Amy Licence's new Website

Hello all, I'm finding with all my writing commitments that I'm having less and less time to keep up with this blog. I will be posting some guest writers and updating it occasionally but now I'm launching a new website for all my writing. On it, you can see what I'm working on at the moment, read samples of my published work and ask questions.


Thank you for all your support.


You can find the website on:


www.amylicence.weebly.com

Capturing the King's Face: An Interview with Laurie Harris, the artist behind a new portrait of Richard III.

 My new book, "Richard III: The Road to Leicester," features a fascinating new interpretation of the King by an exciting young artist, Laurie Harris. I spoke to Laurie about the way he approached the portrait, his thoughts about the man and his influences:

   

How did you research the portrait?

Perhaps the core objective I set myself for this new portrait of Richard III was to produce a recognisably human figure we can all, to some extent, connect with. This involved stripping back some layers of royalty and title, and presenting an altogether plainer vision which lends itself to graphite and charcoal. The tonal range cleaves closer together and unifies the image in its ordinariness and essence, which helps to divest some of the grandeur of Richard’s position. This is an aspect I thought lacking in other pictures I have seen of Richard III, which contrast the figure more starkly against his robes and riches. Most keenly was this brought to my attention when I visited London to observe the two anonymously authored 15^th/16^th Century colour portraits housed in the National Portrait Gallery. Richard is depicted with a pained expression (in fact not unlike the expression in my portrait), dressed in all his finery, and ambiguously fingering his ring. (Students of semiotics could have a field day!) To me these paid close attention to the dynamic of and contrast between the man and the title, thereby manifesting a political intention, which I can say did not intentionally factor in to my designs. Aesthetically I took much greater interest in capturing the scientific reality of Richard – that is, closely analysing the recent reconstruction of his face put together by a team at Leicester University using the craniometry of his recently unearthed skull. The bust they produced was a revelation but, to my eyes at least, a little stale and lacking vitality. So I went about trying to inject some emotion, some humanity and some life, as better identified in the earlier portraits. Thus, the combination of a scientific foundation and a human interest sensibility perhaps makes my portrait a very contemporary production.

 

What impressions did you draw of Richard and how did you convey them in the drawing?

I was aware of some of the controversy surrounding Richard III. Certainly this is a man whose reputation and legacy remains fluid and indefinite, and it is perhaps that contestation and dispute that account for his endurance in the public imagination. Shakespeare’s ‘Crookback’ characterisation of course has done much to guide public perception through the ages, but the  posthumous play seems likely part of a Tudor propaganda offensive used to discredit Richard and distort or embellish real truths. The question of whether the ‘disappeared’ Princes in the tower, Richard’s two nephews, were executed by Richard remains a pertinent one. To my mind, any ruler seeks to legitimate his or her right to rule whether through ancestry, ritual, myth-making, or plain bloodshed, so the question I posed myself was how ruthless was this man’s desire to rule? Would he kill his nephews without feeling? Would he kill them with profound conflict? Would he kill them at all? To that extent I weighed down more sympathetically on Richard. I wanted to eke out something of the man, and thus rather suggest the crown through the man. In that sense I tried to convey something of the human impact of Kingship, such as those revealed by the fate of his nephews. To this extent I suppose I am intimating a certain humanity and feeling to Richard, which perhaps courts as much controversy as befits the figure.

 

What are your influences as an artist?

When I was young my parents read a story to me called ‘Christopher and the Dream Dragon’, written by Allen Morgan and illustrated by Brenda Clark. The pictures were greyscale and the story of a boy who has to recover a coin from the dragon’s golden hoard nestled away amongst the clouds really shook my imagination. Perhaps I can say that since that point, fantasies, myths, fairy tales and high adventures (culturally coloured throughout the world) have been my home away from home. Pictures, as words, are dialogical. And like words they are both aesthetic and conceptual. In this way pictures are the very fabric of storytelling. Certainly I like to see the pictures I create as telling or being a part of some kind of story, however small and inconsequential. My intention is for them to exist as a moment caught in a long timeline of a past and future in a real or abstracted world. Therein lies the narrative possibility. So when I think about influences, I am certainly thinking as much about stories as I am about art. These influences spread across multiple mediums including literature, film, documentaries, music, and so on. Particularly I would like to mention the work of Japanese animation house, Studio Ghibli, whose films continue to inspire me both through their bewitching visuals and the power, emotion, and brio of their storytelling. I share with them a wonder and reverence of both subtle and outlandish fantasy, and remain indebted to them in that respect. A few other notable visionaries that have fired my ambition and fed my imagination are the fairy tale artist and old favourite, Arthur Rackham, father of modern fantasy, J.R.R. Tolkien and his artists Alan Lee and John Howe, and the lyrical and bittersweet fantasies of Japanese author Osamu Dazai.

