Reads into Reels: Timeline

Posted on November 10, 2012 by smellincoffee
Chris is a twenty-something guy with the hots for Kate, an archaeology student who is studying under Chris’s dad, The Professor. But smitten as she is by the world of medieval France, Kate won’t give Chris the time of day. Fortunately, The Professor has gotten himself lost, via time machine, in medieval France, and the Amoral Corporation responsible for this has decided to send in a bunch of archaeology students to rescue him, which will give Chris and Kate some bonding time. Sure, they’re just kids; they know nothing about self defense, they haven’t been inoculated for anything, and they apparently know nothing about the culture they’re going into except for the fact that once upon a time, Evil British guys hung a young woman from a castle under siege, and it so enraged the French army that they captured the castle in one night — but the corporation has decided to send them in instead of security goons, because they’re at least aware that the medieval world is marginally different from the modern world and won’t spend their time wondering where all the cars are. 
Unfortunately for the students, not only do they transport into time right over water, they also appear right in the middle of a chase scene. Some Evil British fellows on horseback are pursuing a young French woman, and although she gets away, the aforementioned Evil Brits decide a bunch of wet young people dressed in generic-but-clean medieval clothes will do nicely. When the students are presented to the Evil Brits’ lord,  Oliver, they introduce themselves as Scottish.  Now, if *I* were to be transported into the court of a medieval English lord during the hundred years war, when England fought against France and its chronic ally Scotland, I would not say to the lord, “I am a Scot”.  This, to me, would be like infiltrating the Taliban and pretending to be Israeli.  But I’m just a lowly history student. Perhaps archaeology students possess more wisdom, wisdom that can make full use of being imprisoned in a town that will be set ablaze by an angry French army within a few hours’ time.  
In present course, the kids escape through a hole in the roof, though it does them little good since the Evil Brits find out quickly enough and the Chase Scene continues until the end of the movie. The movie is in fact one great long Chase Scene,  with occasional breaks for speeches and war.  The chase scene could be set anywhere, and that’s the great problem with this adaption of Michael Crichton’s novel of the same name, because the novel was a unique blend of history and science fiction, but the movie is generic. In the novel, the medieval world itself presented the challenge that characters had to contend with. They had to grapple with the fact that modern English and modern French would be mutually unintelligible to the medieval forms and dialects of these languages:  social mores were an obstacle that had to be navigated, as Chris learned in the novel when he accidentally accepted a challenge to a duel by picking up a laid-down glove.  Here, the kids might as well as had invaded a Renaissance fair. 

I watched this movie because I wanted something medieval, and because I’d read the book. In retrospect I’m glad I read the book before watching the movie, because I probably would not have read a book with a plot I thought to be as irrelevant as this.  The movie’s technical setup establishes that while the Amoral Corporation was trying to figure out teleportation, their machine connected to a Wormhole that sent everything from the machine into 1357 France.  Part of the reason the corporation sent the professor and the kids into the past was so that they could figure out why this was the case. This is immediately forgotten by everyone involved.  The movie has exactly one interesting character, Andre Marek, who is portrayed by the film’s salvation, Gerard Butler. Butler, who also played King Leonidas in 300, appears in Timeline’s every scene of worth, starting from an early one in which a passionate Marek attempts convey the value of studying history to Chris.

The presence of two other actors is a highlight for me: Billy Connelly, who played Uncle Monty in A Series of Unfortunate Events, is a professor here, rather like Monty except that his penchant is for medieval history instead of snakes, and David Thewlis, who is the project head for the Amoral Corporation. You may know him as Professor Lupin. Predictably, the movie is poor history: the opposing armies each wear uniforms, red for the villainous English and blue for the valiant French. Each speaks modern English or French, with the only barrier to communication being that a French woman doesn’t understand Marek’s euphemisms when he attempts to chat her up. “Am I seeing anyone? I see you…”

Timeline doesn’t do justice to the book, and it’s not a particularly good movie by itself, but if you’re really in the mood for swords and bows, it should prove entertaining, especially seeing as it features Gerard Butler, who I became a fan of while watching it. You might be better off with Men in Tights, however, which has as much historical integrity and much better acting.

