The History of the Kings of Britain- Review and Reflections

The History of the Kings of Britain

By Geoffrey of Monmouth,

Translated by Lewis Thorpe, Published by Penguin Books

The History of the Kings of Britain is a rarity in that few works in history have had such an influence on the world around them, and the visible historical impact of the text quite literally leaps off the page. In particular, if you’re interested in the reign of Edward I, you’re in for a treat- or, more accurately, a very nervous shiver. That Edward was passionate about the text is an extremely well-documented assumption. First, it’s second only to the Bible for the number of surviving copies from the era; he’d have to have been raised in a hole not to have been familiar with it.  Second, Edward’s fixation with “Round Table” tournaments, chivalric romances, and a number of recorded visits to Tintagel Castle suggest considerably more than a passing interest into the legends of King Arthur.  And my personal interpretation after reading the text was that King Edward I was emulating his probable hero to a very disturbing degree.  It must be noted that the King  Arthur of Geoffrey of Monmouth is, alongside some earlier Welsh incarnations but not later Arthurs of Edward’s era, a brutal, slay-them-all, megalomaniac conqueror, some of whose actions resemble those of Edward I to a degree that I personally find genuinely chilling. Consider for example this passage, spoken by Arthur before the Battle of Saussy:

“My countrymen, you who have made Britain the mistress of thirty kingdoms… In a short time they [the Romans] will march out again and come through this valley. You will… slaughter them like sheep…. when you delivered those peoples from their shameful allegiance to the Romans and forced them to submit to my own overlordship” (italics are mine)

Is a voice in anyone else’s head screaming “Welsh Wars of Independence”?

“What the devil are you doing men? Are you letting these effeminate creatures slip away unhurt? Not one must escape alive! Think of your own right hands… which have subjected thirty kingdoms to my sovereignty! Not one must escape alive!”

How about “Battle of Evesham”?

“You foolish people… because your kingdom was divided against itself, because the lunacy of Civil War and smoke-cloud of jealousy obscured your mind, because your pride did not allow you to obey a single King, that is why you see your fatherland ravaged… your homesteads overturned one upon the other… they will see the cubs of the wild lioness occupy their castles, cities, and other possessions.”

Holy…

Alright, I may be getting carried away; the attitudes of this passage don’t differ dramatically from those followed in countless other medieval wars and conquests, and are fairly standard for the time, but all the same, it is worth noting that during the later years of his reign, the Historia Regum Brittaniae (its original Latin name) was cited in an appeal to the Pope as evidence of Edward’s right to rule over Scotland. This is one reason among countless others that I consider it a real shame that this text is not studied in schools; history curriculums tend to more or less entirely overlook historiography.  I can hardly imagine a better example of demonstrating the impact of fictitious or misinterpreted history being taken for the unquestionable truth than the History of the Kings of Britain, which was accepted as such well into the sixteenth century and underlay the majority of historical interpretations of Britain for four centuries.

Even with the draw of the enormous historical impact left aside, the History of the Kings of Britain is still a genuinely good read. The portrayal of Arthur is admittedly alien and quite off-putting, but it is worth noting that his exploits only occupy a small portion of the book, and the earlier kings, battles, prophecies and dragons are far more accessible and enjoyable. Finally, through the clear references to individuals (I felt a definite inner swoon when I realised it was personally dedicated to Robert Earl of Gloucester) and the very distinctive narrative voice of the writer, the History of the Kings of Britain offers the reader a uniquely personal, intimate view of the Middle Ages while simultaneously offering an introduction to the attitudes that in all likelihood shaped the masses for centuries to come. Highly recommended.

A Venerable Classroom

“Children don’t listen in history lessons at school, and who can blame them? Where’s the fun? Where’s the intrigue? Where are the interesting stories of the mad, bad, stupid, wonderful, odd, and improbable things that happened to our ancestors? The past is as daft as the present and the people of the past were as daft as us.” *

The more I learn about history (particularly medieval history, which the majority of people are only really exposed to in their primary school years), the more I begin to despair of the antiquated history curriculum, which is primarily based on unchallenged Victorian-era stereotyping of historical figures (of the “Bloody Mary” and “Evil King Richard” school of historical thought). To make matters worse, attempts at moving the system away from rote-learning have resulted in a devotion to avoiding knowledge-based testing so extreme that most people come away with no real knowledge of anything. I have therefore decided to include this occasional series, which I will call  ’A Venerable Classroom’,  planned to be a mix of teaching suggestions and analysis of approaches to learning and teaching history, with the odd “interesting bits left out” rant thrown in for good measure.

