Edition: Penguin, 1980
Review number: 491
At the end of the twentieth century, there seems to be a vogue for celebrating the end of the second millennium AD with universal histories of the sort which had been rather out of fashion for some years. This particular work appeared at the time when they were unfashionable, the Pelican version being slightly updated from one printed by Hutchinson a few years earlier with many maps (reduced in number for this edition to keep costs down).
Judging by what I have seen of these millennial histories, The Pelican History of the World gains a great deal by not being sumptuously illustrated, by not aiming to be the only history book ever bought by its readers (to use, in many cases, this term loosely).
Another virtue making it a history which gives a more natural view of the past if not fitting it so well as a reference book, is that Roberts has chosen (deliberately, as he points out in the conclusion) to refrain from sorting events into specific time periods; each chapter deals with a particular aspect of the past, and carries the story through to what seems to be a sensible point in relation to the subject of that chapter rather than to any chronological division arbitrarily imposed across the board. (This is, of course, a particular feature of many of the history books marketed around the idea of the Millennium, most of which are divided by century.)
The value of books like this one to someone interested in history is to provide a wide context to areas of more detailed knowledge. I have, for example, a particular liking for medieval history, and I would not turn to this book for a history of the medieval West, but for information on other periods and areas (particularly China and India) Roberts provides interesting background. He certainly has the ability to select and summarise, even in the most recent periods covered. (Looking back from 2000 to the seventies, you might expect to have a different idea of what was significant, but the only obvious factor missing is any inkling of the economic problems which would eventually bring about the downfall of Soviet Communism - Roberts even manages to point to a growing interest in environmental concerns.)
Thursday, 4 May 2000
Evelyn Waugh: A Handful of Dust (1934)
Edition: Chapman & Hall, 1964
Review number: 490
While most of Evelyn Waugh's novels - at least the ones I have read - are humorous with a melancholy side, A Handful of Dust is melancholy with some humour. It is expanded from a short story, The Man Who Liked Dickens, set in the jungle on the borders of British Guiana and Brazil, and is an explanation of what has driven Tony Last to that jungle.
The beginning of this is when boredom drives Tony's wife, tired of country living in the austerity of the early thirties, to have an affair. Tony has no idea what is happening until the death of their only child, in a hunting accident, leads Brenda to announce that she is leaving him. Much of the comedy in the novel occurs here, at its blackest point, when Tony tries to do the honourable thing and give grounds for divorce to protect Brenda from having her affair dragged through the courts.
I prefer Waugh in less sombre mood, and found most of the characters in this novel insufficiently likeable to have really enjoyed it.
Waugh was unable to reprint the short story in the United States, presumably for copyright reasons, and so wrote a new ending, which meant that the American edition bore no trace of the original starting point of the novel. It is reprinted here as an alternative ending, an interesting curiosity.
Review number: 490
While most of Evelyn Waugh's novels - at least the ones I have read - are humorous with a melancholy side, A Handful of Dust is melancholy with some humour. It is expanded from a short story, The Man Who Liked Dickens, set in the jungle on the borders of British Guiana and Brazil, and is an explanation of what has driven Tony Last to that jungle.
The beginning of this is when boredom drives Tony's wife, tired of country living in the austerity of the early thirties, to have an affair. Tony has no idea what is happening until the death of their only child, in a hunting accident, leads Brenda to announce that she is leaving him. Much of the comedy in the novel occurs here, at its blackest point, when Tony tries to do the honourable thing and give grounds for divorce to protect Brenda from having her affair dragged through the courts.
I prefer Waugh in less sombre mood, and found most of the characters in this novel insufficiently likeable to have really enjoyed it.
Waugh was unable to reprint the short story in the United States, presumably for copyright reasons, and so wrote a new ending, which meant that the American edition bore no trace of the original starting point of the novel. It is reprinted here as an alternative ending, an interesting curiosity.
Wednesday, 3 May 2000
Anthony Hope: The Prisoner of Zenda (1894)
Edition: Heron, 1970
Review number: 487
Like the Scarlet Pimpernel, the background of The Prisoner of Zenda has become part of our mythology. The term 'Ruritanian' has entered the English language; the novel has been copied, updated (Robert Heinlein's Double Star sets it on Mars) and parodied (George MacDonald Fraser's Royal Flash). It is immensely better written than The Scarlet Pimpernel and than most of the thrillers it inspired (of which the best are by John Buchan and Dornford Yates). Its plot is of course ludicrous, and its conception of politics is backward rather than forward looking. (This is deliberate; Hope also wrote relatively sophisticated political novels in imitation of Trollope.)