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Excalibur

Posted on November 8, 2012 by smellincoffee

Excalibur: a Story of Arthur
© 1999 Bernard Cornwell
436 pages

In Britain’s darkest hour, a man named Arthur came to rule. With the high king dead and enemy Saxons filling the shores looking for land to settle, he confronted the tremendous challenge of uniting the feuding British kingdoms and guiding them to victory against a foe superior in numbers and in spirit. He faced adversaries from within his camp, as well,  as even longtime companions proved treacherous when tempted by ambition. Now Bernard Cornwell tells the final story of Arthur with Excalibur, a fitting conclusion to an extraordinary trilogy.

The trials that Arthur has faced would break lesser men,  even other heroes. It would be easy to give into despair, to abandon hope — but here in Excalibur, Arthur again looks  adversity square in the face.  Although an uneasy peace prevails at the start of the book, the aftermath of Enemy of God’s epic ending, for Arthur and his ally (our narrator, Derfel), the growing might of the Saxons will soon need to be reckoned with. The unity Arthur fought for seems to have dissolved, but he remains determined to defy the inevitable, and this culminates in the Battle of Baden Hill, which is incidentally the only historical reference we have to an Arthur of any kind.  But Baden Hill is not the end, for this King Arthur trilogy is inspired both by history and by myth, and the final battle is between Arthur and a final betrayal, that of the dark prince Mordred. The conclusion is masterful, beautifully appropriate: this being a trilogy about King Arthur, it could not end but with a flourish.

Excalibur lives up to Cornwell’s usual legacy, but reveals an additional strength of this trilogy in particular: character evolution. Although Cornwell doesn’t shy away from writing evil characters, in the Arthur trilogy the lines between heroes and villains isn’t a clear cut. Guinevere, for instance, was utterly despicable in Enemy of God, but moves toward redemption in this final volume, while someone who has been Derfel’s friend since his childhood becomes monstrous, continuing a trend that began in Enemy of God.  It points to the complexity of life, of people and our motivations, and the fact that nothing can be taken for granted.

…nothing, that is, except for the quality of a Cornwell novel. This trilogy has been absolutely stunning, and I’m sad to have finished it. Happily, though, it can always be re-read.

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The Mark of Athena

Posted on November 7, 2012 by smellincoffee

The Mark of Athena
© 2012 Rick Riordan
608 pages

In The Son of Neptune, Percy Jackson — a demigod, the son of a human mother and Poseidon — discovered another population of half-blood like himself, a veritable city called New Rome. The Romans are hostile to Percy and his Greek brethren, but the two sides must unite against Gaea and her plans to destroy life and create it anew — which is unfortunate, because Percy’s plans for an alliance soon crumble into war. The Lost Hero  introduced Jason Grace, the leader of the Romans, and in The Mark of Athena he and Percy (joined by five other demigods drawn from both of the camps) have to score a victory against Gaea before the Romans reach Camp Half-Blood and destroy it.  Their quest takes them to the old world where Annabeth Chase must descend into the bowels of Rome on a private mission from Athena, one that offers the hope of achieving peace between the demigods and preventing the real city of Rome from being toasted by two campy giants.

Riordan’s novels tend toward the episodic, with a monster milestone threatening to destroy life next week if the kids can’t scamper across the continent (or the world, in this case) in two days and win out, but Heroes of Olympus has already established itself as a different beast altogether from Riordan’s previous Greek and Egyptian series.  The first two novels read very similarly to the previous series: there were three characters, each trio had a private romance, and the group had to accomplish ludicrously  big things alone. But Heroes of Olympus is developing into a more mature series. Now there are seven characters, each with a fascinating story to tell, and tension between them is rife. Jason and Percy are accustomed to leadership, for instance, and subtly vie for the role of alpha male. While a monster-killing mission usually drives these novels, here it’s incidental, just a very small part in the larger scheme of things, and marginalized by Annabeth’s solo mission. There are of course lots of monsters;  the book writhes with urgent fight scenes against all manner of unpleasant beasts,  from giants with snakes for legs to American tourists. Happily, not every fight is resolved with strength; sometimes clever escape is the best option, and the book ends by depriving two heroes even that, giving readers something of a somber cliffhanger.

