This weekend is Historical Writers’ Day. (Yes, I know that there are two days in a weekend, but we are historical writers, not mathematicians.) The event is being run through Twitter and you can follow what is going on using the hashtag #HistoricalWritersDay22.
I’m marking the weekend by selling Cawnpore for just 99p for two days.
Cawnpore is the second of the three books making up the John Williamson papers but you can read it even if you haven’t read the first and it is complete of itself, so you don’t have to read the sequel. I think that, of all my books, it is the one I am most proud of, but its sales are miniscule compared to the relatively successful Burke series. Be warned, though, it’s a very different sort of book.
The story is set around the siege of the British forces in Cawnpore (now Kanpur) during the war usually referred to in Britain as the Indian Mutiny. John Williamson, as a gay working class man, finds it difficult to identify with the British he is working alongside. On the other hand, he is very sympathetic towards the local population. When war breaks out, he is torn between loyalty to his friends and to his countrymen.
The siege at Cawnpore and the massacre that followed is not a pretty story. Cawnpore shows the events from both sides, sticking very closely to the historical record. It has its moments of drama and excitement, but mostly it describes events that are desperately sad. It is almost guaranteed to make you cry.
I will also be checking #HistoricalWritersDay22 looking for any questions people might have posted about my books and trying to respond to them. Please ask any questions you might have, otherwise that element of the “day” isn’t really going to work.
It’s easy to be rude about genre fiction. People say that they don’t want books to be neatly classified. But genre fiction is easy to read. We know where we are. It’s easy to review. We can (mostly) recognise the core elements of a “good” book of historical fiction or a “good” romance. (Cute meet; obstacle to their love; obstacle overcome; HEA.) Above all (as far as writers are concerned), it’s easy (or at least easier) to sell. Perhaps that’s why Ailish Sinclair has, despite a track record of successful historical fiction, decided that Sisters at the Edge of the World should be self-published. And if ever there was an argument for the failure of the traditional publishing system, its apparent inability to accommodate books like Sisters at the Edge of the World is it.
Given her previous work, it more or less goes without saying that Sinclair’s prose is a pleasure to read. Even so, I did not find this an easy book to love: not at first, anyway. It’s not exactly a fantasy, though it’s set in a world where magic is a real and everyday part of life. It gives the impression of being historically accurate but, given that it covers a place and a period where the historical record is, at best, sketchy, it’s not quite what I would think of as a conventional historical novel. Is it a romance? Well, there’s a boy and a girl but, if they’d had Facebook in the Bronze Age, their relationship status would best be described as ‘complicated’.
As I kept reading I stopped worrying about what sort of story I was being presented with. I was just carried along with the life of Morragh, the girl who talks to the Mother-god and who is a spiritual leader of her people. The people came alive for me too: their daily lives, their sometimes complicated and uncomfortable relationships, and the ill-defined but all-pervasive spiritual beliefs that linked them and the world they lived in.
The coming of the Romans and the attack on their tribe by Agricola and his legions brings violence and death to their community – violence and death that might, just might, have been avoided if, at heart, the peace-loving worshippers of the Mother-god didn’t secretly like the idea of a good fight. And when that fight comes, Ailish Sinclair pulls no punches. It’s truly horrible, somehow even worse because Morragh (who has flashes of visions of the future) has already told us how it would be. Except it’s worse.
Life goes on after the battle, but I’m not saying anything about it because Spoilers. But the end, like the rest of the book, combines the supernatural and the mundane to open up wholly unpredictable situations. Does it end well? You’ll have to read it to find out.
If you, like me, are not at all certain that this is a book for you, keep going. Very soon you will join (judging from the reviews I’ve seen) the crowds of readers for whom this book is, in every sense, magical.
I like to blog about interesting places I’ve been, especially if they have a historical connection. So Monday’s day out can’t pass without a mention.
My son’s brigade was responsible for providing a squadron to mount the guard at Buckingham Palace and he went along to represent brigade headquarters and to generally admire the performance of the squadron. I was invited to gawp through the railings at Buckingham Palace and then to join him and other guests for lunch at Saint James’s Palace.
Although I have lived in London all my adult life, I have never been to see the changing of the guard. It’s worth a visit, if only for the music. Both the Old Guard (the one being changed) and the New Guard bring their bands with them and, besides the marching to and fro and the occasional shouted order, much of the hour or so of the ceremony is spent listening to music – and very good music as the Army takes its music seriously.
