's regime. At about the same time, said Duke of Windsor returns to England via his niece's sufferance to poke about in hopes of landing a diplomatic position. Life in France has begun to bore him, and he says he wants to serve his country, but it's intimated that perhaps he just misses hanging out with the high and mighty. There's a lifestyle he wishes to lead, and to do so he must have the means, namely connections and a bit of money and freedom to move around. He comes very close to getting it, too, with three possibilities on the table, when Elizabeth is forced to tell him no. The historians are given permission to publish their findings, and any hope the Duke of Windsor might have had are irreparably dashed.
There's a subplot in this episode involving the reverend Billy Graham. Elizabeth invites him to Buckingham Palace and, after discovering the truth about her uncle, asks the reverend about the nature of forgiveness. Not having been alive back then, it's difficult for me to wrap my brain around the idea that Graham was such a draw and influence, but those were different times, and hey, I grew up in the American South—I remember when Jimmy Swaggart and Robert Tilton were big deals. So I guess this was kind of the same thing?
Both these episodes were some of the best thus far in the season. Though very contained (again, that issue with flow), they were interesting. I didn't feel the need to play games on my phone like during the Margaret episode. That has to be worth something in this day and age.
12.14.2017
Television: The Crown, "Lisbon" & "Beryl"
I feel like the corgi meter is way low this season. I mean, we see them in one of these episodes, albeit briefly. I'm seriously bummed about the lack of them.
That aside, "Lisbon" is a solid episode that continues practically linearly from the previous two. Philip's secretary Mike is being sued for divorce, and there is a fear this will reflect badly on Philip and/or his marriage to Elizabeth. So Philip must distance himself and demands that Mike resign. Again, I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for Philip, but I don't really. Despite Matt Smith's valiant efforts at looking hangdog and conflicted, I can't find a lot of sympathy for Philip's bad decisions.
Once we loop back around to the first episode of the season—the moment in which Elizabeth asks Philip what it will take to keep him "in"—we see him being invested as a prince. (Sorry if I've previously referred to him as "Prince Philip" in other posts; I'd forgotten he wasn't for a while. I have to admit, that makes me feel a bit sorry for him because what a yo-yo: you are a prince, then you aren't, and then the life you signed up for gets shunted down another path entirely. "Can I just have a bit of dignity?" Uh, here, be a prince again. Um . . . We all know that dignity and titles are not equivalent, right? But we'll get to that in a couple more episodes.)
Meanwhile, in "Beryl" we look more closely at Princess Margaret's continued struggle to be a modern woman in an antiquated monarchy. ("Modern" being relative to the 1950s.) I know a lot of people found this episode really interesting, but I didn't. I'm just not as into Margaret's counterculture thing as some others are, I guess. For me, she works better as punctuation throughout the story rather than a whole block of prose in and of herself.
Long story not all that short, Margaret is sad at a friend's wedding because she still can't marry that one divorced guy. So she makes a kind of verbal engagement with Billy Wallace who then can't even come to the event where they're supposed to announce their engagement because he's hungover and all bloodied up from a fight. Margaret disavows him and can hardly stomach Elizabeth's and Philip's tenth anniversary love fest, so she runs off to hang out with a photographer named Tony. Instead of going with Cecil Beaton's official birthday photos, Margaret uses one of Tony's "rawer" photographs, which appears in the newspapers and leaves everyone aghast.
Meh. This episode felt so incredibly slow, and I just didn't buy any tension between Margaret and Tony. I don't know if that's the actors or what, but I yawned my way through it. I would have preferred this woven together with some other story line rather than being the focus of an entire episode. But I know I'm in the minority here, so . . . ::shrug::
That aside, "Lisbon" is a solid episode that continues practically linearly from the previous two. Philip's secretary Mike is being sued for divorce, and there is a fear this will reflect badly on Philip and/or his marriage to Elizabeth. So Philip must distance himself and demands that Mike resign. Again, I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for Philip, but I don't really. Despite Matt Smith's valiant efforts at looking hangdog and conflicted, I can't find a lot of sympathy for Philip's bad decisions.
Once we loop back around to the first episode of the season—the moment in which Elizabeth asks Philip what it will take to keep him "in"—we see him being invested as a prince. (Sorry if I've previously referred to him as "Prince Philip" in other posts; I'd forgotten he wasn't for a while. I have to admit, that makes me feel a bit sorry for him because what a yo-yo: you are a prince, then you aren't, and then the life you signed up for gets shunted down another path entirely. "Can I just have a bit of dignity?" Uh, here, be a prince again. Um . . . We all know that dignity and titles are not equivalent, right? But we'll get to that in a couple more episodes.)
Meanwhile, in "Beryl" we look more closely at Princess Margaret's continued struggle to be a modern woman in an antiquated monarchy. ("Modern" being relative to the 1950s.) I know a lot of people found this episode really interesting, but I didn't. I'm just not as into Margaret's counterculture thing as some others are, I guess. For me, she works better as punctuation throughout the story rather than a whole block of prose in and of herself.
Long story not all that short, Margaret is sad at a friend's wedding because she still can't marry that one divorced guy. So she makes a kind of verbal engagement with Billy Wallace who then can't even come to the event where they're supposed to announce their engagement because he's hungover and all bloodied up from a fight. Margaret disavows him and can hardly stomach Elizabeth's and Philip's tenth anniversary love fest, so she runs off to hang out with a photographer named Tony. Instead of going with Cecil Beaton's official birthday photos, Margaret uses one of Tony's "rawer" photographs, which appears in the newspapers and leaves everyone aghast.
Meh. This episode felt so incredibly slow, and I just didn't buy any tension between Margaret and Tony. I don't know if that's the actors or what, but I yawned my way through it. I would have preferred this woven together with some other story line rather than being the focus of an entire episode. But I know I'm in the minority here, so . . . ::shrug::
12.10.2017
Television: The Crown, "Misadventure" and "A Company of Men"
Season (or Series) 2 of The Crown is here! Huzzah! I'm trying not to gorge on it because I want it to last. Thus far I've only watched the first two episodes. I've got a very busy week ahead, so it may be a while before I get around to watching more.
In any case, this season begins with Elizabeth and Philip having a tense conversation about their relationship. Divorce isn't an option, so Elizabeth asks Philip point blank what it will take to make it work.
Rewind five months. It's 1956 and Nassar, President of Egypt, announces that they will take back the Suez Canal. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is sending Philip on a lengthy tour of a number of remote places via the Britannica. Alas, prior to his leaving, she discovers a little photo of a ballerina in one of Philip's bags.
While Philip is out carousing on board, Elizabeth is (a) witnessing the Suez disaster as Prime Minister Eden colludes with Israel over how to handle the situation and (b) feels compelled to go to the ballet for a look at this woman whose picture she found in her husband's bags.
Philip is, perhaps, running with the wrong crowd. His private secretary Mike is a terrible influence, and they are also part of something called the Thursday Club, which encourages bad behavior, namely infidelity. Mike's own wife is seeking ammunition for a divorce and receives just that from a waitress at the club who admits to having slept with Mike. "He never mentioned a wife or family," she says.
Are we supposed to feel sorry for Philip? By the end of it all, he certainly appears to feel guilty (or "homesick" as Mike labels it for him). Too little too late? Well, we know from history how it plays out, but still. I feel no compassion for him at this stage in the story. Yes, even after the terrible interview that dragged up all his old family horrors. Buck up, man. There's no excuse for your behavior.
Now Philip is headed home toward his reckoning. And the Suez is under military fire from Israel. And Prime Minister Eden has been advised by his doctor to go to Jamaica. Wish my doctor would send me somewhere nice . . . Maybe I'd eat better and exercise more elsewhere?