Heroes of Olympus continues to delight.

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This Week at the Library (2 November)

Posted on November 2, 2012 by smellincoffee

Being as 5 November falls in a few days, it’s finally time for me to do my reading set in tribute to England, and I’ve been looking forward to it since before July — though when it came time to order my books, I forgot a couple of the titles I had on my short list. Alas.  I’m currently in the middle of Bernard Cornwell’s Excalibur, which has me bowled over. It’s not as fantastically dramatic as Enemy of God, but  he’s already portrayed the epic battle of Mount Badon, and I’m all a-quiver with anticipation as to how he’s going to end the trilogy.

Strictly speaking, Excalibur wasn’t part of my planned English reading. That will include Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island, about his cultural observations of England, and Watching the English, an anthropological study of English folk which takes offense at Bryson’s notes for dismissing English weather as uninteresting.  I had planned to introduce myself to the works of P.G. Wodehouse by reading one of his Jeeves & Wooster collections, but there’s always next year. Besides, I’m distracted by the fact that I have two library books out at the same time, and both Demand to be Read Immediately. One is The Mark of Athena, the latest in the Percy Jackson series, and some of my friends know I am partial to the grey-eyed goddess of wisdom.  Given the series’ newfound Roman emphasis, it should be interesting…but I must finish Arthur first.  On all this, I found a copy of The High Cost of Free Parking, by Donald Shoup, which I’ve been wanting to read for quite some time now. It’s rather expensive online, selling for $30 even used, but I found law library in Alabama that was willing to check the book out to me through my own, so now I’ve got it.

In short, I have entirely too much to read this weekend, but both the English books both seem breezily fun.  On top of this I’ve dipped my toe into doing NaNoWriMo, mostly because I’ve had this fantasy novel in my head for years now and  despite constantly playing scenes from it in my head and tweaking them, I’ve not actually written anything down.  One problem is that I’m such a pedant that I can’t so much as put a star in the sky without thinking “How would that affect this culture’s mythology? Can I have months without a moon? And if I don’t have a moon, how will this world have predictable seasons?” 

I think next year I will do my English tribute on St. George’s day in April, in part so it won’t be so close to Armistice Day, and in part because then I can stop explaining to people that yes, I know Guy Fawkes night isn’t England’s national holiday,  but it’s as close as I can find. Besides, St. George’s Day seems so charmingly old-fashioned. I don’t know if anyone outside of England or an English literature class would recognize the name. (I must confess my curiosity was picqued by that “Once more into the breach” speech in Henry V…)

I’ve finished Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium, and was much impressed by it although it didn’t delve into the history of Apocalypticism like I’d hoped. Expect a review for that this weekend.

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Flushed

Posted on October 27, 2012 by smellincoffee

Flushed: How the Plumber Saved Civilization
© 2006 W. Hodding Carter
241 pages

So, plumbing.  You use it.  Chances are you wouldn’t be alive without it, because civilizations without plumbing tend to be miserable places rife with disease. Despite its importance, not much fuss is made about plumbing; in fact, the topic is studiously avoided by various modern cultures, who have placed a taboo on the discussion of human waste. W. Hodding Carter rejects that taboo and his breezy account of plumbing’s contribution to civilization – both historically and presently – suggests that sparing a few thoughts for toilets would do us good, helping us not only appreciate the importance of good sanitation, but make use of it to create a more sustainable future.