The Old Guard and their band
I did wonder (along with most of the tourists watching the spectacle) why it took so long and why there was so much time was spent with apparently nothing happening except for the captain of the Old Guard and the captain of the New Guard pacing backwards and forwards across the Buckingham Palace forecourt. The reason, I was told over lunch, is that Buckingham Palace and Saint James’s Palace are guarded by the same squadron so people have to come and go from Saint James’s Palace which is a brisk walk halfway down the Mall. (American readers please note: the Mall is a wide road leading up to Buckingham Palace, not a place full of shops.) The pacing backwards and forwards is to give the captains of the guard an estimate of how long it will take for the sentries from St James’s Palace to arrive so the ceremony can run smoothly. Obviously, this way of time keeping predates the wrist watch but never let a technical advance get in the way of ritual. Anyway, the whole thing was terribly impressive and the uniforms most spectacular. The New Guard were Gurkhas, so they could not compete with the Old Guard and its busbies, but their drill was perfect. Gurkhas take their soldiering very seriously and I am confident that His Majesty was in safe hands. Actually, security at Buckingham Palace is handled by the Metropolitan police with the military just there as a backup, though at the Tower (technically an Army headquarters) the police aren’t involved.
94 Squadron Queen’s Own Gurkha Logistic Regiment (QOGLR) mount guard
Because it was the King’s birthday, we got a bonus on Monday, with the King’s Troop Royal Horse Artillery trotting past the palace on its way to fire the birthday salute in Green Park.
By a happy chance the changing of the guard ended just as the gun salute was starting, so we had the pleasure of seeing that as well. Watching the immaculately turned out gunners kneeling at attention (yes really) in straight lines while the guns fired one after another, it was strange to imagine that this drill was originally all about the very serious business of getting your gun into battle at speed and getting out again at speed if things went badly. I doubt any of Wellington’s gunners looked nearly as smart as these.
On to St James’s Palace, built by Henry VIII as a hunting lodge when this part of London was forest. It looks quite small from the front but it’s a large complex which includes Clarence House where the King is living. Most of the working royals have apartments there to provide a London base and soldiers on ceremonial duties at Buckingham Palace are based there too.
The Officers’ Mess is rather lovely. You realise it is not as other officers’ messes when you see the sword rack – and when you realise that it’s genuinely needed as otherwise where would officers park the swords they were wearing?
Officers’ messes will all have some sort of silverware or artworks that reflect the history of the regiment but this mess is used by a lot of different regiments so it has some especially lovely things in it. I was particularly excited by Marengo’s hoof. Marengo was Napoleon’s horse. (He was one of several but reportedly his favourite and Napoleon was riding him at Waterloo.) After Waterloo, Marengo was brought to England as spoils of war and when he died (aged 38) one of his hoofs was made into a snuff box.
It’s still in use. Did I take snuff from Marengo’s hoof? Of course I did.
There’s also hair from Marengo’s mane.
There’s a silver statuette of Wellington in pride of place on the table so here, at least, we celebrate the winner of Waterloo rather than (as, notably, at Waterloo itself) the man who lost.
It was the Napoleonic links that most excited me, but there are some other fascinating things there. The most precious, historically, is this portrait of Queen Victoria – unfortunately impossible to photograph without catching a reflection.
It is supposed to be one of only four that do not show her wearing black. Apparently on Albert’s death she had all the paintings she could lay her hands on retouched to show her in mourning. If true this would explain why so many modern representations of the young Victoria look uncannily like this one.
It was an excellent lunch and a special day. I hope you enjoyed sharing at least part of it.
I’ve had a few suggestions that I should post my photographs of Buenos Aires. I didn’t take that many this trip because I have so many from previous visits, but I think it would be a good idea to put together some sort of photo album. Not today, though. I’m still catching up on life after our holiday and I just don’t have time for this. What I have done is taking some photographs of the trees around here as autumn begins. So many people I know are publishing tree photos on their blogs, I thought I’d join in. Enjoy!
I’m just back from three weeks dancing tango in Buenos Aires and, to be honest, I’m in no fit state to write a blog post today. (We got home at lunchtime yesterday having left at lunchtime on Wednesday.) So, for those who think that it’s insane to make that sort of journey just for a dance, I’m reposting an attempt at an explanation from two years ago.