These were two fairly Philip-heavy episodes. That's fine for the moment, but at the same time, we get it. You don't have to draw the picture in such detail. We know what he did (and at least he saved that one dying sailor, so . . .) Broaden the scope a little? I'm finding it difficult to breathe amid the cigar smoke and testosterone.
In any case, this season begins with Elizabeth and Philip having a tense conversation about their relationship. Divorce isn't an option, so Elizabeth asks Philip point blank what it will take to make it work.
Rewind five months. It's 1956 and Nassar, President of Egypt, announces that they will take back the Suez Canal. Meanwhile, Elizabeth is sending Philip on a lengthy tour of a number of remote places via the Britannica. Alas, prior to his leaving, she discovers a little photo of a ballerina in one of Philip's bags.
While Philip is out carousing on board, Elizabeth is (a) witnessing the Suez disaster as Prime Minister Eden colludes with Israel over how to handle the situation and (b) feels compelled to go to the ballet for a look at this woman whose picture she found in her husband's bags.
Philip is, perhaps, running with the wrong crowd. His private secretary Mike is a terrible influence, and they are also part of something called the Thursday Club, which encourages bad behavior, namely infidelity. Mike's own wife is seeking ammunition for a divorce and receives just that from a waitress at the club who admits to having slept with Mike. "He never mentioned a wife or family," she says.
Are we supposed to feel sorry for Philip? By the end of it all, he certainly appears to feel guilty (or "homesick" as Mike labels it for him). Too little too late? Well, we know from history how it plays out, but still. I feel no compassion for him at this stage in the story. Yes, even after the terrible interview that dragged up all his old family horrors. Buck up, man. There's no excuse for your behavior.
Now Philip is headed home toward his reckoning. And the Suez is under military fire from Israel. And Prime Minister Eden has been advised by his doctor to go to Jamaica. Wish my doctor would send me somewhere nice . . . Maybe I'd eat better and exercise more elsewhere?
These were two fairly Philip-heavy episodes. That's fine for the moment, but at the same time, we get it. You don't have to draw the picture in such detail. We know what he did (and at least he saved that one dying sailor, so . . .) Broaden the scope a little? I'm finding it difficult to breathe amid the cigar smoke and testosterone.
4.28.2017
Books: The Taming of the Queen by Philippa Gregory
A couple of things might have worked against this book for me. 1. I had just finished Bring Up the Bodies, which is so spectacularly written, this pales in comparison. Actually, it isn't fair to compare the two—though both are historical fiction, they're written for different readers, I think. But proximity bias still colors how I received this book. 2. I'd also read Queen's Gambit not so long before, and I found that one a more interesting take on Katherine/Kateryn Parr. I also liked how Queen's Gambit played out through Parr's marriage to Thomas Seymour and her eventual death, whereas The Taming of the Queen ends with Henry VIII's death.
So. Now that I've given the ending away (for anyone not aware of history), what's this book about? It begins with Henry VIII proposing to Kateryn (as she's called in this version). Kateryn must give up her love of Thomas Seymour and marry Henry, then navigate the pitfalls of a court torn by religious differences and Henry's own mercurial temperament.
Anyone familiar with the story knows some of the plot points—how Kateryn was to be arrested but managed to save herself just in time so that Henry shooed the guards away when they came for her. How Anne Askew was eventually burned at the stake for heresy. The goal, then, for a historical fiction author is to bring these moments to life and pose a reasonable version of the people and events of which we have little to no primary knowledge. Gregory is one of the best-known historical fiction authors, and she does this on a regular basis. The result is consistently good and sometimes great work.
Alas, I wouldn't call this one "great." It does the job, but dragged in the middle quite a bit with Kateryn having this and that preacher come to her presence chamber, and having her go on and on about writing and studying. Sometimes it felt as though Gregory were trying to insert her love of writing into the historical figure of Parr. I mean, I understand the reason for showing Kateryn as intelligent and eager to learn, but . . . It felt repetitive after a while. And so did the damn dream sequence that was repeated over and over until I felt beat over the head with it. As though the book needed padding or something.
Meanwhile, if Gregory needed to make a minimum word count, I might much have rather had her go into Kateryn's eventual marriage to Thomas Seymour and everything that went on there. Hence my preference for Queen's Gambit.
Final criticism: hate the cover. The slightly blurry girl looks like she's 15, not like the 30ish protagonist.
On the plus side, the tension as the net closes around Kateryn and she is nearly arrested is palpable here. That part of the book is done really well.
All in all a solid effort (though I got bored in the middle and began reading other things), but not my favorite in the genre, or even my favorite fictional take on Parr.
So. Now that I've given the ending away (for anyone not aware of history), what's this book about? It begins with Henry VIII proposing to Kateryn (as she's called in this version). Kateryn must give up her love of Thomas Seymour and marry Henry, then navigate the pitfalls of a court torn by religious differences and Henry's own mercurial temperament.
Anyone familiar with the story knows some of the plot points—how Kateryn was to be arrested but managed to save herself just in time so that Henry shooed the guards away when they came for her. How Anne Askew was eventually burned at the stake for heresy. The goal, then, for a historical fiction author is to bring these moments to life and pose a reasonable version of the people and events of which we have little to no primary knowledge. Gregory is one of the best-known historical fiction authors, and she does this on a regular basis. The result is consistently good and sometimes great work.
Alas, I wouldn't call this one "great." It does the job, but dragged in the middle quite a bit with Kateryn having this and that preacher come to her presence chamber, and having her go on and on about writing and studying. Sometimes it felt as though Gregory were trying to insert her love of writing into the historical figure of Parr. I mean, I understand the reason for showing Kateryn as intelligent and eager to learn, but . . . It felt repetitive after a while. And so did the damn dream sequence that was repeated over and over until I felt beat over the head with it. As though the book needed padding or something.
Meanwhile, if Gregory needed to make a minimum word count, I might much have rather had her go into Kateryn's eventual marriage to Thomas Seymour and everything that went on there. Hence my preference for Queen's Gambit.
Final criticism: hate the cover. The slightly blurry girl looks like she's 15, not like the 30ish protagonist.
On the plus side, the tension as the net closes around Kateryn and she is nearly arrested is palpable here. That part of the book is done really well.
All in all a solid effort (though I got bored in the middle and began reading other things), but not my favorite in the genre, or even my favorite fictional take on Parr.
1.17.2017
Books: A Royal Duty by Paul Burrell
I written before about my feelings regarding Princess Diana. You know, I grew up at a time when she was the "real-life princess" every little girl could look up to.
Anyway, I stumbled across this book at our library's book shop, and I'm not entirely sure what compelled me to buy it. Curiosity, I suppose. And reading this book certainly gave a lot of insight into the way royal houses work and then also into Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Charles, and Princess Diana specifically. Which was interesting—engrossing even—but I felt kind of sick as I read it, too. I don't know how else to describe it. I sort of hated myself for reading it because it seemed so voyeuristic.
Going into the book, I wasn't really aware of who Paul Burrell was, largely because (a) I'm not British or one of those people who obsessively follow the royals, and (b) at the time of his court case I had a lot going on in my own life and wasn't paying much attention to the news. Which sort of made for nice reading since it was really all fresh and new to me. Though I suppose even if you did follow those proceedings at the time, this book is still an interesting perspective.
Burrell makes himself very likable, but of course what else would he do? He tries to make things sound reasonable, or at least tries to explain why he did some of the things he did. For me, that was only partially successful. In some instances I was just shaking my head. Because, yeah, he sort of seems obsessed. Maybe good servants are obsessed? I dunno, I feel like there's a lot of psychology to be explored here. Stuff about deriving your self-worth from whom you serve and how important you are to them, etc.