          Carter is an author who is very much excited about plumbing, and he’d like dearly to pass on that passion to the reader. Although he reports on the storied past of plumbing with gusto (and, entertainingly, attempts to bring the past to life by forging a Roman pipe himself), this isn’t a comprehensive history of plumbing. Nor is it a detailed guide to the plumbing systems of modern homes, though Carter does explain how most systems set to work, information he obtains by giddily smashing through his own wall to follow the pipes.  And it’s not a guide to considering plumbing as a career, though Carter does follow plumbers around and describes the path to the toilet that each man took. And it’s not a consideration of human waste as a possible means of creating sustainability. Instead, Flushed! is a quick romp through all these subjects, Carter leading the reader to and fro like a crazed tour guide – but as frantic as it is,  his approach conveys the fact that plumbing can be genuinely interesting. It undergirds not only society, but our homes – and possibly our future.  Carter’s race through the pipes of modernity takes him across the world, where he sees the future of toiletry in India, with the invention of a “biogas digester” that uses excrement to create fuel; such an invention literally creates energy by eliminating waste. (David Owen would ask, of course, how much energy it takes to manufacture the digesters.)

          This is in short  a commendably fun book about a element part of civilization, which manages to be entertaining and amusing without resorting to a series of toilet jokes.    

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Bitterly Divided

Posted on October 26, 2012 by smellincoffee

Bitterly Divided: the South’s Inner Civil War
© 2008 David Williams
310 pages

Why did the South lose the Civil War? Was it the strengths of the Union — a better rail network, a superior manufacturing base, more soldiers? David Williams doesn’t think so, emphasizing rather the great weakness of the Confederacy, its divided populace. In Bitterly Divided: the South’s Inner Civil War, he demonstrates that the south did not fight the war as a unified body. In Williams’ view, secession and war were forced upon the population by a few self-interested planters, who instituted the first draft in American history to compel the masses to do their fighting for them. Such an idea flies in the face of modern southern nationalists,  but the evidence here does bear out that the the south was a land set against itself during the planters’ insurrection, and its disunity — not Union armies — may have well led to is demise.

Williams’ narrative is energetic and direct.  After first establishing that the war was, in fact, about slavery, with a ruling planter aristocracy forcing secession conventions on the states to defend the ailing and embattled institution of slavery against anticipated attacks, Williams notes how quickly popular support for the conflict waned after the first few months. Despite an initial outburst of patriotism following Lincoln’s call for volunteers, most “plain folk” quickly lost interest in fighting what they perceived to be someone else’s cause. The falling out of volunteers prompted the confederate government to pass the conscription act,  forcing everyone, even those without a stake in slavery, to fight to defend it.  Curiously, though, the planters themselves passed legislation exempting slaveholders from the draft and providing a means of escape for the wealthy who didn’t have quite enough slaves (20) to qualify as indispensable.  These same planters also took advantage of the wartime uptick in demand for cotton, and the increase in prices brought on by the Union blockade — neglecting food in the process.

 This selfish neglect deprived the common people food, and wives wrote to their husbands lamenting of their impending starvation. When the price of food climbed, in part owing to speculation, southern ladies took a page from the books of the French revolution and stole the food  from merchants at gunpoint. The news of their loved ones’ misery, coupled with that of their own, prompted millions of soldiers to start deserting, so much so that Lee and Davis were fretting over their shrinking numbers only two years into the war.  Meanwhile, rebels-against-the-rebellion were hiding in swamps and raging guerilla war on the confederacy, tying down troops and cooperating with slaves, who were not only deserting or killing their masters, but likewise taking up arms – sometimes officially, for the Union cause, joining millions of white southerners who chose to fight for the north in defense of the nation. Nearly a quarter of Union soldiers came from the south. In short, the Confederate government’s enemies didn’t wear blue and weren’t massed on one front: they were everywhere. The Confederacy failed because it was a corrupt, abusive institution from the start which never earned the loyalty of the people it claimed to govern.