What are your future plans?

Reflexivity is a great asset to an artist (and indeed perhaps a curse!). Among critics of my picture, I am perhaps king (pun vaguely intended) – although perhaps that will change once this portrait is in print! But that self-criticism motivates me to improve with each picture, and demands each picture pushes my ability, both technically and methodologically. In short, I still have everything to learn, and this is just the beginning. I hope that getting my work out there might increase the possibility of producing more work for other projects, and open other pathways and opportunities that allow me to improve my skills and better articulate my ideas. Specifically I would like to illustrate children’s books, or even develop a story from scratch and run with that, with the ambition both of strengthening my portfolio and producing ever-more professional, atmospheric and imaginative work.

    
You can see Laurie's work at www.rie-zaki.deviantart.com

Are DaVinci's Demons Really Demons?

Popular belief vs. reality or science,  a study of beliefs in the Middle Ages

A guest post by Andy Mcmillin 

“ ‘Let the churches ask themselves why there is no revolt against the dogmas of mathematics though there is one against the dogmas of religion. It is not that mathematical dogmas are more comprehensible. The law of inverse squares is as incomprehensible to the common man as the Athanasian Creed. It is not that science is free form legends, witchcraft, miracles, biographic boosting of quacks as heroes and saints, and of barren scoundrels as explorers and discoverers. On the contrary, the iconography and hagiology of Scientism are as copious as they are mostly squalid.’ ” Medieval Minds pg. 39

 

 

Being a medievalist, we seem to be attracted or notice the oddities or subtle details in TV shows and various movies.  In fact, I am drawn to the historical points or even inaccuracies in modern story telling, probably more often than not.  While watching “DaVinci’s Demons”, this fascinating show struck a very interesting bit with my perception and knowledge of what we know about faith versus reality or science in the Middle Ages.  The series is based around the earlier years of Leonardo DaVinci and his struggles to find a benefactor for his works. The show also has its setting in the middle of the vast conflicting and complex world of the Italian Renaissance.  In watching the show, I can see perfectly where Shakespeare got his inspiration for “The Merchant of Venice” and “Romeo and Juliette.”  Feuding and backstabbing, gain a new meaning in this show, yet the idea of science versus religious doctrine and the belief of the average medieval mind is hard to ignore.

 In episode 3, “The Prisoner,” we gain a glimpse of how medieval or in this case renaissance society perceived mental illness or any illness that plays havoc with one’s psyche versus popular belief (the not so educated medieval man) which was, if you had something going on in your head; you were possessed by demons and or a witch.  In this episode, it is not just normal peasants who are the ones doomed, but individuals close to God, nuns at a near by convent.

 

Word gets out that some thing is amiss and Leonardo and his crew are asked to investigate and find out what is causing the illness to befall the nuns. The Pope’s exorcism team later joins them, for they heard the nuns were possessed and needed salvation.  Unfortunately, they do more harm than good.  While the exorcisms are deemed helpful, and holy, a few people die as a result.  The priest who does the exorcism claims on one case that he saw at ones very last breathe to be free from the ill that had befallen her, and she was in fact saved.  To them, the ill are damned, possessed, and there is no other reason for their maladies, it is all a result from sin hence exorcism is the only way they can be cured. Leonardo at a few times himself suggests that it is something else making the women sick, but the head priest simply denies his ideas.  This is a good example of how a modern approach to history can show how conflicted society was between the notions of science and teachings of the church during this time.