Come the end of it all, Burrell doth protest . . . if not too much, an awful lot. The letters to Charles and William were, of course, suspect since they came after the fact of his arrest. So naturally it was only when the Queen herself said that, no, Burrell had said the same things to her prior that the case against him collapsed. I'm not sure why Burrell professes in this book to be bewildered by that. He keeps going on about the letters to Charles and William but those could easily look like attempts by Burrell to cover his a**. And it's fine if we believe he's in earnest. But one has to look at it objectively, and from the court's point of view. People are tried on facts not personality. (Or should be, though I'm sure personality must color things.)
As for personality, while Burrell does seem earnest, he also comes across as somewhat smug, and then again at times desperate, almost pleading. He definitely wants to be understood, and wants Diana to be understood as well—or maybe just viewed through his particular prism? One can never be free of the bias in this book. Burrell was simply too close to everything to be able to put forth a big picture.
But one doesn't read a book like this for the big picture. This is an intimate story, if one sided. This is a man attempting to explain his devotion and also possibly excuse himself from certain things.
Burrell writes glowingly, lovingly of the Queen, the princes Harry and William, and of course Diana. He's less effusive about Charles though seemingly strives to not be outright damning. For people wanting to get to the juicy stuff quickly, there's a bit of Burrell's family history and such first. A primer of sorts on how he became a royal butler.
On the whole, it's a good read, but as I mentioned, it also made me a tad uncomfortable. I asked myself more than once: Why am I reading this? But once I'd started, it was difficult to stop. Indeed, I didn't—until I reached the final page.
Anyway, I stumbled across this book at our library's book shop, and I'm not entirely sure what compelled me to buy it. Curiosity, I suppose. And reading this book certainly gave a lot of insight into the way royal houses work and then also into Queen Elizabeth II, Prince Charles, and Princess Diana specifically. Which was interesting—engrossing even—but I felt kind of sick as I read it, too. I don't know how else to describe it. I sort of hated myself for reading it because it seemed so voyeuristic.
Going into the book, I wasn't really aware of who Paul Burrell was, largely because (a) I'm not British or one of those people who obsessively follow the royals, and (b) at the time of his court case I had a lot going on in my own life and wasn't paying much attention to the news. Which sort of made for nice reading since it was really all fresh and new to me. Though I suppose even if you did follow those proceedings at the time, this book is still an interesting perspective.
Burrell makes himself very likable, but of course what else would he do? He tries to make things sound reasonable, or at least tries to explain why he did some of the things he did. For me, that was only partially successful. In some instances I was just shaking my head. Because, yeah, he sort of seems obsessed. Maybe good servants are obsessed? I dunno, I feel like there's a lot of psychology to be explored here. Stuff about deriving your self-worth from whom you serve and how important you are to them, etc.
Come the end of it all, Burrell doth protest . . . if not too much, an awful lot. The letters to Charles and William were, of course, suspect since they came after the fact of his arrest. So naturally it was only when the Queen herself said that, no, Burrell had said the same things to her prior that the case against him collapsed. I'm not sure why Burrell professes in this book to be bewildered by that. He keeps going on about the letters to Charles and William but those could easily look like attempts by Burrell to cover his a**. And it's fine if we believe he's in earnest. But one has to look at it objectively, and from the court's point of view. People are tried on facts not personality. (Or should be, though I'm sure personality must color things.)
As for personality, while Burrell does seem earnest, he also comes across as somewhat smug, and then again at times desperate, almost pleading. He definitely wants to be understood, and wants Diana to be understood as well—or maybe just viewed through his particular prism? One can never be free of the bias in this book. Burrell was simply too close to everything to be able to put forth a big picture.
But one doesn't read a book like this for the big picture. This is an intimate story, if one sided. This is a man attempting to explain his devotion and also possibly excuse himself from certain things.
Burrell writes glowingly, lovingly of the Queen, the princes Harry and William, and of course Diana. He's less effusive about Charles though seemingly strives to not be outright damning. For people wanting to get to the juicy stuff quickly, there's a bit of Burrell's family history and such first. A primer of sorts on how he became a royal butler.
On the whole, it's a good read, but as I mentioned, it also made me a tad uncomfortable. I asked myself more than once: Why am I reading this? But once I'd started, it was difficult to stop. Indeed, I didn't—until I reached the final page.
11.29.2016
Television: The Crown, "Assassins" and "Gloriana"
"Assassins": Winston Churchill hates a painting some guy did of him so much he burns it and resigns as Prime Minister.
Also, Phillip is actually jealous of some guy named "Porchey." Just because the guy runs Elizabeth's stables and shares her love of horses. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be running the stables, one supposes.) I guess there's this idea that, once upon a time, Liz and Porchey were expected to make a match of things. Prince Porchey does have a ring to it... But anyway, if Phillip is that upset about his wife spending time at the stables, maybe he should stay home instead of haring off to party every night.
"Gloriana": Princess Margaret finally turns 25, but just as she's ready to announce her engagement to Peter Townsend, the Cabinet tells Liz that they won't agree to the match. And somehow they have that power. It's that old church hangup about divorced people getting married. And so Liz frets over a childhood promise to put family before all things versus her need to be The Crown, which includes being Defender of the Faith. A call to UncleJerk David helps her decide, and now Margaret will never forgive her. (Cuz, you know, Elizabeth told her she can't marry Townsend.)
Meanwhile, Phillip is encouraged to go to Melbourne and open the Olympics there. Alone. Cuz he needs something to do. Really, this royal family is big on sending their problems away, by which I mean people who are problems. Townsend, Phillip... Wish I could tell my family members to go cut a ribbon halfway across the world when I'm fed up with them.
And that's how the season ends. The last episode was a tad overwrought, leaning just a little into soap opera drama, but in all it's a fine show. Looking forward to more whenever that happens to be.
Also, Phillip is actually jealous of some guy named "Porchey." Just because the guy runs Elizabeth's stables and shares her love of horses. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be running the stables, one supposes.) I guess there's this idea that, once upon a time, Liz and Porchey were expected to make a match of things. Prince Porchey does have a ring to it... But anyway, if Phillip is that upset about his wife spending time at the stables, maybe he should stay home instead of haring off to party every night.
"Gloriana": Princess Margaret finally turns 25, but just as she's ready to announce her engagement to Peter Townsend, the Cabinet tells Liz that they won't agree to the match. And somehow they have that power. It's that old church hangup about divorced people getting married. And so Liz frets over a childhood promise to put family before all things versus her need to be The Crown, which includes being Defender of the Faith. A call to Uncle
Meanwhile, Phillip is encouraged to go to Melbourne and open the Olympics there. Alone. Cuz he needs something to do. Really, this royal family is big on sending their problems away, by which I mean people who are problems. Townsend, Phillip... Wish I could tell my family members to go cut a ribbon halfway across the world when I'm fed up with them.
And that's how the season ends. The last episode was a tad overwrought, leaning just a little into soap opera drama, but in all it's a fine show. Looking forward to more whenever that happens to be.
11.26.2016
Television: The Crown, "Gelignite," "Scientia Potentia Est," and "Pride & Joy"
Episodes 6, 7, and 8 respectively.
In "Gelignite," we deal with the fact that Princess Margaret's romance with Peter Townsend (not that Peter Townsend) has become public knowledge/scandal depending on your point of view. The fact that Townsend is divorced is an issue because the church doesn't acknowledge remarriage if both parties are still living. The loophole: Once Margaret reaches the age of 25, she can marry without Elizabeth's permission. This also allows Elizabeth to save face because she does not have to make an unpopular decision in order to please her sister. Of course, she then goes on to upset Margaret anyway by sending Townsend to Brussels so things can cool off for a bit while Margaret literally waits to grow up.