This is a lively retelling of the story of the Civil War, and a heartening one, but it has its faults.  There’s no denying the essential truth of Williams’ account: the letters, newspaper articles, and government memos he relies on here firmly establish that corruption, abuse, and revolt against the same were rife in the south during the war years. The problem is that Williams hits the reader with a barrage of scattered incidents that doesn’t bear the weight of comprehensive evidence. It’s easy to pile on examples, but even an avalanche of anecdotes wouldn’t do the job. More focused data sets are needed: military reports listing proportions of desertions, for instance.  What percentage of the planter class stayed home? As was the case with A People’s History, Bitterly Divided needed more attention in the editing process. Repetition abounds, with some cases being cited three or more times. This borders on obnoxious given that the book isn’t particularly lengthy.

Bitterly Divided has an excellent point to make, but it is in need of refinement. Presently, it makes for compelling if rough reading. I intend to pursue other authors in this area of scholarship, and will readily recommend Williams to others despite the book’s limitations.

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Enemy of God

Posted on October 25, 2012 by smellincoffee

Enemy of God: A Novel of Arthur
© 1996 Bernard Cornwell
416 pages    

      Enemy of God  stunned me. I thought I knew what to expect from a Bernard Cornwell novel: a solid, irreverent hero with a talent for fighting, enticing and dramatic narration of historical battles, and a lot of wry commentary thrown in.  And Enemy delivered that, but it’s a much different beast than I anticipated. Second in his King Arthur trilogy, it sees Cornwell flirt with the realms of fantasy and horror. Although I opened it planning to continue an thrilling historical series, Cornwell surprised me with a read very much appropriate for the Halloween season.

        The Winter King set the stage:  it is the twilight of the fifth century, the dawn of the sixth, and Britain is going mad as the year 500 approaches. The isle is rifle with conflict between the invading Saxons and the defending Celtic Britons. The Britons were once united under High King  Uther, but his death left a baby on the throne, and now all of the British kingdoms fight with one another as eagerly as they do against the Saxons. In Winter King,  Arthur emerged as the baby king’s half-uncle, the eldest son of the deceased high king but illegitimate. Arthur strove to unite the Britons, and succeeded – but in Enemy of God, he must defend the  peace from internal strife, dark conspiracies,  and the growing Saxon hordes.

         Cornwell’s usual strengths are present here, but the Arthur books are exceptional because of their larger-than-life characters and the fantasy elements, which are not found in any other of Cornwell’s novels to my knowledge.  Arthur and Merlin are the titans;  Cornwell’s Merlin surpasses even Albus Dumbledore for being a half-mad mentor – and like Dumbledore, Merlin has his own plans and ambitions which ensnare Arthur and his lieutenant, our narrator Derfel; plans  that may run contrary to those of the heroes.  Merlin is a chessmaster, forever pulling the strings, and there’s a shadow of malevolence to his  hoped-for future. Mordred, Morgan, Galahad, and Lancelot are here as well. I didn’t mention Lancelot* in my comments on The Winter King, in part because he’s a truly unpleasant character, ambitious, vain, and deceitful. Believed by most (especially the ladies) to be a mighty white knight in shining armor, he manages to achieve great praise despite never accomplishing anything, aside from keeping his pretty face free of battle scars.  Arthur, of course, dominates the novel, and is legendary – an almost perfect leader, but he is hopelessly in love with Guinevere and doggedly loyal to his friends. Alas for him and Britain,  he is not as sound a judge of character as he is a friend, and the result is disaster…and for Arthur, heart-rending pain.

All this makes for a fantastic story: this series is truly set apart from Cornwell’s other work. If the characters, humor, historical details, and intense storytelling weren’t enough, the backdrop is faintly fantastic, and increasing horrific  Regular fantasy readers may not notice it, but it’s a jarring difference from Cornwell’s other work, and definitely gives the story and edge.Arthur and Derfel go on quests to dark ruins, fight against monsters (people given to madness, rather reminiscent of the Reapers from the Firefly universe),  and return to find  hell releashed on the peaceful world of Camelot. It would have made for perfect Halloween reading, especially as one of the incidents fell on Samhain and Celtic mythlogy plays a crucial role.

Enemy of God is magnificent.I await Excalibur to arrive in the mail.

* Think of Prince Charming from Shrek 2. Seriously, I watched the movie last night and thought, “That’s who Lancelot reminded me of!”.