 

 

 

Now it is time for me to be the historian. What does this tell us about medieval society? A few things actually. It shows how easily, even a somewhat educated population can be convinced of a popular notion by a powerful entity. This is the devil’s work so they were told and there cannot be a scientific explanation; it was God’s will.  The goal of the church at this time was to keep the pennies coming in on Sundays, install fear, and get motivation for people to avoid sin.  In short come to church, pray, give offerings, and be protected from demons or other temptations. Back at the convent, Leonardo and his scientific knowledge eventually proves the cause of the demonic possessions is red ergot poisoning, which is has a fungus called Claviceps purpurea which also caused ergotism, on the statue.  It is that fungus which is causing the nuns to become ill and causing their altered mental state.  It is also noted that this problem with red ergot poisoning was also responsible for other outbreaks of similar circumstances in the Middle Ages. Notable outbreaks such as one in the 12^th century recorded by Geoffroy du Breuil of Vigeois in France. Previous outbreaks gave the disease the name “St. Anthony’s Fire” named after the monks of St. Anthony who had been known to successfully treat the condition.  When one is ill with this ailment, symptoms arise such as convulsive symptoms, seizures, mania, psychosis and headaches.  In addition there are gangrenous symptoms from the poisoning that affect the poorly vascularized structures of ones body such as their toes, and fingers, loss of feeling and peeling of the skin.  It is noted that this poisoning was responsible for the explanation of witchcraft, which would have been why the church’s exorcist was called in.  (source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergotism)

 Now, why did this happen what lead people to think this way? It gets down to power and control. The church at the time was vast.  It encompassed most of Europe and was if not richer than the kings and queens, but the most powerful entity in existence and in Christendom.  How did they get this way; through deception, and influence, popular favor, as well as making sure the masses i.e. peasants or common folks believed everything they were told so they would get their backing and funds (via offerings from the peasants and nobles).  To put it simply, everyone wanted to be saved by God at the time of final judgment.  The sheep followed their shepherd quiet close during this time because no one wanted to face the fiery furnaces of hell. The easiest way to do this was make people believe, what they said by all means possible, even if that meant installing fear in the uneducated, and making examples of those who where so called “damned.”  Exorcism, execution of witches; all were used to show society and teach that sin was bad, and those who walked on the line of thought or ideas outside of the norm whether they were ill or not, needed to be cleansed.  If the church exorcised or cleansed a witches soul via penance, which resulted mostly in death, they gained salvation and a place in heaven.

 

In addition, there was a general fear that by denying someone’s means to salvation, was just about the quickest way to get any person to follow the word of God. The common peasant isn’t going to think of a cause for an illness or an event like Leonardo did; but they will believe the misfortune that falls upon them as a result.  Because most of the population was not educated to what we would think of today, convincing a popular belief was quite simple and easy to manage.  This is the same concept if one looks at mental illness, which the poisoning did cause and also shows this relationship.

 How the medieval mind and the church perceived mental illness is a tricky subject but it has its similarities as it involved the church, popular belief, and limited medical intervention and knowledge. Unfortunately the monks of St. Anthony were not able to cure this.  Because of the misunderstanding and lack of knowledge for these conditions, it created stigmas in society that took quite some time to get rid of and as a society even now; we still struggle with this stigma today.  Some the best accounts and glimpses of how mental illness was perceived during this period is through accounts from some of the patients themselves, King Henry VI of England and France and his great-grandfather, Charles VI of France

 