We then move on to "Scientia Potentia Est" (it means "knowledge is power"). Elizabeth is feeling the lack of her overall education. Oh, she had a tutor as a kid and all that, but she mostly learned, uh... Decorum? And probably a lot of history and all about how Parliament works or whatever. But because there was so much focus on those things, her general curriculum suffered. So she decides to employ a new tutor to help her with things like science so that she can understand things like atomic bombs. Not a bad idea, really. Meanwhile, Churchill is practically in a sitcom as he tries to hide his illness from Elizabeth as well as that of the Foreign Secretary. Of course they get caught and dressed down for it. That's how sitcoms work. Oh, and Elizabeth really wants Martin to come be her new Personal Secretary but she's told that Martin is only a junior and she has to promote the senior to the job. Because even though she's The Queen, she's not allowed to do end runs around the proper form and order of things. Hierarchy, you know. The system—and monarchy—relies on it.
Remember way back when Liz and Phil were doing that big tour because her dad was too ill to do it? But then he died and so she had to go home and be Queen? Yeah, so in "Pride & Joy" it's decided she and Phillip should go finish that tour. They're going to be gone for three months, meaning the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret will be filling in back home. Except the Queen Mother up and leaves for Scotland and Margaret acts more like a wannabe movie star than royalty by drawing a lot of attention to herself. Liz wrestles with a certain amount of envy at how loved Margaret seems to be by the public. She also knows that the monarchy is not meant to be the spectacle Margaret is making of it, and she tells Margaret as much upon returning home. Margaret accuses Elizabeth of being too perfect. Meanwhile, the episode title is explained in that their father used to call Elizabeth his pride and Margaret his joy. Though to hear Margaret tell it, he used "but" instead of "and." Because Margaret firmly believes she was daddy's favorite and is mean enough to fling that in her sister's face.
So that's that for those three episodes. Only two more this season. It continues to be fun, though I'm waiting for Phillip to get in trouble with that club he keeps hanging out with. Nothing worse than a bunch of bored, wealthy men.
In "Gelignite," we deal with the fact that Princess Margaret's romance with Peter Townsend (not that Peter Townsend) has become public knowledge/scandal depending on your point of view. The fact that Townsend is divorced is an issue because the church doesn't acknowledge remarriage if both parties are still living. The loophole: Once Margaret reaches the age of 25, she can marry without Elizabeth's permission. This also allows Elizabeth to save face because she does not have to make an unpopular decision in order to please her sister. Of course, she then goes on to upset Margaret anyway by sending Townsend to Brussels so things can cool off for a bit while Margaret literally waits to grow up.
We then move on to "Scientia Potentia Est" (it means "knowledge is power"). Elizabeth is feeling the lack of her overall education. Oh, she had a tutor as a kid and all that, but she mostly learned, uh... Decorum? And probably a lot of history and all about how Parliament works or whatever. But because there was so much focus on those things, her general curriculum suffered. So she decides to employ a new tutor to help her with things like science so that she can understand things like atomic bombs. Not a bad idea, really. Meanwhile, Churchill is practically in a sitcom as he tries to hide his illness from Elizabeth as well as that of the Foreign Secretary. Of course they get caught and dressed down for it. That's how sitcoms work. Oh, and Elizabeth really wants Martin to come be her new Personal Secretary but she's told that Martin is only a junior and she has to promote the senior to the job. Because even though she's The Queen, she's not allowed to do end runs around the proper form and order of things. Hierarchy, you know. The system—and monarchy—relies on it.
Remember way back when Liz and Phil were doing that big tour because her dad was too ill to do it? But then he died and so she had to go home and be Queen? Yeah, so in "Pride & Joy" it's decided she and Phillip should go finish that tour. They're going to be gone for three months, meaning the Queen Mother and Princess Margaret will be filling in back home. Except the Queen Mother up and leaves for Scotland and Margaret acts more like a wannabe movie star than royalty by drawing a lot of attention to herself. Liz wrestles with a certain amount of envy at how loved Margaret seems to be by the public. She also knows that the monarchy is not meant to be the spectacle Margaret is making of it, and she tells Margaret as much upon returning home. Margaret accuses Elizabeth of being too perfect. Meanwhile, the episode title is explained in that their father used to call Elizabeth his pride and Margaret his joy. Though to hear Margaret tell it, he used "but" instead of "and." Because Margaret firmly believes she was daddy's favorite and is mean enough to fling that in her sister's face.
So that's that for those three episodes. Only two more this season. It continues to be fun, though I'm waiting for Phillip to get in trouble with that club he keeps hanging out with. Nothing worse than a bunch of bored, wealthy men.
11.16.2016
Television: The Crown, "Act of God" and "Smoke and Mirrors"
I continue to make my way through this series. In the episode "Act of God" we come close to horror story territory as a dense fog cloaks London, posing a health hazard that leaves many ill and dead. It turns out Churchill knew of the possibility of such an occurrence, had been urged to limit coal consumption because the pollutants are the major contributing factor to the fog, but dismissed it and now... The fog has come... dun-dun-DUN.
Seriously, though, keep in mind this really did happen in 1952, and Churchill nearly lost his position over it. But he's a cunning old thing. When his assistant is hit by a bus that didn't see her because, you know, fog, Churchill goes to the hospital morgue to identify her then uses that to make a public appearance that boosts his popular appeal. Just as Elizabeth is about to give him a good kick in the pants, too, because he won't let Phillip take flying lessons. (Spoiler for those who haven't been around in the last 70+ years: Phillip is allowed to fly in the end.)
"Smoke and Mirrors" then moves on to Elizabeth's coronation. Against tradition and all advice, Liz puts Phil in charge of arranging it, and he brings in TV crews. That's kind of the sum total of the episode except that Uncle David, who had been king for less than a year and never got a coronation, continues to bitch about things. I do understand his frustration, sure—his family is fairly nasty about the whole abdication and his marrying that Wallis woman. It's a wonder their relationship lasted given that, in the end, it seems neither of them were very happy. A lifetime of not getting what you really want will do that to you, I suppose.
Oh, and Queen Mary dies.
As for the coronation, there's a bit of tension between Elizabeth and Phillip when he doesn't want to have to kneel to her during the ceremony but she insists. She tries to explain to Phillip that she is his wife but also the Queen. It's complicated, but once again the show does a fine job of relaying that tension to the viewers. We feel it.
So that leaves us at the halfway mark for this season. So far so good.
Seriously, though, keep in mind this really did happen in 1952, and Churchill nearly lost his position over it. But he's a cunning old thing. When his assistant is hit by a bus that didn't see her because, you know, fog, Churchill goes to the hospital morgue to identify her then uses that to make a public appearance that boosts his popular appeal. Just as Elizabeth is about to give him a good kick in the pants, too, because he won't let Phillip take flying lessons. (Spoiler for those who haven't been around in the last 70+ years: Phillip is allowed to fly in the end.)
"Smoke and Mirrors" then moves on to Elizabeth's coronation. Against tradition and all advice, Liz puts Phil in charge of arranging it, and he brings in TV crews. That's kind of the sum total of the episode except that Uncle David, who had been king for less than a year and never got a coronation, continues to bitch about things. I do understand his frustration, sure—his family is fairly nasty about the whole abdication and his marrying that Wallis woman. It's a wonder their relationship lasted given that, in the end, it seems neither of them were very happy. A lifetime of not getting what you really want will do that to you, I suppose.
Oh, and Queen Mary dies.
