Burke at Waterloowas republished last weekend. There are some minor changes in the text but the biggest change is the lovely new cover. This has naturally led to thinking about book covers again – a subject that has come up on my blog a few times lately.
One of my readers, Paul Benedyk, turns out to be a bibliophile and previous posts on covers made him think about the covers of books in his own collection. His response is far too interesting (and long) to hide away in the comments, so here it is shared with you.
Confessions of a bibliophile
Much to the frustration of my wife, I was collecting books in a minor way when we met, and have continued since we married (to the extent permitted!). I now have something approaching 1200 books scattered around the house. To be fair to my wife, she lived for a time in the house of a family who ran a bookselling business from home, so even the smell of older books brings back memories from the 1970s that she would have preferred to leave there!
Your blog piece made me reflect on the development of covers through some of the books I have, and I’ll mention three I have that might be of interest to you :
Josephus – published before 1930, I think
I can’t lay my hands on this book at the moment, but I bought it only because of the book cover. The spine had become loose and it was clear that, under a fairly normal looking bland plain hardcover, it had at some point been bound in old sheet music! I’m unsure whether this was part of stiffening the original cover following a repair, or if using sheet music for this purpose was common at the time it was published. Maybe one of your blog readers has come across this sort of thing ?
Charles Dickens “Specimen”
I was interested in this book, not because of this book cover but because of the ’story’ it tells about the time it was published. It’s stamped inside “Feb. 12. 1907 Louis Chaplais”, who I guess may have been an itinerant bookseller or perhaps the owner of a bookshop (but that’s just my speculation). It’s not actually a Charles Dickens book, but a really nicely produced sales pitch by Cassell & Company for “the First Complete Edition of Dickens’s Works ever offered to the public by Subscription”.
Its forty or so pages are bound in book format with examples of the proposed binding, typeface and illustrations of the series, making it very clear that the series would be produced to a high standard and available only by subscription. On another page, not the one shown here, it reads – “Every care will be paid to the binding; the forwarding and finishing will combine good workmanship and taste.”
The covers of this special edition series, as illustrated within the specimen book, were clearly meant to impress from the bookshelf, rather than from the front cover itself.
Evan Evans – The Song of the Whip
This is the real link into your blog piece for me, as the cover of this paperback was produced by a distant relative of mine, who I never actually met. Abram Games (1914-1996) was a graphic designer, and became more widely known as a poster artist. He designed some iconic posters to help the war effort during WW2, as well as a number after the war for London Transport, BOAC, The Festival Of Britain and The Financial Times. He also designed postage stamps and was, in fact, featured on a stamp himself in 2014 in a series called ‘Remarkable Lives’. I was amazed to learn that he also turned his hand to designing the occasional stained glass window and even a Cona coffee percolator.
Going back to the book covers, as Art Director of Penguin Books, Abram Games ‘oversaw’ the first move into full colour covers for Penguin paperbacks, although only a few covers were his own work. I believe the management of the time were not thrilled with this evolution into full colour covers for paperbacks and discontinued the experiment after a year or two. I was inordinately proud, though, to find out that he himself designed the paperback cover for The Great Escape by Paul Brickhill !
His name appears on most of his work, printed in his own hand somewhere – in this case towards the bottom right hand corner of the cover, as opposed to the bottom left hand corner of the Evan Evans book.
So it’s interesting for me to see the evolution of book covers through books that I actually have on my bookshelves (barring one I can’t find at the moment !), and to know that the lovely new covers on your books follow a line of craftsmen with a number of skills going back several centuries.
Keeping in touch
It was lovely to get this from Paul. Writing is an inherently lonely occupation and there’s little direct feedback from readers. It’s not just with books, but with a blog. Although I invite comments on the blog (there’s always a form at the bottom of each blog post), I don’t get that many. But, as you can see, I do read them and usually respond. If you feel you have something to say (that links to the subjects posted on the blog) do get in touch like Paul did.
Meanwhile …
All three of the previously published books about James Burke are now available in new editions (all with covers by the estimable Dave Slaney).
Burke in the Land of Silver features the British attack on Buenos Aires in 1806. Dastardly deeds, wicked women, sinister spies – all set against a vivid (and historically accurate) background of international intrigue.
Burke and the Bedouin finds James Burke in Egypt as Napoleon’s armies march on Cairo. Can one man change the course of the war? Oddly enough, it’s quite likely that one man did (though you’ll have to read the book to find out how). Was that man James Burke?
Burke at Waterloo starts with a little-known (though very real) attempt on the life of Wellington in 1814 in Paris. Bonaparte is in exile on Elba, but his supporters are preparing for his return. Burke is sent to infiltrate the Bonapartists and save Wellington. As the plot fails and the Bonapartist leader flees, Burke pursues him from the slums of Paris to the aristocratic salons of Brussels until the final showdown on the field of Waterloo, as French and British armies clash in the defining battle of the age.