It was well known Henry VI of England, had bouts of insanity and psychosis. His turbulent lifestyle and political unrest of his country didn’t help his condition. The stress of his position contributed to break downs especially in the summer of 1453.  This breakdown would start, that would later leave him in total withdrawl, total mental and physical psychosis. Reports stated that he was completely oblivious to the world around him, thus unfit to rule.  This was when Richard of York was named Lord and Protector of England.  Family and familiar faces were unknown to him and even with the birth of his son Edward, brought no change in his demeanor or condition.  Yet even in this state, he was cared for in the best of care partly because he was a man of office or high station.   The regular person or peasant would not have had this luxury and the conditions were not even close as far as treatment. There is record that physicians at the time tried medications, syrups, potions, and bloodletting and even shaved his head believing that it would “purge him and rid the brain of its black bile and so restore the balance of the humors.” “The humors” it was thought if unbalanced caused such conditions.  The theory that they had to be balanced was highly practiced and believed during the middle ages.  The humors were four basic principals of medieval medicine: blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile. All were essential for one to be in harmony and in good health.  Some of the medical treatments on King Henry VI exhibit this notion and seek to find a balance of these humors which were thought to be unbalanced and causing his illness, such as blood letting.  But the king’s madness was not as simple as poisoning from a fungus found in bad grain or wheat nor was it able to be balanced out by bloodletting; it had more than likely a genetic component.

As historians we research, we dig and sometimes we find something that links the puzzle together.  In the case of King Henry IV, we just follow the family tree and surprise! Family history of a similar illness and across the straight to France our trail leads.  Medieval France is a country with a good share and history of “mad” kings.  First we have Clovis II in the 5^th century, his great grandson Childreic III, known as “the idiot” and then later Charles IX, (1550-1574) was mentally unstable, known to be a sadist with mad rages.  He had two sisters as well, who were noted to be “ill mannered and spoiled beyond redemption.” Perhaps the most famous mad king was Charles VI (1368-1422) who was Henry VI’s great-grandfather.   Careful researching and back tracking has led many to find the source of his illness, from a line of family from his mother. This suggests that it was a hereditary disease in the family and had been for sometime, passing itself on down generation after generation.

 
From what we know today, schizophrenia or bipolar disorder could have also been passed down, and it has a very varied and large genetic component as far as heredity is concerned.  It is also suggested that the disease porphyria was another diagnosis. Porphyria has been noted to be diagnosed in his relatives. It is a rare hereditary disease that has symptoms such as inflammation of the bowels, painful weakness of the limbs and sometimes loss of feeling. Some bouts of the disease can even bring on visual and auditory disturbances, causing delirium and later lead to senility or dementia.  The close relations in families as well did not help the pool of genetic variation, thus the maladies of mental illness became more apparent as a result and continued to occur and be passed down.
 
It is also suggested that Charles might have had encephalitis, which could have led to many of the bizarre symptoms described.  It is this theory that many have tried to make sense of his April 1392 illness.  Typhus has also been suggested. The suggested evidence that it could have been encephalitis was the occurrences of fever, hair and nails falling out, behaving incoherently, bizarre behaviors such as killing four of his own men as a result of a dropped lance, all hold suggestion. Accounts read by a modern historian with a medical background such as myself, suggest that the following the mania, he had a psychotic break of fit, or maybe even a seizure. Then he suffered from heavy psychosis or coma for two days.  To any medieval man, educated or not, watching the events unfold it would be completely feasible that one would think the king was in fact possessed.

He had another incident in 1393 where surgeons actually drilled his head (trepanning) with holes to release pressure or the cloudiness of thought he was said to have suffered, in his brain. This was followed again by a relapse in 1395. Then finally, a historic account of the most common belief; it was eventually believed by churchmen and university doctors that Charles was a victim of sorcery. They attempted to exorcise him in 1398, during which he was noted to have cried out:

“If there is anyone of you who is an accomplice in this evil I suffer, I beg him to torture me no longer but let me die.”

 Unfortunately, as Charles got older, the fits came more often and lasted longer, suggesting the ailment he had grew worse with age and time.  At one point in time he thought he was made of glass and would break into pieces.  He even had people insert metal rods into his clothes so he would  not break.