As for the coronation, there's a bit of tension between Elizabeth and Phillip when he doesn't want to have to kneel to her during the ceremony but she insists. She tries to explain to Phillip that she is his wife but also the Queen. It's complicated, but once again the show does a fine job of relaying that tension to the viewers. We feel it.
So that leaves us at the halfway mark for this season. So far so good.
11.10.2016
Television: The Crown, "Windsor"
All right, so Elizabeth is now queen, though she hasn't been officially crowned yet. Churchill seeks to put off her coronation for a year, partly because he feels doing so will stall his party's attempts to unseat him.
Elizabeth—really, Phillip, though Elizabeth ostensibly supports and agrees with him—has two items on her checklist: (1) keeping her married name of Mountbatten, and (2) living at Clarence House rather than Buckingham Palace. She doesn't mind going to Buckingham to do the work, but the family would rather live at Clarence House, which Phillip has recently spent a pretty penny to renovate.
She's told "no" to both.
And she caves. Without much of a fight.
Once supposes she was young and easily led at that point, too uncertain to put her foot down, but it just seems so random that she didn't press harder on either point. Phillip is, of course, unhappy. His manhood is at stake, to a degree (and keeping in mind the time period)—his wife outranks him, and she won't even take his [adopted] name. Nor will she let him live in the house he redecorated. One can feel sorry for him under the circumstances, at least a little.
Meanwhile, Princess Margaret continues her affaire de coeur with Townsend. His wife has left him, and she urges him to get a divorce so he can remarry. But we all know what the royal family thinks of divorcés; it's made very clear in the circumstances of David, Duke of Windsor, who was briefly king before having to abdicate in order to marry a divorced American (Wallis Simpson). The bad blood lingers as David comes home for the funeral, his wife left behind in New York because she is not welcome. David's goals are to keep, if not increase, the allowance his brother Bertie (aka George VI) had given him, and to ideally have his wife given a proper royal title. The first may be possible, but the second, uh, no. It is Elizabeth who extends an olive branch to David, saying she would value his advice in the absence of her father. Meanwhile, the rest of the family blames David for Bertie's death, the logic being that if David had remained king, Bertie would not have had to be and would not have died from, er . . . stress? I don't think being king gave him cancer, but whatever.
Of course, it is Uncle Jerk who tells Elizabeth to keep the name Windsor—hardly an unbiased opinion, since he's the Duke of Windsor—and to move into Buckingham. Such is the deal Jerk made with Churchill, to push Elizabeth in the direction the Council wanted. "Good Job, Uncle Jerk!"
The Crown continues to be enchanting. It's a string of small moments, nicely matched, like pearls. This is the strand of a life . . .
One last thing, however. Can I just say that every f***ing credit sequence for everything ever now looks and sounds exactly the same? I'm really, really sick of it. The sequence for The Crown looks the same as the sequence for The Night Manager which in turn looks like Westworld and the sequence for any number of other things I've seen recently. Ugh. Stop it. Get an original idea, guys. Come on.
Elizabeth—really, Phillip, though Elizabeth ostensibly supports and agrees with him—has two items on her checklist: (1) keeping her married name of Mountbatten, and (2) living at Clarence House rather than Buckingham Palace. She doesn't mind going to Buckingham to do the work, but the family would rather live at Clarence House, which Phillip has recently spent a pretty penny to renovate.
She's told "no" to both.
And she caves. Without much of a fight.
Once supposes she was young and easily led at that point, too uncertain to put her foot down, but it just seems so random that she didn't press harder on either point. Phillip is, of course, unhappy. His manhood is at stake, to a degree (and keeping in mind the time period)—his wife outranks him, and she won't even take his [adopted] name. Nor will she let him live in the house he redecorated. One can feel sorry for him under the circumstances, at least a little.
Meanwhile, Princess Margaret continues her affaire de coeur with Townsend. His wife has left him, and she urges him to get a divorce so he can remarry. But we all know what the royal family thinks of divorcés; it's made very clear in the circumstances of David, Duke of Windsor, who was briefly king before having to abdicate in order to marry a divorced American (Wallis Simpson). The bad blood lingers as David comes home for the funeral, his wife left behind in New York because she is not welcome. David's goals are to keep, if not increase, the allowance his brother Bertie (aka George VI) had given him, and to ideally have his wife given a proper royal title. The first may be possible, but the second, uh, no. It is Elizabeth who extends an olive branch to David, saying she would value his advice in the absence of her father. Meanwhile, the rest of the family blames David for Bertie's death, the logic being that if David had remained king, Bertie would not have had to be and would not have died from, er . . . stress? I don't think being king gave him cancer, but whatever.
Of course, it is Uncle Jerk who tells Elizabeth to keep the name Windsor—hardly an unbiased opinion, since he's the Duke of Windsor—and to move into Buckingham. Such is the deal Jerk made with Churchill, to push Elizabeth in the direction the Council wanted. "Good Job, Uncle Jerk!"
The Crown continues to be enchanting. It's a string of small moments, nicely matched, like pearls. This is the strand of a life . . .
One last thing, however. Can I just say that every f***ing credit sequence for everything ever now looks and sounds exactly the same? I'm really, really sick of it. The sequence for The Crown looks the same as the sequence for The Night Manager which in turn looks like Westworld and the sequence for any number of other things I've seen recently. Ugh. Stop it. Get an original idea, guys. Come on.
11.08.2016
Television: The Crown, "Hyde Park Corner"
As predicted, some sobbing when no one is around, but Elizabeth, er, [wo]mans up relatively quickly.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. See, Elizabeth and Phillip are off in Africa because her father George VI is too ill to travel and so cannot tour the Commonwealth as planned. But while Liz and Phil (can I call them that?) watch elephants and hippos, George passes away. Then there is much tension over getting the news to Elizabeth before she can hear it broadcast on the radio somewhere. Lucky for England she was off in the bush or whatever! :thumbs up:
Other things happening include the Conservative Party attempting to unseat Churchill (who is their own man, but they're unhappy because he's fixated on foreign countries rather than helping his own), and Princess Margaret carrying on a flirt with Captain Peter Townsend, equerry to King George and a married man. *gasp!*
Again, if you know any of the history, you know how all this ends, but it's fun to watch anyway.
And oh, hey, look! Nicholas Rowe! Bonus points there in my book.
I'm actually quite impressed with Matt Smith who continues to do a very good job of walking the line as Phillip. His frustration is palpable, yet so is his real love for Elizabeth. He also gets the bluntness—sometimes bordering on seeming stupidity—just right. It's a nicely nuanced performance, so good on him.
I really am enjoying the series. Very well done.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. See, Elizabeth and Phillip are off in Africa because her father George VI is too ill to travel and so cannot tour the Commonwealth as planned. But while Liz and Phil (can I call them that?) watch elephants and hippos, George passes away. Then there is much tension over getting the news to Elizabeth before she can hear it broadcast on the radio somewhere. Lucky for England she was off in the bush or whatever! :thumbs up:
Other things happening include the Conservative Party attempting to unseat Churchill (who is their own man, but they're unhappy because he's fixated on foreign countries rather than helping his own), and Princess Margaret carrying on a flirt with Captain Peter Townsend, equerry to King George and a married man. *gasp!*
Again, if you know any of the history, you know how all this ends, but it's fun to watch anyway.
And oh, hey, look! Nicholas Rowe! Bonus points there in my book.
I'm actually quite impressed with Matt Smith who continues to do a very good job of walking the line as Phillip. His frustration is palpable, yet so is his real love for Elizabeth. He also gets the bluntness—sometimes bordering on seeming stupidity—just right. It's a nicely nuanced performance, so good on him.