My choice for a book to review this week is a little strange because it’s a book I wrote. Well, not exactly – but I did write 10% of it.
Yes, it’s a book of short stories: Victoriana, produced by the Historical Writers’ Association together with Sharpe books. There are ten stories with the only common theme being that they are all set in the Victorian period. It was not only an honour to be asked to contribute alongside some rather better-known names – like Elisabeth Gifford and Hilary Green – but it gave me an opportunity to revisit James Brooke. When I finished The White Rajah, I knew there were so many more tales I could have told about James Brooke’s life in Borneo, but the sequel saw my narrator moving on to the Indian Mutiny (in Cawnpore) and there was no real chance to revisit Brooke. I’d always thought it would be fun to write some short stories about life in Borneo under Brooke rule and now I had the chance. I’m really happy with it, but I’m not going to review it here because That Would Be Wrong. You’ll have to read that one for yourself and make up your own mind.
As with every book of short stories there will be something that appeals to everybody and not everybody will like all of them. There were a couple that were definitely not my cup of tea, but I’m not going to single them out because I’m sure there will be somebody who will love them. Instead I’d just like to highlight some of my favourites.
Carolyn Kirby’s Ladies and Gentlemen is the best kind of historical fiction. It takes an actual event and the author uses her imagination to paint a picture that lets us understand the reality of a situation that, thank goodness, nobody in this country has to face nowadays. I’m being deliberately vague, because I don’t want to spoil the story. It’s not exactly a twist in the tail, but you will enjoy it more for not knowing what is coming next. It’s a stunning story and, given that Victoriana costs only £2.99 on Kindle, it justifies buying it all by itself.
Sophia Tobin’s The Unwanted Suitor is a disturbing tale with fantastical elements that leave you uncertain exactly what has happened but, despite this, it gives a wonderful insight into the way that marriage probably worked (or didn’t) for many “respectable” couples in the Victorian age.
Inevitably there are stories of Empire, reflecting not only how the British viewed the nations that they conquered but also something of how the colonial natives viewed the British. Elisabeth Gifford’s The Last Resort has an unusual take on the way that the British saw some of their colonial endeavours contrasted with how they looked to the natives. It takes a step away from the nowadays somewhat conventional view of exploiters and exploited and provides an interesting insight into the stories the British told themselves about the project of Empire.
A couple of the contributors, like me, have chosen to tell stories about characters who have previously appeared in books of theirs, but all the stories stand up well even if you have read nothing previously by the writers.
There are detective stories and romances. We visit Russia, Greenland, India, South Africa, and, of course, Borneo. It’s a lovely cross section of writers and writing about the Victorian era. Each story is accompanied with a brief interview where the writers talk about their background and inspiration. Some of them might well encourage you to look for more of their work.
Even without my 10% interest, I would be happy to recommend this book of short stories. At £2.99, really what have you got to lose?
I was chatting to my son last Sunday. As an officer in the British Army, he does not have a lot of time for Napoleon as a great general. “He only fought three wars that mattered: Russia, 1814 and the Waterloo campaign – and he lost all three.” That’s grossly unfair. For a start, it misses out Egypt, which he lost as well.
My son’s is a pretty chauvinist view. (Ironically, the word ‘chauvinist’ refers to a loyal – and possibly apocryphal – Napoleonic soldier.) Napoleon was, most people will agree, a pretty good general, but he was comprehensively beaten in 1814 before coming back to his final destruction at Waterloo. While he was in exile on Elba, Louis was back on the throne in Paris but there was a lot of dissatisfaction with his rule.
A contemporary cartoon comparing Louis unfavourably with Napoleon
There were many Bonapartist plots, some of them aimed at the Duke of Wellington who was the British ambassador to the French court and particularly unpopular with Napoleon’s followers. At least one attempt was made to shoot him, although the incident seems to have been covered up, presumably because everyone wanted to pretend that Parisians were happy with the new order.
The attempted assassination is the starting point for Burke at Waterloo. Burke infiltrates the Bonapartist gang and foils the assassination attempt as well as another (fictitious) attempt to bomb the royal residence at the Tuileries. The assassin flees Paris with Burke in pursuit, but the trail goes cold in Brussels.
With Napoleon’s escape from Elba, Burke cannot return to France. Believing that the Bonapartist agent is still in Brussels he decides to stay there, but as the Allies mobilise against Bonaparte he joins a Dutch Belgian cavalry regiment.
He’s back …
I had a particular reason for wanting Burke to join a Belgian regiment. My wife’s family are Belgians and I get tired of reading how the Belgians ran away at Waterloo when at least some of them behaved with notable bravery. Burke’s adventures in the battle, which are closely based on the historical reality, go some way to giving the lie to the tale of Belgian cowardice.