 

What we know of today, is that many of these so called demonic possessions which the church would have tried to exorcised say in the case of Charles VI, were in fact biologically, or genetically caused.  Interestingly noted during the Middle Ages, most the European societies gave the mentally ill their freedom, which we see with Henry VI and Charles VI, unless they are a danger. This became the case with Charles VI after he killed four of his men. To the common medieval man, people with these disorders, were often pegged as witches and or possessed by demons.  As time went on, the medieval and renaissance societies started to isolate mentally ill people out of fear of unknowing how to treat them and fear from harm from the individual.  At times, a mentally ill patient would be locked up in a dungeon in chains, as inhumane as it sounds, it happened. (source: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/nash/timeline/)

Modern story telling, as seen with film and other venues, do help us teach history at level that is both easy accessible to the viewer and to the general public.  The example given in the beginning of this discussion with DaVinci’s Demon’s accomplished this.  It gave us a glimpse of a very important topic in medieval society, which is the notion of popular belief versus reality or scientific cause. In this case, demonic possessions versus a scientific cause of a condition, causing temporary insanity and how this was translated to the general public.  In addition to this one cannot help but notice the closeness of the church and secular society were intertwined in the Middle Ages.  It is because of this these ideas were developed and continued on in society.  As discussed, some of the sources of these interpretations have roots much earlier in society, especially within the ruling class.  Finally, if we look how these conditions were treated back then and compare the practices to today, it shows how a society we have evolved to not just believe what is said, but to look and delve for the answers that we cannot necessary see but to look for the scientific cause not just the will of God in the sakes of our salvation.

 

Sources:

1. Graham, Thomas F. Medieval Minds, Mental Health in the Middle Ages. George Allen & Unwin Ltd., London, UK c. 1967

2. http://madmonarchs.guusbeltman.nl/madmonarchs/charles6/charles6_bio.htm

3. http://madmonarchs.guusbeltman.nl/madmonarchs/henry6/henry6_bio.htm

4. http://www.medievalists.net/2013/12/04/saint-francis-of-assisi-an-exorcist-of-demons/

5. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/nash/timeline/

6. http://www.maggietron.com/med/humors.php

7. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ergotism

 

 
By Andrea C. McMillin - B.A. Medieval Studies from University of California at Davis


A California native, Andy obtained her Bachelors of Arts degree in Medieval Studies from UC Davis in 1998. She has done graduate work in History in the past and is currently taking film and medical classes locally in Salt Lake City, Utah. She hopes to finish her degree at the University of Edinburgh via their online History MA program in 2015. When not writing/researching or working, she enjoys cooking, creating artwork, photography, and actively competes with her horses.

Her blog can be found here: http://medievalessays.blogspot.co.uk/

 

Holbein and a Tudor World in Miniature: A Marriage Made in Heaven.

 

Holbein, miniature painting, identity and wealth: a guest post by L B Hathaway

I was lucky enough recently to find myself quite alone in gallery 643 of the Metropolitan Museum (the Met) in New York.

As crowds rushed past on their way to ogle the deserved glory that is the Rembrandts, the palm-sized portrait of an Official from the Court of Henry VIII (the Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap), sat unnoticed in its display-case. But to its now-unknown sitter, it may have represented the most costly investment of his life.

It was painted in 1534 by Hans Holbein, the German artist whose growing reputation and unnervingly-brilliant talent meant that by 1534, on his second stay in England, he was the hottest painter in town. He was much in demand, being taken up especially by the Boleyn faction at Court. Holbein started to paint miniatures (or ‘limning,’ as it was known) in around 1532, quickly surpassing Lucas Horenbout, the ‘Kings Own Painter,’ in artistic genius.

The Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap is bigger than a miniature, but is still tiny, and it is painted in ‘miniature’ style. Stylistically, it is closest to a pair of paintings of Court Officials by Holbein now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Traditionally, historians have argued that the pair in Vienna represent Susanna Horenbout and her English husband, John Parker, and that the man in the Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap is in fact Susanna’s brother, the famous ‘King’s Painter’ himself, Lucas Horenbout. Whilst this opinion has been advanced over the last hundred years, recent publications have now thrown doubt on all three of these sitter’s identities. It is safe to say there is a lack of any corroborating evidence for Lucas Horenbout to be identified as the sitter of the painting in the Met with any degree of certainty. All that can be said for certain is that the sitter of a Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap is a man who worked for Henry VIII in some capacity at Court.