I really am enjoying the series. Very well done.
11.05.2016
Television: The Crown, "Wolferton Splash"
This 10-part series about the life of Elizabeth II begins with her fiancé renouncing his titles in Greece and Denmark, taking the name Mountbatten and being properly naturalized as a British citizen so that he can marry Elizabeth. From there, the focus in this first episode rests largely on the ill health of Elizabeth's father King George VI.
Doctor Who's Matt Smith plays young Philip and does a fair job showing him champing the bit, being restive after his career in the Royal Navy. He's not keen to do a bunch of junkets, and father-in-law George (a puffy-looking Jared Harris) must sit him down and give him a talking to. John Lithgow as Winston Churchill is, unfortunately, just a bit too John Lithgow to be believable; while watching one is too aware it's John Lithgow to ever feel he could be Churchill. But that's the standout; the remainder of the cast is quite on point, and the production values are lavish.
Still and all, not a whole lot happens in this first installment. Aside from the wedding and some faux home movie footage, we're really only given the ominous sense of George's imminent death. Those of us who know our history know how and when it will happen (and the rest of you can go look it up if you like), so this we really only have a "dramatic re-enactment" to look forward to—that's the extent of the tension, waiting for the news and to see lots of crying or, being they're British, a lot of not crying until they're alone in a room somewhere. Then we'll be treated to a Coronation, and won't that be fun?
Yes, I'm making light, but in truth I look forward to watching more. The Crown is so well made that I can forgive its somewhat slow pace and heretofore lack of depth. It will get there, I'm sure. It's easing out of the dock like a steamliner, but soon enough we'll hit open water and there will be smooth sailing.
Doctor Who's Matt Smith plays young Philip and does a fair job showing him champing the bit, being restive after his career in the Royal Navy. He's not keen to do a bunch of junkets, and father-in-law George (a puffy-looking Jared Harris) must sit him down and give him a talking to. John Lithgow as Winston Churchill is, unfortunately, just a bit too John Lithgow to be believable; while watching one is too aware it's John Lithgow to ever feel he could be Churchill. But that's the standout; the remainder of the cast is quite on point, and the production values are lavish.
Still and all, not a whole lot happens in this first installment. Aside from the wedding and some faux home movie footage, we're really only given the ominous sense of George's imminent death. Those of us who know our history know how and when it will happen (and the rest of you can go look it up if you like), so this we really only have a "dramatic re-enactment" to look forward to—that's the extent of the tension, waiting for the news and to see lots of crying or, being they're British, a lot of not crying until they're alone in a room somewhere. Then we'll be treated to a Coronation, and won't that be fun?
Yes, I'm making light, but in truth I look forward to watching more. The Crown is so well made that I can forgive its somewhat slow pace and heretofore lack of depth. It will get there, I'm sure. It's easing out of the dock like a steamliner, but soon enough we'll hit open water and there will be smooth sailing.
10.28.2016
Books: Katherine of Aragon: The True Queen by Alison Weir
Not quite as richly written as Innocent Traitor or Captive Queen (two of my favorites by Weir). There is something perfunctory about this take on Katherine of Aragon, Henry VIII's long-suffering first wife. It reads mostly like expanded bullet points on a timeline.
Maybe this is due to the fact that there is a lot of ground to cover. As it is, The True Queen (first in a series) clocks in at 602 pages, beginning with Katherine's—neé Catalina—arrival in England. She married Henry's older brother Arthur, suffered widowhood shortly thereafter, languished in England while her future was determined, and finally married Henry VIII. The back end of the book becomes the long wait for the Pope to declare whether her marriage to Henry was, in fact, real and true. Alas, waiting around for news does not make for an exciting story, and Katherine's repetitive attestations that she is the true queen, though surely true to her character, eventually become something of a bore.
Weir always does a lovely job researching her books, but sometimes it feels easy to spot the places where she wanted to incorporate a particular letter or some known bit of jewelry. She leans toward detailing clothing in particular.
In truth, there is simply a lot of information here. One would expect no less given the subject matter, but some joy in reading, and in the story, is lost in the myriad of names and machinations. By the end, I felt a bit like I was reading a list of chess moves during some old game that had once been played. Yes, I can picture how the game played out, but there's not much fun in reading it. Still, I'll try the Anne Boleyn book when it comes out. It could be that Katherine—devout and steady—is just a little less interesting than those who followed. I feel bad for her because she does seem to have been ill used, and now she goes down in history as also pale in comparison to her contemporaries.
Maybe this is due to the fact that there is a lot of ground to cover. As it is, The True Queen (first in a series) clocks in at 602 pages, beginning with Katherine's—neé Catalina—arrival in England. She married Henry's older brother Arthur, suffered widowhood shortly thereafter, languished in England while her future was determined, and finally married Henry VIII. The back end of the book becomes the long wait for the Pope to declare whether her marriage to Henry was, in fact, real and true. Alas, waiting around for news does not make for an exciting story, and Katherine's repetitive attestations that she is the true queen, though surely true to her character, eventually become something of a bore.
Weir always does a lovely job researching her books, but sometimes it feels easy to spot the places where she wanted to incorporate a particular letter or some known bit of jewelry. She leans toward detailing clothing in particular.
In truth, there is simply a lot of information here. One would expect no less given the subject matter, but some joy in reading, and in the story, is lost in the myriad of names and machinations. By the end, I felt a bit like I was reading a list of chess moves during some old game that had once been played. Yes, I can picture how the game played out, but there's not much fun in reading it. Still, I'll try the Anne Boleyn book when it comes out. It could be that Katherine—devout and steady—is just a little less interesting than those who followed. I feel bad for her because she does seem to have been ill used, and now she goes down in history as also pale in comparison to her contemporaries.
4.03.2015
Books: Queen's Gambit by Elizabeth Fremantle
With historical fiction, you know how it ends. At least, usually. I mean, I suppose there's a chance you would pick up a historical fiction book and, if it looked interesting enough, read it without knowing anything about the people involved. But my guess is most people read historical fiction about people and time periods they at least have a passing acquaintance with. And if one were to pick up a novel about a historical figure, and it was someone you knew very little about, or even nothing about, how tempted would one be to look the people up on Wikipedia and find out what happened before even finishing the book?
Okay, so anyway, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I went into Queen's Gambit knowing very little about Katherine Parr. I knew, of course, that she was Henry VIII's last wife, the one that survived him. And that she was younger than him but also older than others he chosen before her. And that's pretty much the extent of it.
Fremantle is a new voice in the very thick chorus of historical fiction novelists. I've enjoyed some Gregory, and I do really like Alison Weir, and Fremantle is a worthy member of the ranks. Queen's Gambit is well written and engaging, though there were times it focused more on Katherine's maid Dot than I liked. While I could empathize with Dot, there were just passages that seemed to go on a tad too long. Meanwhile, Katherine's portions were snappier, probably due to the character herself.
Katherine Parr had, it would seem, a very interesting life, which makes for good novelization. Married to a man with a notorious temper, who also had ultimate power to do whatever he liked . . . Katherine was just clever enough to keep from going the way of some other wives. Watching her carefully negotiate a treacherous court is absorbing, and she is depicted as someone admirable, but also human.
In any case, it's a good book for those who enjoy those of this stripe. I will probably pick up Fremantle's other book at some point, too.
Okay, so anyway, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I went into Queen's Gambit knowing very little about Katherine Parr. I knew, of course, that she was Henry VIII's last wife, the one that survived him. And that she was younger than him but also older than others he chosen before her. And that's pretty much the extent of it.