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Teaser Tuesday (23 October)

Posted on October 23, 2012 by smellincoffee

Teaser Tuesday is a weekly bookish event in which bloggers share excerpts from their current reads, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading.

“Remember , don’t look up!” one of the sewer workers, affectionately known as the “flusher” within the industry, called to me. The rungs were now dripping with sewer water — millions of pestilent microbes yearning to enter our bodies. They’d told us countless times not to look up and I’d just watched Rebecca carefully avoid doing so, no matter how many times I called to her, trying to trick her into it. Only an idiot would look up.
“What?” I said, looking up. A droplet burst apart on my right cheek, splashing within a millimeter of my eye.

p. 112. Flushed! How the Plumber Saved Civilization, W. Hodding Carter

Common folk reserved their most intense scorn for those who brought on the war yet refused to serve in it or grow enough food to support it. ‘The crime is with the planters”, wrote an angry Georgian to the Savannah Morning News. “As a class, they have yielded their patriotism  if they ever had any, to covetousness…for the sake of the money, they are pursuing a course to destroy or demoralize our army — to starve out the other class dependent on them for provisions.” Another asked: “What class has the most interest in the war and has made the most money by it, and sacrificed the least to maintain it? It is the class known as the planters.”

p. 85, Bitterly Divided: the South’s Inner Civil War, David Williams

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This Week at the Library (22 October)

Posted on October 22, 2012 by smellincoffee

A day or so ago, I finished the second book in Bernard Cornwell’s King Arthur trilogy, Enemy of God, and realized with a sigh that last year, I only purchased the first two books in the series. Why I didn’t this, I can’t recall, except that it didn’t seem prudent to buy an entire trilogy when I had no idea if I’d like it. But why would I have thought this, when the trilogy was by Bernard Cornwell, who delights me like no other?  And so despite my being utterly enraptured by the story, I’ll have to wait until the third book, which I ordered this weekend, can be shipped to me.  It should arrive at roughly the same time as the books I purchased for my upcoming tribute-to-England reading, which will include Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island.  I’ll be reading those around 5 November, the date of Guy Fawkes night.  Bryson never fails to amuse, so I’m looking forward to that.

This week, I’m reading Bitterly Divided:  the South’s Inner Civil War, by David Williams, which declares the idea of southern unity a lie, and examines the way the Confederacy was wracked by dissent from its very beginnings.  This was a predominant theme in A People’s History of the Civil War, which Williams also wrote, and I took such heart in it that I began looking around for more books in this area of scholarship. It’s a promising story of human defiance so far — of draft dodgers, Union sympathizers fighting guerilla-style, slave revolts, and armed women seizing goods from the marketplace when speculators drove the price of bread too high.

On another note, I’m pursuing another passion of mine: the Apocalypse.  I’ve read a fair few books on religion in the past five or six years, but only a few have really made their mark on my mind. One of those was Bart Ehrman’s God’s Problem, which explores three biblical explanations for the origins of evil and suffering. Theodicy isn’t an issue for me, but one of the three biblical approaches was rooted in what Ehrman calls apocalypticism, the idea that the world is a battlefield between spiritual forces of good and evil, and that miracles are manifestations of the power of these forces, and that one day a chosen one will win the ultimate victory for good.  This part of the Zoroastrian religion influenced Judaism, and thus Christianity and Islam, and it’s one of the reasons people today are somewhat insane.  While I knew the western religions had picked up dualism from Persia, I didn’t realize the Messiah bit was connected to that until I read Ehrman, and learning that threw a lot of light on a question that’s been bugging me since 2005 about Judaism’s evolution.  Anyhoo, since reading God’s Problem, I’ve wanted to find out more, and so last week  I purchased Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium, Ehrman’s portrayal of the historical Jesus as someone who believed that the world was ending the week after next.  My hope is that he’ll expand on Apocalpyticism.