Assuming the portrait is not of Horenbout, I wondered at the possible motivation for commissioning the exquisite and expensive portrait. Tudor portraits famously contain all manner of contemporary symbolism to convey messages, most lost on us today. But we do know that Tudor portraits were commissioned for delicate negotiations such as engagements, as in the case of Holbein’s Jane Small in London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, or to advertise wealth.  Often, miniatures were used to broker and seal marriage deals, most famously of course in the case of Holbein’s gorgeous miniature of Anne of Cleves of 1539. Despite the image’s appeal, Henry VIII later dubbed its unfortunate sitter the ‘Flanders Mare’, stating he had been misled by the painting.

The portability of a painting, usually in an integrated frame, was therefore crucial, and the painting in the Met is thought to have originally had a protective fitted ‘cover’ for preserving the painting and aiding its transport.

Conjecture and a sheer absence of any facts in this case allows me to guess at the possibility that this young Court Official was announcing in the costliest, showiest terms that he had available to him that he had ‘made it’ at Court; that he was a ‘good catch.’ As indeed he may have been; King Henry VIII famously rewarded his officials handsomely, far more than other noblemen would have paid to their retainers. To an official who worked hard, and well, there was also the promise of promotion, lodgings, ‘bouche’ of Court, and the right to receive tips or perks (unused food or clothing, for which there was always an eager market.) To hold a job at Court was seen as prestigious, and secure. There was even a certain expectation of a pension in old age.

If this Official was doing well enough to engage Holbein to capture his likeness, then he would indeed have made a promising marriage-match for some hopeful family. We can imagine the painting being sent out, carefully wrapped, to Kent or Surrey perhaps, or even further afield.

If, in the unlikely event that this was commissioned by the Official for himself, then he commissioned well. For, unless he was attached permanently to one of Henry VIII’s great palaces, he would have found himself on the move a great deal; Henry VIII’s Court was famously an itinerant one, and in the 1530s the Court was averaging thirty moves to different houses and palaces per year. One can only imagine the repacking and packing the Court Officials found themselves involved in, a staggering feat that sometimes saw up to 3,000 people on the move at once; a truly portable Court. Such a painting (with its clever size and protective cover) would have been handy, when, at a  moment’s notice (as could happen in times of political unease or plague,) a Courtier found himself having to throw his belongings into his knapsack or trunk, ready for another journey.

This painting is of course too large to be listed among the tiny miniatures painted by Holbein to be worn as a type of jewel, given as a sign of love. Legend has it that an irate Anne Boleyn tore a jewel from the neck of her supplanter, Jane Seymour, and found within it a miniature of the King, given to Jane by the King himself. And while it does not have the pathos of Horenbout’s tiny painting of a declining, night-cap-wearing Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, or the mystery and intrigue of any of the miniatures of Henry VIII’s wives (the identity of some of which are still the subject of debate), I am sure that to the man who commissioned it, and possibly to the person who received it, the Portrait of a Man in a Red Cap was a rare jewel indeed.

L.B.Hathaway

LB Hathaway is a Cambridge-educated  British writer. Her Tudor thrillers, Cape Scarlett and The Night Crow (set at the Court of Henry VIII) will be released in 2014 as the first two novels of a Trilogy.

Her non-fiction book Henry VIII: The Roaming King – the Tudor Court on the Move will be released at the end of 2014.  For questions or quotations in support of the above, please contact her on: 

Hathaway_lb@yahoo.com or follow her on twitter- @LBHathaway

Aspiring Historians: Be a Guest Blogger.

 This coming December, I'm going to be offering a few guest slots on my blog. If you are an unpublished, aspiring historian or simply have a passion for history and would like to write a piece on a topic of your choice, it could published here and shared for a wide audience.

The topic is up to you, whatever you find fascinating: it can be an article or review, about a person, place, event, book, or theme, with the focus on women's history. I'm looking for pieces around 500-1,000 words but will consider longer ones too. If you're interested, send me a reply telling me in a sentence or two what you'd like to write about and why.

Alternatively, you can contact me via facebook on my In Bed with the Tudors page, or via twitter @PrufrocksPeach

I look forward to hearing your ideas.

A Modernist Voice from the Warsaw Ghetto

Everyday Jews: Scenes from a Vanished Life

Yehoshue Perle

The New Yiddish Library, October 15 2013

 

 

 

Hailed as a modern Yiddish masterpiece and dismissed as too bleak to be possible, this new translation of Perle’s 1935 autobiographical novel Everyday Jews belongs in the same tradition as Gorky’s My Childhood and Joyce’s Dubliners.