Rudolf Rassendyll, idle member of the English nobility, bears a remarkable resemblance to the king of the central European state of Ruritania, the legacy of an indiscretion between an earlier Ruritanian king and Rassendyll's great grandmother. Thinking to have a bit of fun by being present at his cousin's coronation, he sets out for the Ruritanian capital, Strelsau. He falls into the company of the king as he is hunting near Zenda, stronghold of the king's half brother Black Michael, but when Michael abducts the him, Rassendyll is pushed into impersonating the king at the coronation.
Hope tells his implausible tale at breakneck speed, as Rassendyll gets dragged into his impersonation. Using fewer than one hundred and fifty pages, there is little room for anything beyond description of events and characterisation of the narrator, Rassendyll himself. Occasionally, things become a trifle confused (the attack on the castle of Zenda at the end), but this is actually made a positive feature, emphasising just how much events have got out of control.
Review number: 487
Like the Scarlet Pimpernel, the background of The Prisoner of Zenda has become part of our mythology. The term 'Ruritanian' has entered the English language; the novel has been copied, updated (Robert Heinlein's Double Star sets it on Mars) and parodied (George MacDonald Fraser's Royal Flash). It is immensely better written than The Scarlet Pimpernel and than most of the thrillers it inspired (of which the best are by John Buchan and Dornford Yates). Its plot is of course ludicrous, and its conception of politics is backward rather than forward looking. (This is deliberate; Hope also wrote relatively sophisticated political novels in imitation of Trollope.)
Rudolf Rassendyll, idle member of the English nobility, bears a remarkable resemblance to the king of the central European state of Ruritania, the legacy of an indiscretion between an earlier Ruritanian king and Rassendyll's great grandmother. Thinking to have a bit of fun by being present at his cousin's coronation, he sets out for the Ruritanian capital, Strelsau. He falls into the company of the king as he is hunting near Zenda, stronghold of the king's half brother Black Michael, but when Michael abducts the him, Rassendyll is pushed into impersonating the king at the coronation.
Hope tells his implausible tale at breakneck speed, as Rassendyll gets dragged into his impersonation. Using fewer than one hundred and fifty pages, there is little room for anything beyond description of events and characterisation of the narrator, Rassendyll himself. Occasionally, things become a trifle confused (the attack on the castle of Zenda at the end), but this is actually made a positive feature, emphasising just how much events have got out of control.
Guy Wheeler: Cato's War (1974)
Edition: Collins
Review number: 489
A rather disappointing realisation of quite an unusual idea, Cato's War seeks to provide a different viewpoint of the American War of Independence than is usually told, either in fiction or non-fiction. As Wheeler points out, British writers have tended to ignore the war totally, while Americans want to mythologise it, to pretend (for example) that none of the colonists fought for the British and, even more, that the groups of bandits looting from both sides did not exist.
Wheeler's novel follows one Colonel Cato, sent out to join General Cornwallis with the objective suggested by the commander of British forces, General Clinton, of raising a militia of loyalists in Virginia. The real reason that Clinton wants another officer from London is so that he can have a spy on Cornwallis, whom he does not trust, but Cato refuses to do this. This situation is part of Wheeler's thesis, which is that the war was brought about by stupidity in London and lost by the British through incompetence and division in their command. This is perhaps a reasonable analysis of the situation, but it is probably far easier to see in retrospect than was at all clear at the time (despite the words - which really amount to political speeches, often at rather unlikely moments - put into the mouths of several characters).
The preachy dialogue is one of several unconvincing aspects of Cato's War. Others include non-characters - different people are hardly differentiated from each other, with the exception of the brutal deserter Cook - and a far too sketchily realised historical background. (This includes such anachronisms as a 1970s reaction to adultery - accepted by all and even welcomed by the woman's relations.) The novel never really succeeds as a novel, and is one of those whose ideas are much more interesting than any other aspect.
Review number: 489
A rather disappointing realisation of quite an unusual idea, Cato's War seeks to provide a different viewpoint of the American War of Independence than is usually told, either in fiction or non-fiction. As Wheeler points out, British writers have tended to ignore the war totally, while Americans want to mythologise it, to pretend (for example) that none of the colonists fought for the British and, even more, that the groups of bandits looting from both sides did not exist.