Fremantle is a new voice in the very thick chorus of historical fiction novelists. I've enjoyed some Gregory, and I do really like Alison Weir, and Fremantle is a worthy member of the ranks. Queen's Gambit is well written and engaging, though there were times it focused more on Katherine's maid Dot than I liked. While I could empathize with Dot, there were just passages that seemed to go on a tad too long. Meanwhile, Katherine's portions were snappier, probably due to the character herself.
Katherine Parr had, it would seem, a very interesting life, which makes for good novelization. Married to a man with a notorious temper, who also had ultimate power to do whatever he liked . . . Katherine was just clever enough to keep from going the way of some other wives. Watching her carefully negotiate a treacherous court is absorbing, and she is depicted as someone admirable, but also human.
In any case, it's a good book for those who enjoy those of this stripe. I will probably pick up Fremantle's other book at some point, too.
1.10.2014
Books: Isabella: Braveheart of France by Colin Falconer
Got this as a Christmas gift and mostly enjoyed it. I've long had an interest in Isabella and Edward, so I generally pick up books about them when I find them, fiction or non. Falconer does a nice job of showing Isabella's mounting frustrations with her husband; when her long-suffering patience breaks, one wonders what took so long.
Falconer doesn't do much by way of description; his prose is spare and the chapters are short. People who enjoy more embroidery in their historical fiction would do better to stick with Philipa Gregory and/or Alison Weir. Really, Isabella is almost scriptlike: setting and mostly dialogue with a minimum of character direction (i.e., their physical actions). It is even written in present tense, like a screenplay.
The book would have benefitted from better proofreading. For one thing, Chapters 23 and 24 are exactly the same. Yes, I mean that somehow the chapter repeats (but has a different chapter number). And though Pembroke dies on page 137, he's somehow back again on 142. Isabella's deceased father too, albeit briefly, on 143. These issues along with a number of punctuation errors were distracting. But that may just be my years of working as a book editor talking.
A quick read that gives a historical accounting of what happened and when, and strives to give the reader Isabella's point of view. It mostly succeeds.
Falconer doesn't do much by way of description; his prose is spare and the chapters are short. People who enjoy more embroidery in their historical fiction would do better to stick with Philipa Gregory and/or Alison Weir. Really, Isabella is almost scriptlike: setting and mostly dialogue with a minimum of character direction (i.e., their physical actions). It is even written in present tense, like a screenplay.
The book would have benefitted from better proofreading. For one thing, Chapters 23 and 24 are exactly the same. Yes, I mean that somehow the chapter repeats (but has a different chapter number). And though Pembroke dies on page 137, he's somehow back again on 142. Isabella's deceased father too, albeit briefly, on 143. These issues along with a number of punctuation errors were distracting. But that may just be my years of working as a book editor talking.
A quick read that gives a historical accounting of what happened and when, and strives to give the reader Isabella's point of view. It mostly succeeds.
8.24.2013
Books: Sun Queen by Emma L. Patterson
. . . Or Sun-Queen, if one goes by the dust cover. A minor distinction but still important: hyphen or no hyphen? The interior of the book (the copyright page, the title page) forsake the hyphen.
The copy of the book in my possession is hardbound, published by David McKay Company in 1967. It was a discard from the Oconee County Library in South Carolina, and if the stamping on the date card attached to the back flyleaf is to be believed, it was last due at the library on Feb 1 1984.
I find such little things very interesting, a form of biblio-archaeology.
The back of the dust jacket gives an account of Emma L. Patterson (online often referred to as Emma Lillie Patterson) that covers a scattered career as what would appear to be a privileged upbringing in New York, on to a life as a librarian, teacher, and sometime winner in writing contests. Her other books seem to focus on the American Revolution, so Sun Queen is a departure of sorts in that it is a novel about Nefertiti. Yes, that Nefertiti, the once queen of Egypt made famous by the sculpted bust discovered in 1912.
I don't know about Patterson's other work, but Sun Queen suffers in part from a lack of academic understanding of Akhenaten and, by association, Nefertiti herself. This is surely because we know more now than we did when Patterson was writing, though it also seems Patterson fudged and romanticized a few elements to suit her story. In her defense, many authors of historical fiction do the same, and Patterson admits in her [very short, far from detailed] notes, "While I do not guarantee that it happened this way, it could have."
Still, as a student of ancient and classical history, some of Patterson's freedoms bothered me more than such ones in other, similar books. She makes Bek the sculptor of the bust, which is typically attributed to Thutmose, in whose workshop it was found. Patterson works up a love triangle amongst Akhenaten, Nefertiti, and Bek, but neglects any mention of Kiya, another of Akhenaten's wives. In fact, in Patterson's story Akhenaten has only one wife and queen. Though she is not explicit, it seems Akhenaten's belief in monotheism extends to a practice of monogamy. (And note that Patterson does portray Akhenaten as a monotheist, as opposed to a henotheist or monolatrist.) Kiya's existence as one of Akhenaten's wives became known in 1959, well in time for Patterson's book, but I suppose she had a different story to tell.
Besides the love story, the book is primarily concerned with Akhenaten's attempts to convert Egypt to his new religion. Akhenaten (she spells it Akhnaton) grows a bit repetitive and wearisome as the story drags on, and his inefficiency as a pharaoh is enough to make a person grind his teeth with frustration. Soon there is much intrigue as people line up to take over this feeble ruler's throne. Horemheb, who heads the army, has such designs, as does Nefertiti's own father Ay. In a better writer's hands, it is a compelling story, but Patterson's craft is somewhat clumsy. The dialogue is stiff; I think she means to convey a sort of royal tone but it all ends up sounding awkward. And the words she chooses for some things are not quite right, as in "pylons" for what I can only guess are obelisks or other monuments. Smenkhkare is called Sakere. Too, she never refers to Amarna by its Egyptian name, instead only calling the city "City of the Horizon of Aton." And again, her spellings of Amon and Aton and the related names are unusual, though not unheard of.
All lack of historical bedrock aside, the story moves quickly (chapters average eight pages) but ends unsatisfactorily with Horemheb advancing on Nefertiti and her remaining supporters in Amarna. The princesses of Egypt are evidently in Thebes (Waset), and at this point it is not clear who is actually running the country. Maybe this is because even today the succession after Akhenaten is hazy, much of the records destroyed by the Egyptians themselves in attempt to erase that period from their memories. Patterson does not give any suggestion as to what might happen past the point of the narrative, or what might have happened historically, which is interesting since she seemed fine with spinning any amount of fiction up to that point. What would be the harm in giving readers a real finish? Or at least in letting Bek and Nefertiti be happy together? (Did I just ruin it for you? Sorry. Though I can say this much: of all that Patterson writes in Sun Queen, the love between Bek and Nefertiti has the greatest impact. Patterson conveys their attraction well.)
It is not a bad book, for all its lack of accuracy and craft. It gives the overall feeling of someone who is a good writer but not great, someone in the middling part of their attempted literary mastery. Maybe Patterson did not feel so confident about the subject matter. Maybe her American Revolution books are better. But here, while passable, there is a caution and hesitancy to the prose that gives the reader a feeling of the author not quite putting her all into the work.
The copy of the book in my possession is hardbound, published by David McKay Company in 1967. It was a discard from the Oconee County Library in South Carolina, and if the stamping on the date card attached to the back flyleaf is to be believed, it was last due at the library on Feb 1 1984.
I find such little things very interesting, a form of biblio-archaeology.
The back of the dust jacket gives an account of Emma L. Patterson (online often referred to as Emma Lillie Patterson) that covers a scattered career as what would appear to be a privileged upbringing in New York, on to a life as a librarian, teacher, and sometime winner in writing contests. Her other books seem to focus on the American Revolution, so Sun Queen is a departure of sorts in that it is a novel about Nefertiti. Yes, that Nefertiti, the once queen of Egypt made famous by the sculpted bust discovered in 1912.