Exploring the harsh reality of life for a poor family in a provincial Polish town around the year 1900, this story’s focus and subject certainly place it within the remit of literary modernism but not at its heart. Direct and unblinking, it looks the conditions of poverty and abuse in the eye; the terrible snow storm in which the adolescent narrator passes out, his parents’ dysfunctional relationship and the older women who seduce him. It is bleak and shocking. Like Dubliners it captures a dying way of life, wrapping up family occasions and customs in a sort of breathless stasis that some readers may find suffocating.

And yet it is compelling, in a grim sort of way. The writing is lucid and accessible and Perle carries the reader through the various miserable scenes of his early existence with ease. Dostoevskian in places, its imagery and description are simply yet powerfully constructed, building symbolic landscapes of misery.  In the Joycean model, though, it is more a collection of still lifes than a progressive narrative. There is little development beyond the passage of time; the dumb mute peasant figure stumbles on, little understanding his destiny or actions. We see the family constrained by customs, such as the day permitted for house removals or oppressed by the pictures hung in the house they have rented from Christians. Only at the end, very briefly, does Perle suddenly open a door, telling us that something had changed for his narrator, some rite of passage had been reached. Yet this remains unclarified and signals the book’s abrupt end.

The characters may not undergo much of a developmental arc but they are vividly depicted, perhaps mostly so in the case of his mother, with her nostalgia for her first marriage and civilised city life, her soft double chin and ebony wigs with a curl on the forehead. Her spirit continues to reassert itself, fighting against the conditions into which she considers she has fallen and the aspirations she still entertains. Easily the most compelling figure of the book, she is exceptional amongst the other characters in the depth of her portrayal, as we see her pragmatism when faced by her step-daughter’s miscarriage, then dancing with pride at the girl’s wedding. The continual struggle between husband and wife, the ongoing battle of man and woman, does not descend into a simple gender battle but is delineated as one part of a complicated and compelling marriage. Among their extended family, what emerges here is a sense of shared destiny, through good and bad.

As an insight, a mirror held up to a lost way of life, this book is fascinating and does have real literary merit but read it as a series of vignettes of poverty in early Twentieth century Poland, a reflection of life and character rather than an analysis. It works best as a series of sketches rather than as a novel. Perhaps in this element of its style, as well as its subject matter, it comes closest to being a Modernist text.

Perle was a fascinating figure, born in 1888 and dying in the Warsaw ghetto in 1943. He published Everyday Jews in 1935, looking back to memories of his childhood as Europe's decade was darkening. Those early criticisms, that the book was too bleak to be psychologically believable are unfounded; placed in the Modernist tradition it fits like a missing jigsaw piece. This new translation captures a bleakness and constant struggle for survival that will be like a slap in the face for the twenty-first century reader.

Buy the book here:

 

 http://www.amazon.com/Everyday-Jews-Scenes-Vanished-Life-ebook/dp/B00FFQOAZ0/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=

Virginia Woolf missed a trick with Shakespeare's Mother: Juggling Babies and Books

A shorter edition of this piece was published in the New Statesman on 5/10/13

 

http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2013/10/juggling-babies-and-books-how-be-mother-and-writer

 

 

 

Eighty-five years have passed since Virginia Woolf delivered a series of lectures to young women students at Cambridge, which formed the basis of her famous feminist essay “A Room of One’s Own.” To aid her argument that women required a distinct physical space in order to write fiction, to attain distance from the demands of the patriarchal family unit, she created the character of Judith Shakespeare. The bard’s fictional sister was just as innately talented as the famous playwright but restricted by a lack of education and the social expectations of her day. Even though it is still not a level playing field, the twenty-first century has witnessed the proliferation of many talented Judiths in all fields of the arts. Examination statistics indicate that young women today are consistently outperforming their male peers at school, in a reversal of the conditions that saw Woolf herself denied a formal education. However, what if Woolf had chosen not to focus upon Shakespeare’s sister, but looked instead at his mother? What if Mary Arden had been an unfulfilled creative genius, her mind brimming with characters and storylines as she went about the business of raising her family?