This instalment was born of my utter, utter frustration with the failure to include the achievements of women in standard syllabus’, where they tend to be excluded all but entirely. Partly inspired by a re-reading of the thoroughly excellent Secret History of the Mongol Queens , by Jack Weatherford (a must-read for fellow feminist historians), and the back-archives of Badassoftheweek (a crude but excellent history blog and the best I know of for bringing obscure historical characters to light), I came up with this simple exercise for bringing the extent of the problem to light. Picture yourself in front of a class, for the moment consisting of seventh graders. You turn to them and say:

“Imagine that you have been assigned to go on a quest on which the fate of the world depends. You will need to fight, you will need to be strategic, you will need to survive in dire situations, and you will need to outwit your opponents many times over. To assist you on your quest, you will be allowed to choose five historical figures as companions. The catch is that they must all be women.”

Silence. Tell me truthfully, how many students could name someone other than Joan of Arc and Boadicea?

I personally think this could work wonders in a number of different areas: firstly, for simply bringing to light the biases of history, for introducing the concept of historiography and biased representations of the past, perhaps even to older students. Secondly, this could be used as a fun way to encourage students to further research the historical contributions of women, and if you don’t think that badassery is a worthy ambition, you can simply tailor the opening question: you have to survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, you need to infiltrate the government, you need to get information across enemy lines, you want to rule the high seas… You get the idea. Thirdly and finally, this creates an opportunity to bring the achievements of under-represented women, some of them outright heroes, into the classroom.

My list of unsung heroines changes on a day-to-day basis, and would probably alter itself depending on the age of the theoretical students, but here is, in its current incarnation, my imaginary quest team:

Lozen: The Apache were among the most skilled Guerrilla fighters in history, and Lozen, described by her brother Victorio as “The Shield of her People”, was among the best of the lot, and considered the equal of Geronimo on the battlefield. She participated in almost every major battle of the Apache Wars, including the bloody two month last stand of 1881, where it was said that “there is no warrior more worthy than the sister of Victorio”. On top of all that, she was acclaimed as an expert healer, and her exploits included guiding a mother and newborn baby through hundreds of miles of desert, enemy territory, (read wanted by the armies of two different governments) armed with only a knife, a rifle and a single pack of bullets.

Harriet Tubman: Of course, Harriet Tubman would probably sniff at that. She, after all, led more than 300 former slaves to freedom across vast swathes of enemy territory over the course of her 20 year career on the Underground Railroad – with a 40,000 dollar price on her head – despite the fact that she was both illiterate and epileptic. She was never caught, never captured, and never lost a single passenger. She also worked as a spy and reconnaissance officer in the Civil War, becoming the only woman to lead an armed expedition in the American Civil War, liberating more than 200 former slaves after a single battle. And to top it off, she was major suffrage campaigner alongside Susan B. Anthony and Emily Howland, the keynote speaker at the first meeting of the National Federation of African-American women, and particularly noted for citing historical examples of heroic women as her justification for equal rights. Holy feminism, batman!

Princess Pingyang of the Tang Dynasty: In 2,100 years of Chinese Imperial History, only two peasants have ever overtaken the Imperial throne. And in the case of Emperor Gaozu, it was his daughter who got him there. When Zhao, later Princess Pingyang, heard her father had chosen to declare open revolt on the Empire, she fled through hundreds of miles of enemy territory (this seems to be a running theme), sold her family land to buy weapons and began assembling an army against local warlords. She was just 20. Within 6 months she had gained 70, 000 soldiers, defeated Imperial forces a dozen times over, and gained the loyalty of the people with that frequently-overlooked-but-surprisingly-effective tactic of forbidding her men from raping and plundering on pain of death, and offering supplies of food to every city she entered to maintain morale. She defeated yet another vast Imperial Army, and then linked up with her Father’s army to storm the capital and Imperial City and take the throne for him. Awesome.

Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd: AKA the female Robin Hood, with the added benefit of having definitely existed. The Welsh princess-consort of Deheubarth and her husband Grufffydd ap Rhys (a member of a rival family who she eloped with after her parents forbade the marriage- Hollywood, are you hearing this?) fled into the mountains and led retaliatory strikes against Norman invaders, redistributing the stolen booty among the displaced Deheubarth citizens. Gruffydd left to fight with his father-in-law in the revolt of 1136; the Normans invaded Deheubarth, and Gwenllian raised an army against the invasion, one of very few incidences of women directing armies in medieval history. After a long, drawn-out war, she was captured and beheaded, but inspired other men to retake much of Wales and hold back the Normans (for the time being), and “Revenge for Gwenllian” was used as a battle-cry for more than three centuries after her death. Three centuries. Wow.

Julie D’Aubigny: All right, she may not be a feminist role model, and certainly not one you’d use as a demonstration of female aspiration to younger students, but seeing as Julie D’Aubigny was basically a bisexual Inigo Montoya, and regarded in her brief life time as the finest swordsman (swordswoman?) in France, I think she’d make one heck of a useful spy and I’m including her. She was, to quote Badassoftheweek, “a 17th-century bisexual French opera singer and fencing master who killed or wounded at least ten men in life-or-death duels, performed nightly shows on the biggest and most highly-respected opera stage in the world, and once took the Holy Orders just so that she could sneak into a convent and bang a nun”. Really. With her remarkable skills in cross-dressing and disguises, duelling, having royal courts in the palm of her hand, and yes, seducing people left, right and centre, I think she’d make an excellent contrast to the bad-ass Guerrilla warrioresses listed above. Plus, she’s about the best example of “the mad, the bad, the stupid and the improbable” whose lack of Justin Pollard complained of in the aforementioned quote. History wouldn’t be complete without the heroes, but it wouldn’t be half so much fun without the hedonistic, improbable, societal rebels.

So, with my Guerrilla warrioress, wilderness survival expert, military strategist, resistance fighter, and cross-dressing sword-master gathered, I’m off to see the wizard, on a quest that I imagine will be just as mad, bad, stupid, wonderful, odd and improbable as history class never is.

*Justin Pollard,  The Interesting Bits

The Mabinogion- A Review

 

The Mabinogion

Translated by Sioned Davies, Published by OUP Oxford

Conclusion: Magnificent- I absolutely cannot recommend this book enough. If you read only one example of medieval literature, make it this one.

I should probably begin this review by making a few things clear: firstly, I do not speak Welsh, and as such cannot draw comparisons with the text in its original form. Secondly, I am notoriously fussy in regards to translations and frequently frustrated by my own inability to read texts in their original languages. Thirdly, I was, to put it mildly, stunned by the beauty of this text. The language is alliterative, poetic, musical, and even better, as someone largely unfamiliar with Celtic mythology, this felt like reading Die Brüder Grimm all over again- without knowing the endings of the tales. (For the record, the Mabinogion is a collection of loosely related medieval Welsh tales derived from two fourteenth century manuscripts, but the stories themselves are believed to be far older and may represent some of the earliest incarnations of written Arthurian legend). As such, the influence of this text on Medieval literature is enormous, and I can safely say the Mabinogion is my favourite piece of Medieval Literature I have read to date; it delighted my fairy-tale-loving inner five-year-old and my inner historian to complete and equal measure.

I must confess I finished this book some time ago; many of the tales themselves have slipped my memory, but uniquely the academic notes have not. The scholarly notes at the back are virtually a book in themselves and arguably even better than the tales- they convey a staggering wealth of information on the language, names and history of the text as well as the culture, language and law of medieval Wales. And they do this by drawing frequent comparisons with folklore motifs, Irish mythology and other medieval incarnations of Arthurian legend. I would recommend this book to anyone with a passion for mythology, fairy-tales, or folklore- if that passion is for Arthurian mythology, and/or you have read Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of Britain, I would say it is indispensable. I would also suggest this translation of the Mabinogion as a superb companion to Sharon Penman’s Dragons Trilogy (which, if you couldn’t tell from my previous post, I adore on a slightly demented level) – reading this added unprecedented background to many of the names, locations, and proverbs mentioned in Here be Dragons, Falls the Shadow, and the Reckoning and gave me  a much greater understanding of the period.