Last this past week I read Up the River: Travels in a Prison Nation, by Joseph T. Hallman, in which Hallman gives a history of American penalism while traveling throughout the country and visiting its most pivotal prisons. One out of every one hundred Americans is in prison, which is quite a statistic: “the land of free” leads the world in incarceration, putting even police states like China to shame.  Prisons are big business, and that’s the point of Hallman’s book. Whereas in the past prisons were thought to be “reformatories” that might fix crime, or at least a place of last resort, now they’re a source of revenue. Prisoners are captive consumers and cheap labor, and the enormous facilities that keep them isolated from society are the economic backbone of counties across the nation that have seen their industries move overseas for cheap labor of their own.  Now prisoners are “clients”, and cities hope for their numbers to grow.

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The Winter King

Posted on October 20, 2012 by smellincoffee

The Winter King: a Story of Arthur
© 1997 Bernard Cornwell
433 pages

The high king of Britain is dead, and the land lies in peril. Surrounded by implacable enemies, from the vicious Irish to the aggressive and hungry Saxon invaders, scarcely a day goes by without a village being reduced to smoke and its granaries looted. Some folk cling to the old gods, while others embrace the new Christ – but all need a hero, and they get it in the unexpected form of Arthur, the exiled and bastard son of the old king, who has been named protector of the young Prince Mordred, his nephew and the high king’s chosen heir. Arthur is loved by neither the druids nor the bishops: he is not of the royal blood. His authority has been earned, not granted, but it will be sorely put to the test in the days that lie ahead. Such is the beginning of Arthur’s story, The Winter King, Bernard Cornwell’s captivating treatment of the Arthurian legends.

            Search the lists of English kings, and you will find no Arthur. Yet, his memory lives strongly in the mind of English and American culture, and has since the medieval era. He is the ideal king: strong, just, and benevolent, incorruptible and inspiring.  Historically, there are only faint traces of a man named Arthur who may have led the British armies against the Saxons in the 400s. From those traces, Cornwell creates the noblest character he’s ever attempted, a leader with great dreams and all the virtues to make them a reality…until he lays eyes on the Princess Guinievere,  who “turns his blood to smoke” and his story into tragedy.

            Cornwell tells Arthur’s story through another character’s eyes, namely a soldier named Derfel who becomes the ruler’s ally and friend. Like other Cornwellian protagonists, Derfel begins as an outcast without pedigree, who must prove himself as a warrior and leader.  Spending time with  Cornwell’s main characters is always part of the appeal of his works: though possessing many faults, they’re utterly guileless (except when tricking their enemies on the field). Though surrounded by men who have deceived themselves into thinking they are powerful, clever, or righteous, his heroes stand, content to be just themselves, warts and all. Thus it’s interesting here that Derfel tells the story of a man who doesn’t regard himself as heroic, but who will nevertheless be considered as such by history, and can’t help but read larger-than-life.

            The Arthur legends are rich with fantasy, and Cornwell weaves that into his own story. Magic exists in Cornwell’s world not as supernatural reality, but in the minds of people; it is there that the wizard Merlin casts his spells. Ritual permeates this world of dark-age Britain, but it’s not forced or hokey, readers are allowed to experience the mystery of Cornwell’s world as his characters would. Other aspects of the Arthur legends, like the search for the Holy Grail,  are also worked into The Winter King, but in a way that makes sense in the context of the story. Arthur isn’t challenged to find an artifact of Christianity, but a treasure from Celtic mythology.

            The Winter King is a magnificent story, succeeding both as a “realistic” treatment of King Arthur and a historical novel about the cultural conflict between not only Britons and Saxons, but between Christianity and the native religion. As usual, the weight of historic details is impressive, and the characterization — always  one of Cornwell’s strengths — is superb, but then his characters are legends.  I am astonished that I’ve owned the first two books for well over a year and am only just now reading them.

           A final thought:  Cornwell’s story has so filled my imagination that despite spending the past few days reading about King Arthur, only once have I had an issue with quotations from Monty Python cheerfully invading my focus.  (That happened only recently, halfway through the second book when Camelot was mentioned. You can guess what song played in my head for an hour thereafter…)

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