Wheeler's novel follows one Colonel Cato, sent out to join General Cornwallis with the objective suggested by the commander of British forces, General Clinton, of raising a militia of loyalists in Virginia. The real reason that Clinton wants another officer from London is so that he can have a spy on Cornwallis, whom he does not trust, but Cato refuses to do this. This situation is part of Wheeler's thesis, which is that the war was brought about by stupidity in London and lost by the British through incompetence and division in their command. This is perhaps a reasonable analysis of the situation, but it is probably far easier to see in retrospect than was at all clear at the time (despite the words - which really amount to political speeches, often at rather unlikely moments - put into the mouths of several characters).
The preachy dialogue is one of several unconvincing aspects of Cato's War. Others include non-characters - different people are hardly differentiated from each other, with the exception of the brutal deserter Cook - and a far too sketchily realised historical background. (This includes such anachronisms as a 1970s reaction to adultery - accepted by all and even welcomed by the woman's relations.) The novel never really succeeds as a novel, and is one of those whose ideas are much more interesting than any other aspect.
Kim Stanley Robinson: Red Mars (1992)
Edition: HarperCollins, 1992
Review number: 488
Stories about the colonisation of the other planets in the solar system have long been among the staples of the science fiction genre. Robinson has created a compelling update of this theme, which has been comparatively unfashionable in recent years - as it has become more apparent just how hostile to Earth's lifeforms the other planets will be. Robinson's Mars is the lifeless, frozen desert revealed by space probes; the problems faced by the initial colonists (the "First Hundred") are those of survival in an environment far more dangerous than Antarctica, rather than relations with natives (as has frequently been the theme of earlier novels of Martian and Venusian colonisation).
Earlier writers used their colonisation stories to highlight concerns about social issues important to them which seemed relevant to their theme - imperialism, revolution in former colonies, civil rights. Robinson does much the same, with a different set of issues: environmental over-exploitation, the power of multinational corporations and over-greedy capitalism, the way that developed countries act as predators on the third world (the word is used by Robinson).
The story of the first colonists, from their training session in Antarctica to the space flight itself to conflicts between different ideologies among the First Hundred and back on Earth leading to sabotage and unrest, is told as a series of quite lengthy independent episodes which concentrate on about ten of the Hundred. These characters, obviously created to represent different political and social viewpoints, are well drawn, all of them imperfect, most sympathetic.
Robinson benefits both from today's greater knowledge about Mars - even in the seventies, stories were still being written in which human beings could survive unprotected on the surface for periods of several minutes - and from more detailed ideas about how terraforming could be carried out. This provides a background which is convincing though pessimistic (particularly in its Malthusian analysis of Earth's society). Red Mars has deservedly become one of the best known science fiction novels of the nineties.
Review number: 488
Stories about the colonisation of the other planets in the solar system have long been among the staples of the science fiction genre. Robinson has created a compelling update of this theme, which has been comparatively unfashionable in recent years - as it has become more apparent just how hostile to Earth's lifeforms the other planets will be. Robinson's Mars is the lifeless, frozen desert revealed by space probes; the problems faced by the initial colonists (the "First Hundred") are those of survival in an environment far more dangerous than Antarctica, rather than relations with natives (as has frequently been the theme of earlier novels of Martian and Venusian colonisation).
Earlier writers used their colonisation stories to highlight concerns about social issues important to them which seemed relevant to their theme - imperialism, revolution in former colonies, civil rights. Robinson does much the same, with a different set of issues: environmental over-exploitation, the power of multinational corporations and over-greedy capitalism, the way that developed countries act as predators on the third world (the word is used by Robinson).
The story of the first colonists, from their training session in Antarctica to the space flight itself to conflicts between different ideologies among the First Hundred and back on Earth leading to sabotage and unrest, is told as a series of quite lengthy independent episodes which concentrate on about ten of the Hundred. These characters, obviously created to represent different political and social viewpoints, are well drawn, all of them imperfect, most sympathetic.
Robinson benefits both from today's greater knowledge about Mars - even in the seventies, stories were still being written in which human beings could survive unprotected on the surface for periods of several minutes - and from more detailed ideas about how terraforming could be carried out. This provides a background which is convincing though pessimistic (particularly in its Malthusian analysis of Earth's society). Red Mars has deservedly become one of the best known science fiction novels of the nineties.
Monday, 1 May 2000
Baroness Orczy: I Will Repay (1906)
Edition: Thames Publishing Co.
Review number: 485
In this melodramatic romance set during the French Revolution, the factor that has ensured it a measure of survival (the involvement of the Scarlet Pimpernel) is fairly incidental to the plot, as he is basically a supernatural element to bring a successful resolution in an impossible situation. It is the silliest and least realistic of the Scarlet Pimpernel novels, and it is also the one which has dated the most.