In short, this book alone made me seriously consider switching majors to History and Celtic Studies- it probably won’t happen for a number of reasons, but for one book that is a towering achievement. Diolch yn fawr, Sioned Davies.

“On second thought, let’s not go to Hollywood; it is a silly place”

“Braveheart could not have been more historically inaccurate if they had added a plasticine dog and called it “William Wallace and Gromit”” – John O’Farrell, An Utterly Impartial History of Britain

I have been told by a friend that 29 digital watches are visible in just one scene of Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. Now before we begin, I would like to say that Disney’s Robin Hood is one of my all-time favourite films, that I enjoyed A Knight’s Tale as much as anybody, and that I’ll gladly forgive many historical inaccuracies at the expense of a good story, particularly if the origin is largely mythical (as is the case with all the hundreds of Robin Hood adaptions). What I intend to rant about here is not minor historical inaccuracies themselves, but rather why Hollywood still seems to feel that story-telling must be at the expense of historical accuracy and fact- while the actual history is already stuffed to bursting with ready-made epics. But seeing as Hollywood apparently still feels the need to insert Pagan Vikings into the thirteenth century, introduce life-span defying affairs and have King John win the Baron’s War, digital watches seemed an appropriate place to start mourning the portrayal of the Middle Ages on the silver screen.

Initially, doing further research into this topic, I was frustrated by the difficulty in finding examples not taken from Braveheart (the Citizen Kane of historical inaccuracy), but then I discovered that in fact, the situation is even more dire than I suspected. The IMDB list of historical drama films (more than likely incomplete, but fairly comprehensive) lists about 160 films set between the fifth and fifteenth century. If we exclude Robin Hood, King Arthur and Shakespearean adaptions (sorry Will), the list goes down to about a hundred- with just 40 listed as produced in English: in the last ninety years. No offense to the Scandinavian and Eastern European film-makers whose work may well be excellent, but that is appallingly little. Not only are most films about the middle ages anachronism-fests, there are scarcely any of them to begin with. If film-makers have apparently long ago given up on mining medieval history for bad films, what hope is there for the accurate, high-quality historical dramas I secretly hope for? Well, I tell myself that there is always television- an arguably better medium for portraying thorny family sagas and dynastic battles than 2 condensed hours of film. Then I remember a certain historical atrocity called The Tudors. I guess that script-writers, producers and directors simply don’t believe that actual historical events contain enough sex, drama, blood, affairs and insane plot-twists to satisfy the public…. and how astonishingly wrong they are.

Don’t believe me, film-makers? Tell me, have you ever heard of Matilda of Canossa, who inherited most of Northern Italy after her father was murdered by a poisoned arrow, nearly lost her inheritance to a stepfather who exiled her mother and brother, exiled her husband, earned the epithet the “Iron Shield of the Papacy” defeating the armies of the Holy Roman Empire in countless battles that she took personal charge of, was declared the official Voice of the Pope by all the crowned heads of Europe, and went on to re-take Rome, restore the papacy and become the first non-saint/pope (and one of just three women since) to be entombed in the Vatican. Or my personal favourite candidate for the silver screen, Simon de Montfort, who defied the King and Church to marry a girl sworn to chastity, enacted a revolution that made him virtual King of England, rode out to his death during a thunderstorm in one of the bloodiest battles in English history after being betrayed by his own son, who was later prompted to carry out one of the most notorious revenge murders of the entire middle ages and get himself immortalised in Dante’s Inferno. Eat that, Braveheart.  And now that gory, dysfunctional family dramas are so popular could someone take note of a certain era called the Welsh Wars of Independence- surely one of, if not the most, dramatically tragic family saga of the entire Western European Middle Ages.

When the truth is this rich, who needs William Wallace sleeping with a princess who was aged eight at the time of his death? Who needs Richard the Lionheart discussing the Magna Carta?  The potential cinematic wealth of the Middle Ages is as staggering as it untapped. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to start putting together a script on the twilight of independent Wales- I’ll just need a cauldron of feuding brothers and eye-wateringly dysfunctional families, a generous slug of enduring romance and tragic love story, a tub of gore, as many castles and sieges as I can jam into the bowl, a dash of pirates, a spoonful of traitors, a few of the most evil villains I can find, and another heaping cauldron of tragedy. And oh yes, absolutely no digital watches. I cannot wait to savour the result.