The social dance for unsocial people
Somebody said that they had a friend who was put off learning to dance because they weren’t very confident in social situations. Tango is the perfect dance for them! If they are anything like me (and many others who struggle with large groups) they will find social situations difficult because there is so much going on. (Extraverts can skip this bit.) You have to cope with all these unwritten social rules, know how to say the right things to the right people, have a supply of acceptable small talk and be able to laugh at unfunny jokes. Tango gatherings are so much easier. There are rules, but they are simple and easily learned. Conversation can be avoided by suggesting that it would be nice to get on the floor (it’s not just acceptable not to talk while dancing, but often considered best practice) so there is no need for small talk or the ability to laugh at anybody’s jokes. For introverts, tango is ideal.
Find a good teacher
There is the little business of learning how to do it, which can take a while. Women can pick it up easily, because most women choose to follow rather than lead and, at least when you are starting out, following is quicker to pick up. For men, learning can be hard work but with a good teacher you should see visible progress quite quickly. Finding a good teacher can be tricky. There are lots of teachers (even I teach occasionally) and some are noticeably better than others. My own teachers have included Alexandra Wood and Emma Lucia Reyes (draw your own conclusions). Try a few introductory classes (a lot of teachers offer your first group lesson free) or ask around among dancers you know, either in real life or on social media.
How it’s good for you
What are the benefits? Well, even the most grumpily asocial character benefits from human contact. Psychologists report that hugging is good for your physical and emotional well-being. (See, for example, this article in Psychology Today.) Tango is a dance built around the embrace – it’s essentially walking while hugging your partner.
There are lots of reports that tango is associated with improvements in mental and physical health. In particular, tango is often linked to lower levels of dementia in old age. In Argentina, several hospitals offer tango lessons to people suffering from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. It doesn’t cure these diseases but it can relieve the symptoms. There’s an excellent (and moving) radio programme about using tango to help people with Parkinson’s on the BBC Radio website.
Tango improves posture. A good teacher will start by working on your posture and I have seen dramatic improvements in the way people carry themselves, which stretch well beyond the dance floor.
The sort of exercise that tango provides – low impact steady exercise over a long period with just short breaks between dances – is ideal for improving cardio-respiratory health. Anyone who thinks dance is for softies should watch a dance off between professional dancers and pro sportspeople as I did once. The dancers were still moving long after the sports professionals had given up. (The only ones to come close were skiers, which justifies my choice of sporting activity.)
It opens up a whole new world
I remember complaining that at school I was forced to study the geography of South America which, I said, was surely the area of the world that I was least likely to ever visit. Since I started tango I have made eight trips to Buenos Aires as well as dancing in Iceland, France, Portugal, Romania, and Turkey. I’ve even tried to learn Spanish (to the despair of Spanish-speaking friends who can’t believe anyone could be so bad at picking it up). Even without mastering the language, though, I’ve discovered the joys of Argentine art, literature, and film and TV, all of which are impressive. And, of course, I discovered James Burke whose first adventure, Burke in the Land of Silver is closely based on the real-life adventurer and his exploits in South America.
Tango street performers: Buenos Aires
Even anti-social people make new friends
I have met lovely people from all over the world through tango. It starts as a way to have a few dances once or twice a month and ends up as the opportunity to dance once or twice (or more) a week with an ever-growing group of friends who you may well end up going on holiday with or more. A few people I know have married their dance partners though, contrary to what a lot of people think, I really can’t recommend it as a way to find love. But maybe that’s just me (though it certainly helps keep the flame alive in my relationship).
Dancing in Cluj, Romania
In the end…
Perhaps, of course, you are a socially confident, terrifyingly healthy, well-travelled, cultured individual already. In which case you could just take it up because the music is fantastic and the dances are fun.
The last few years have been difficult for everyone. Lots of people have responded by introducing something new into their lives. Perhaps it’s time for you to try tango.
A Word from Our Sponsor
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Ah, the tango.” They had passed out into the square by now and Pole cast his glance upward at the sky. Galbraith thought it looked as though he was gazing up towards the moon, but it was a cloudy night and above them was only the glow of the lights of London. “Tango is, I think, a point at which your world and ours converge. The music speaks of great beauty and unbearable sorrow; of love and of death. Humans and Others both find it touches them. And the dance hall provides a neutral territory – a safe place to meet.”
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