I don't know about Patterson's other work, but Sun Queen suffers in part from a lack of academic understanding of Akhenaten and, by association, Nefertiti herself. This is surely because we know more now than we did when Patterson was writing, though it also seems Patterson fudged and romanticized a few elements to suit her story. In her defense, many authors of historical fiction do the same, and Patterson admits in her [very short, far from detailed] notes, "While I do not guarantee that it happened this way, it could have."
Still, as a student of ancient and classical history, some of Patterson's freedoms bothered me more than such ones in other, similar books. She makes Bek the sculptor of the bust, which is typically attributed to Thutmose, in whose workshop it was found. Patterson works up a love triangle amongst Akhenaten, Nefertiti, and Bek, but neglects any mention of Kiya, another of Akhenaten's wives. In fact, in Patterson's story Akhenaten has only one wife and queen. Though she is not explicit, it seems Akhenaten's belief in monotheism extends to a practice of monogamy. (And note that Patterson does portray Akhenaten as a monotheist, as opposed to a henotheist or monolatrist.) Kiya's existence as one of Akhenaten's wives became known in 1959, well in time for Patterson's book, but I suppose she had a different story to tell.
Besides the love story, the book is primarily concerned with Akhenaten's attempts to convert Egypt to his new religion. Akhenaten (she spells it Akhnaton) grows a bit repetitive and wearisome as the story drags on, and his inefficiency as a pharaoh is enough to make a person grind his teeth with frustration. Soon there is much intrigue as people line up to take over this feeble ruler's throne. Horemheb, who heads the army, has such designs, as does Nefertiti's own father Ay. In a better writer's hands, it is a compelling story, but Patterson's craft is somewhat clumsy. The dialogue is stiff; I think she means to convey a sort of royal tone but it all ends up sounding awkward. And the words she chooses for some things are not quite right, as in "pylons" for what I can only guess are obelisks or other monuments. Smenkhkare is called Sakere. Too, she never refers to Amarna by its Egyptian name, instead only calling the city "City of the Horizon of Aton." And again, her spellings of Amon and Aton and the related names are unusual, though not unheard of.
All lack of historical bedrock aside, the story moves quickly (chapters average eight pages) but ends unsatisfactorily with Horemheb advancing on Nefertiti and her remaining supporters in Amarna. The princesses of Egypt are evidently in Thebes (Waset), and at this point it is not clear who is actually running the country. Maybe this is because even today the succession after Akhenaten is hazy, much of the records destroyed by the Egyptians themselves in attempt to erase that period from their memories. Patterson does not give any suggestion as to what might happen past the point of the narrative, or what might have happened historically, which is interesting since she seemed fine with spinning any amount of fiction up to that point. What would be the harm in giving readers a real finish? Or at least in letting Bek and Nefertiti be happy together? (Did I just ruin it for you? Sorry. Though I can say this much: of all that Patterson writes in Sun Queen, the love between Bek and Nefertiti has the greatest impact. Patterson conveys their attraction well.)
It is not a bad book, for all its lack of accuracy and craft. It gives the overall feeling of someone who is a good writer but not great, someone in the middling part of their attempted literary mastery. Maybe Patterson did not feel so confident about the subject matter. Maybe her American Revolution books are better. But here, while passable, there is a caution and hesitancy to the prose that gives the reader a feeling of the author not quite putting her all into the work.
8.16.2013
Books: The Second Empress: A Novel of Napoleon's Court by Michelle Moran
I was looking for something to read, having difficulty finding something that appealed to me, and then I remembered how much I had enjoyed Michelle Moran's novels Nefertiti, The Heretic Queen, and Cleopatra's Daughter. And I wondered whether she had anything else out. So I looked her up and found The Second Empress.
Now, I'll admit my knowledge of Napoleon is limited to vague memories from history classes and references made in Regency romance novels, so this novel wasn't in my usual line. I love historical fiction, have since I discovered Judith Tarr when I was a middle grader, but mostly read stuff set in Ancient Egypt or Rome, or else Medieval and Tudor England (Regency romances notwithstanding). These are the areas I'm educated in. Which is funny because I'm French and should probably know more about France . . . I just get hazy around the 1700s because that's when my family fled and took up in Louisiana.
Okay, so The Second Empress is a quick read. And it's been a while since I read the other books by Moran, but I had the impression this one didn't have quite as much depth as those. That seems strange to say, since The Second Empress actually tells the story of the last few years of Napoleon's reign (and defeat, and attempted new reign, and final defeat) from a number of angles, using various players' points of view—though none of them Napoleon's own. The reader gets the thoughts of Marie-Louise, as the titular second empress after Napoleon set aside Joséphine; the thoughts of Napoleon's sister Pauline; and those of Pauline's Haitian chamberlain Paul Moreau. But instead of providing depth, the effect is prismatic, a sort of bouncing off of light and understanding. In the end, it all seems a kind of gloss, the story itself failing to delve.
Maybe it was the prose. It moves so quickly, and though at times the descriptions of the palaces are lush (particularly when dealing with Pauline, who is obsessed with all things beautiful, including herself), there were plenty of times I did not get a real picture of where anyone was. The book is filled with conversations and interior dialogue, but the settings are often impressionistic. I don't remember ever thinking this of the other books I've read by Moran, but because it has been so long it may simply be that my tastes, the things I look for when reading, have changed.
Still and all, for someone like me with only the vaguest knowledge of Napoleon's rule, The Second Empress is quite instructive. Moran has done her homework, and her notes at the end of the book are worth reading as much as the novel. I did enjoy the book on the whole. And I will continue to read more by Michelle Moran.
Now, I'll admit my knowledge of Napoleon is limited to vague memories from history classes and references made in Regency romance novels, so this novel wasn't in my usual line. I love historical fiction, have since I discovered Judith Tarr when I was a middle grader, but mostly read stuff set in Ancient Egypt or Rome, or else Medieval and Tudor England (Regency romances notwithstanding). These are the areas I'm educated in. Which is funny because I'm French and should probably know more about France . . . I just get hazy around the 1700s because that's when my family fled and took up in Louisiana.
Okay, so The Second Empress is a quick read. And it's been a while since I read the other books by Moran, but I had the impression this one didn't have quite as much depth as those. That seems strange to say, since The Second Empress actually tells the story of the last few years of Napoleon's reign (and defeat, and attempted new reign, and final defeat) from a number of angles, using various players' points of view—though none of them Napoleon's own. The reader gets the thoughts of Marie-Louise, as the titular second empress after Napoleon set aside Joséphine; the thoughts of Napoleon's sister Pauline; and those of Pauline's Haitian chamberlain Paul Moreau. But instead of providing depth, the effect is prismatic, a sort of bouncing off of light and understanding. In the end, it all seems a kind of gloss, the story itself failing to delve.
Maybe it was the prose. It moves so quickly, and though at times the descriptions of the palaces are lush (particularly when dealing with Pauline, who is obsessed with all things beautiful, including herself), there were plenty of times I did not get a real picture of where anyone was. The book is filled with conversations and interior dialogue, but the settings are often impressionistic. I don't remember ever thinking this of the other books I've read by Moran, but because it has been so long it may simply be that my tastes, the things I look for when reading, have changed.
Still and all, for someone like me with only the vaguest knowledge of Napoleon's rule, The Second Empress is quite instructive. Moran has done her homework, and her notes at the end of the book are worth reading as much as the novel. I did enjoy the book on the whole. And I will continue to read more by Michelle Moran.
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