Note: As I was preparing to post this, I learned that a series was in production concerning the fabulously cinematic life of Ragnar Lothbrok (!) – by the writer and creator of The Tudors. Yes, the Viking impact on the Carolingian dynasty which I waxed lyrical about in my previous post, where Charles the Bald was trapped between two invading Viking hordes and taxed his own merchants to bribe them to go away only to have the merchants side with the Vikings against him … is in the process of being reduced to another smutty porn-fest. I guess fabulous historical stories are no guarantee of decent adaptions. For the moment, I guess we’ll have to stick with Monty Python’s Holy Grail, as far as I can gather the most accurate screen representation of the period, if only for the immortal greatness of: “How do we know he’s the King? Because he hasn’t got shit all over him.”

The Travels of Ibn Battutah – A Review

The Travels of Ibn Battutah

Edited by Tim Mackintosh-Smith, published by PAN Macmillan Adult

General conclusion- Worth it for the magnificent first hundred pages alone. But come expecting a Xanadu-like account of the East, and you’ll probably be disappointed.

Being not only the most-travelled individual in pre-Industrial history (if his accounts are to be believed he traversed 117,000 kilometres and 44 modern countries), but having also survived pirate attacks, assassination attempts, and the Black Death, you’d expect the accounts of Ibn Battutah’s  travels to be pretty special. The good news is that the first 100 pages of this book are an utter delight for the armchair explorer/historian, filled as they are with little gems like the man with a turban “the voluminous likes of which I have not seen in the east or west of the World”, and the comment that “no one may enter Syria without a passport from Egypt or enter Egypt without a passport from Syria, for fear of Iraqi spies”. The bad news is that, beyond this point, the fun little details largely disappear (with a few, brilliant exceptions) and instead you get unending descriptions of Ibn Battutah being upset by the activities of heathens and unless you’re an avid fruit enthusiast (this could well be re-titled as an encyclopaedia of thirteenth century date growing areas), you’ll probably be somewhat disappointed. (It is worth noting that theories regarding whether or not he actually reached many of the areas he described abound- having read through the astonishing contrasts in the detail of his description, I believe they might be right).

Ultimately,  plagued by being written in hindsight and possibly by being seriously abridged in the English addition, this book is unlikely to live up to post-Romanticist expectations of the glories of exploration and wonders of the world. It must be noted that this is no Xanadu-like enraptured account of gleaming spires and distant Shangrilas- Ibn Battutah reserves all forms of astonishment and wonder for the activities of heathens that he then tries to purge of their wrong-doing. What you will find in this book is a pedestrian, down to earth account of thirteenth century travel, with the vast majority given over to details of trade, agriculture and religion. Not to say that it’s not worth reading- far from it- but it’s a shame that it couldn’t keep up the engaging, fascinating pace of the beginning.

Alfred the Great by Justin Pollard – A Review

Alfred the Great- the Man who made England. By Justin Pollard 

Published by John Murray

 

Conclusion: Absolutely magnificent. If you only read one book on the Dark Ages, make it this one.

 “Splendid this rampart is, though fate destroyed it.

The city buildings fell apart, the works of giants crumble….

Until a hundred generations now

Of people have passed by. Often this wall

Stained red and gray with lichen has stood by

Surviving storms while Kingdoms rose and fell.”

 Out of all the vivid description of life in the eighth century in this book, none stands out more than the comment on the reaction of Anglo-Saxon pilgrims to seeing the Coliseum of Rome in an era when there was not a standing stone building in all of northern Europe. The world we are introduced to is alien, fragmented, distant and almost post-apocalyptic in feel, but unlike the anonymous writers of the Ruin (quoted above), there is no lost nostalgia or sense of longing for the civilisations that came before the Dark Ages. The only sad sense of longing the reader will feel is at the near-immediate realisation that the English “Dark” Ages they have been told were bland and colourless were in fact dynastically convoluted, dramatic, and colourful enough to rival the Byzantines or the 12 Caesars. Well, possibly. Brace yourselves for hearing about tantalising things like Monarchies celebrating their first legitimate accession in a century- and then learning that it was a century for which no records at all survive. But never fear, sombre inner historians, because it’s only a matter of pages before the Vikings show up, and if that part of the book doesn’t turn you back into a gleeful five year old or at least remind you of why you love history in the first place, well, then Dark Age history is clearly not for you.