Burke’s military duties do not prevent him from pursuing both Bonapartist spies and his own amorous adventures. The various strands of the story come together at the Duchess of Richmond’s famous ball with the dénouement at the battle of Waterloo itself where Burke has to face not only the enemy soldiers but a deadly assassin who is still determined on murdering the Duke of Wellington.
Burke at Waterloo features romance, a thrilling spy story and a soldier’s eye view of two key battles of the Waterloo campaign. Like all the Burke books, it’s real history, but not how you learned it at school.
Burke at Waterloo is published tomorrow on Kindle and can be pre-ordered now. A paperback edition will be available in a few days.
As with the previous two Burke books to be republished, the cover was designed by the very talented Dave Slaney. It’s the most “warry” of the covers, because any book with ‘Waterloo’ in the title has to accept that people are going to expect to see a lot of fighting.
Burke at Waterloo certainly has plenty to keep the military history fan satisfied, featuring not only Waterloo but also the battle of Quatre Bras, a crucial conflict that is, for some reason, not given nearly the attention it deserves. (I’ve written about Quatre Bras on my blog HERE.) The Burke stories are, though, first and foremost, spy stories and we don’t get to Waterloo until the climax of the story, which starts in Paris before Napoleon even escapes Elba. There is a dastardly plot afoot to assassinate the Duke of Wellington. (There really was, though it was politic to make it more or less vanish from history.) Burke is on hand to infiltrate the Napoleonist gang and frustrate their knavish tricks, after which he pursues the terrorist leader north to Brussels and, eventually, a deadly showdown on the field of Waterloo.
As with the previous two Burke books, this is the republication of an existing novel, which was first published in 2015 to mark the 200th anniversary of the battle. I have made some changes in the description of the farm at Mont Saint Jean since I visited and saw the place for myself but if you’ve read an earlier edition that probably doesn’t justify paying £3.99 for this one (though the cover may well justify £6.99 for the paperback).
This will be the last of the James Burke books to be republished. The next one, Burke in the Peninsula, will be a brand-new adventure and should be available next month.
I’ll be writing more about the book on Friday, ready for you to buy it at the weekend. Or you can pre-order it now: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08G479GHF
… unless you are talking about historical research. Last week’s blog post on the Battle of the Nile was illustrated with a painting by Nicholas Pocock. It looks to me to provide a reasonable representation of the situation as the battle started. In the distance you can see smoke from the cannon at the fort of Abū Qīr which opened fire on Nelson’s fleet as it approached the French from the west. (None of the British ships was damaged). The onshore wind is preventing the French from escaping. The British are about to divide their force into two lines, one of which will move into the clear water between the French fleet and the shore before the lines roll up the French from the west, leading to their dramatic victory.
It’s a nice picture, but not particularly dramatic one. Much more exciting is this one:
This was painted by Thomas Whitcombe in 1816, for a book on Naval Achievements of Great Britain from the Year 1793 to 1817. This wasn’t just some standard oil painting to glorify Britain’s Naval achievements: it was specifically illustrating an account of the battle. Compare it with the other picture. The flags clearly show the onshore wind that trapped the French. We see the British fleet approaching from seaward with the land invisible somewhere behind the French. The French line has started firing from its western end, as it did in real life because that’s the way the fleet approached. Except, of course, the fleet here appears to be approaching from the east. It’s possible, because I’m not a specialist naval historian, that I’ve misunderstood it and that the fleet somehow managed to hook round, although this seems very unlikely. It’s also not at all what is shown in the previous painting.
This illustrates the danger that paintings pose for all historians. We have to remember that it is rare that the painters were actually present during the actions that they commemorate. Probably one of the most famous images of the battle of Waterloo is the charge of the Scots Greys, Scotland Forever! It was painted by Lady Butler, the wife of Sir William Francis Butler. She painted Scotland Forever! in 1881, 66 years after the battle. She had the advantage of watching her husband’s troops charge during training manoeuvres and she catches the sense of speed and movement very well. Except, of course, that she had never seen an actual battle, let alone watch a regiment moving forward across the churned up mud of the field of Waterloo. The heroic charges were very slow. It’s likely that the horses never reached a full gallop. They certainly didn’t look the way they are shown in the painting.
People have been making historical errors based on pictures of battles ever since we started believing that Harold died at Hastings with an arrow in his eye. (He might have, of course, but it’s more likely that he was supposed to be the guy on the right being hacked down. In any case, the artist wasn’t there and didn’t know.)
Tapisserie de Bayeux – Scène 57 : La mort d’Harold
My personal favourite for misleading historical pictures is this one from a museum in Buenos Aires.
It shows an Argentinian soldier being welcomed by one of the Falkland Islanders who are being liberated from British rule. The historical record suggests this didn’t happen.
I could go on (and on … and on …) but I hope this has made the point. Paintings – even paintings done in the lifetime of some of the combatants – are a spectacularly unreliable source of historical data, yet their hold on our imagination is so great that, even when we have every reason to be suspicious, we are still sure that Harold died with an arrow in his eye.