The plot is about revenge (hence the title, from Romans 12:19 paraphrasing Deuteronomy - "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord: I will repay"). Before the revolution, Paul Déroulède was wealthy enough to be accepted by aristocratic society despite his bourgeois oeigins until he is forced into a dued by the stupid Vicomte de Varny and kills his opponent. The Vicomte's father forces his devout daughter Juliette to make a solemn promise to avenge his death (even though this was honourable by the standards of the time). After the Revolution, Juliette is able to carry out this vow when she discovers that Déroulède is involved in a plot to rescue the imprisoned queen, even though she has herself fallen in love with the man supposed to be her enemy.
The ludicrous plot - almost bad enough for a third rate opera - is accompanied by a romantic style full of phrases which today seem extremely old fashioned. Sentences like "Man-like, he did not understand to the full that great and wonderful enigma which has puzzled the world since primeval times; a woman's heart" are hard to take seriously; they seem more like a deliberate parody of the worst of romantic fiction.
Review number: 485
In this melodramatic romance set during the French Revolution, the factor that has ensured it a measure of survival (the involvement of the Scarlet Pimpernel) is fairly incidental to the plot, as he is basically a supernatural element to bring a successful resolution in an impossible situation. It is the silliest and least realistic of the Scarlet Pimpernel novels, and it is also the one which has dated the most.
The plot is about revenge (hence the title, from Romans 12:19 paraphrasing Deuteronomy - "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord: I will repay"). Before the revolution, Paul Déroulède was wealthy enough to be accepted by aristocratic society despite his bourgeois oeigins until he is forced into a dued by the stupid Vicomte de Varny and kills his opponent. The Vicomte's father forces his devout daughter Juliette to make a solemn promise to avenge his death (even though this was honourable by the standards of the time). After the Revolution, Juliette is able to carry out this vow when she discovers that Déroulède is involved in a plot to rescue the imprisoned queen, even though she has herself fallen in love with the man supposed to be her enemy.
The ludicrous plot - almost bad enough for a third rate opera - is accompanied by a romantic style full of phrases which today seem extremely old fashioned. Sentences like "Man-like, he did not understand to the full that great and wonderful enigma which has puzzled the world since primeval times; a woman's heart" are hard to take seriously; they seem more like a deliberate parody of the worst of romantic fiction.
Leslie Charteris: The Misfortunes of Mr Teal (1934)
Alternative title: The Saint in London
Edition: Pan, 1971
Review number: 486
Another Saint book containing three stories of his adventures, and another Saint book whose original title fits its contents far better than the later on - the action may all take place in Southern England, but most of it is in fact outside London. (I suppose The Saint in the Home Counties would have sounded silly.) These stories mark something of a change in the Saint saga; at their beginning, he is returning from the States. The American influence which really starts here - with these stories also introducing long running sidekick Hoppy Uniatz - reflects Charteris' love for the US and changes Simon Templar quite quickly into a less British, more American type of hero. (This process is pretty much complete by the end of The Saint in New York, entirely set in that city, and only two books separate it from this one.)
The stories deal with typical Saint themes, though there is a stronger hint of anti-establishment feeling than there is in most of the series; his adversaries include a group of eminent politicians who were war profiteers, for example. Some aspects of the stories have dated a touch, and even with the reminder that comes in the introduction written for a series of reprints in the fifties, it is difficult to associate 'the war' (and especially a German U-boat commander) with the First rather than the Second World War.
Edition: Pan, 1971
Review number: 486
Another Saint book containing three stories of his adventures, and another Saint book whose original title fits its contents far better than the later on - the action may all take place in Southern England, but most of it is in fact outside London. (I suppose The Saint in the Home Counties would have sounded silly.) These stories mark something of a change in the Saint saga; at their beginning, he is returning from the States. The American influence which really starts here - with these stories also introducing long running sidekick Hoppy Uniatz - reflects Charteris' love for the US and changes Simon Templar quite quickly into a less British, more American type of hero. (This process is pretty much complete by the end of The Saint in New York, entirely set in that city, and only two books separate it from this one.)
The stories deal with typical Saint themes, though there is a stronger hint of anti-establishment feeling than there is in most of the series; his adversaries include a group of eminent politicians who were war profiteers, for example. Some aspects of the stories have dated a touch, and even with the reminder that comes in the introduction written for a series of reprints in the fifties, it is difficult to associate 'the war' (and especially a German U-boat commander) with the First rather than the Second World War.
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