My only small complaint about this book would be that the pace slows quite a bit after Alfred actually becomes King and never again reaches the thrilling pace it had before- but then again, to ask Alfred to be more thrilling than Viking Pirates playing cat and mouse with the Carolingian Dynasty would be a very tall order indeed. And if you’re willing to bid farewell to the Vikings, you’ll discover a monarch so enlightened and ground-breaking it will make your head spin: six centuries before Martin Luther, seven centuries before William Caxton, Alfred the Great was not only advocating but personally taking charge of the translation of religious texts into English, advocating relatively widespread literacy, and encouraging the written celebration of his own tongue. Alfred the Great was hardly non-religious; he was an incredibly pious monarch, had been to Rome twice and the Pope had in fact been his godfather. How is it possible that Alfred not only propagated ideas that would be seen as heresy centuries later but received church encouragement to carry them out? How is it that, for the brief period of his reign, the domination of Latin and subsequently the Church over learning and literacy was halted? (This is, unfortunately, one area that Justin Pollard does not cover- if anyone knows anything about how the attitudes of the Church in this era made this possible, please tell me.)

This is perhaps the only history book I have read that manages to make the historical sources used by the author every bit as fascinating as the events they describe. I normally have a fondness for narrative history- it’s one of the reasons I loved Alison Weir’s Eleanor of Aquitaine so much- but Justin Pollard approaches analysis of literary and historical sources with an unbridled joy and utter fascination and further enriches the book by using the analysis as an opportunity to expand on the cultural background of Anglo-Saxon and Viking Britain. Coupled with the excerpts of heroic poetry that preface each chapter, Alfred the Great is not so much an insular biography as a celebration of the achievements of an entire era- with the chroniclers, monks, and scholars on an equal level with Kings, Pirates, Conquerors and squabbling Popes. And to paint such a complete and seamless portrait when writing about an era which is all too often reduced to a repetition of: “We don’t know anything about them, so we’ll talk about something else”,  is a colossal achievement. Masterful.

Hwaet, hwaet- this book opens with an extremely graphic description of a burning library, so if you, like me, are one of those devoted bibliophiles who can be reduced to a quivering wreck by the mere mention of the great Libraries of Baghdad and Alexandria, have pity on your own sanity and skip the first chapter. Really.

A Choice of Anglo-Saxon Verse- Review

A Choice of Anglo-Saxon Verse, edited by Richard Hamer

Published by Faber and Faber Limited

Conclusion: An excellent anthology of beautifully translated and presented poems- but more background information and a pronunciation guide would have been nice.

First and foremost, this book is commendable for having avoided the trap of many Dark Age literary translations, namely failing to retain a poetic feel in translated form. After wrestling with two cumbersome editions of the Poesy of Skalds (one in English and one in German) that both felt heavy and clumsily translated, it was an immense relief to open this book and find poems that sounded like poems and that were an utter joy to read. Though this deceptively light book is really only an introduction to the literature of the era, showcasing small samples of different areas of Anglo-Saxon literary tradition (ballads, religious verses, riddles, hymns, gnomic verses, heroic epics), it is still an extremely satisfying read.

I have only two complaints- one, having gone to the trouble of showcasing the original Anglo-Saxon and the English translation on opposite pages, could the publishers not have included a pronunciation guide or at least some information on the language? Obviously, YouTube has tutorials and readings of the selected poems in abundance, but it’s still something of a disappointment. Likewise, the background information on the poems is quite limited and doesn’t go far beyond basic description. Ultimately, this is a commendable, beautifully translated book of poems- but if you want to know about the era in which they were written, you’ll have to look somewhere else. And, on a personal note I can recommend no better source for that than Justin Pollard’s biography of Alfred the Great, currently my all-time favourite medieval history book and up next on the reviewing list.