 

It may seem anachronistic today to resurrect the old debate about female creativity and motherhood. No one now doubts the abilities of women to achieve the highest accolades in literary and artistic fields. Since Woolf illustrated the extremes of the debate in her 1927 novel To The Lighthouse, women know they don’t have to belong to one camp or the other. They do not need to choose between being the “artist” (Lily Briscoe) or the “mother” (Mrs Ramsay.) In fact, many push themselves to do both simultaneously, succumbing to expectations that women will achieve at every level in their professional and private lives. Luckily though, the pressure to accomplish this effortlessly, without complaint or hiccup or smudged mascara, is being challenged. Feminist writer Debora Spar’s new book attacks the myth of the superwoman, saying that women can’t have it all and shouldn’t expect to. Of course this is something of a first world problem. I’m not trying to claim writing mothers as a persecuted minority, or overlook the fathers that write and raise healthy, happy children on their own. Likewise, I’m aware that there are many more significant discussions to be had regarding literacy, class, ethnicity and expectations. I’m simply interested in returning to the scenario presented by Woolf in the 1920s and widening it a little to examine whether this debate is ever really redundant.

Woolf attempts a compromise by suggesting her heroine, Mrs Ramsay, is an artist by dint of her creative nature. As a mother, nurse, wife and hostess, she constantly brings people together and forms the glue of family life. She personifies the Angel in the House as Woolf’s own mother did, before her premature death at forty-nine, worn out by caring for others. Post-Impressionist Mark Gertler said a similar thing about his own mother, Golda, a warm East End Jewess whom he described as the only “modern artist.” Yet while there is an art to living, a real value in creating a warm, nurturing home, it isn’t really a substitute for producing the discernible “works” that the literary or artistic mind craves. Thus, it is incumbent for writing mothers today to find their own personal balance, through the careful allocation of resources and the support of partners, family and friends. Woolf didn’t have children and her arguments didn’t include the dilemma of the creative mother with several young ones to care for. The descendants of her Cambridge audience may have absorbed her message but they are still treading a fine line between meeting the needs of their families and seeking artistic fulfilment. Back in 1898, the promising young artist Edna Clarke Hall, commented on her struggle to carry on painting after her marriage, that “a women’s responsibilities lie equally with their children and in the development of the powers in herself which are her true expression.” This is just as true, in 2013, as it was then.

So how do women do it? Having written and published four books, plus a number of articles, reviews and running a blog since the birth of my first son in 2010, this is a question I am often asked. My answer is that I have become a very focused, opportunistic writer; I compose on the kitchen table whilst my toddlers rampage about me, writing a paragraph here and there before I head off to change a nappy or play a game of Thomas the Tank Engine. (Ironically, I always have to be Emily, never Thomas.) I don’t have the luxury a room of my own but somehow I have managed to find a writing “compartment” inside my head. Things get stored in there and ripen, until the time that I can dash to the keyboard and bang out a few hundred words. It isn’t easy and it wouldn’t be possible without the support of my husband, who will take the boys out for a few hours on the weekend or over to the park when he gets back from work. I think I’m very lucky in this respect and it made me wonder about the decisions other writing mothers make; the sacrifices, allocating and balancing time, the ambition and possibly, the guilt. Managing the transition from Judith Shakespeare to Mary Arden is not easy; I asked some other women how they’d gone about it.

Almost unanimously, the twenty-first century mothers did not find that juggling their writing with their family life came easily. Many were able to achieve it only with the support of others or by reorganising their lives. Joanne St Clair, author and founder of Naked Raver, found that following a tight timetable helped, which prioritised different people at different times, according to need. Before that, she says, “it seemed that childcare naturally came as my responsibility, hence my writing got pushed to the side.” By working with a series of short time slots, she and her family have found the “best balance with all the resources we have.” Features writer, blogger and PR consultant, Fiona Scott, ensures that she and her family do at least one thing together a day that gets them out of the house, such as a walk or trip to the park. It is maintaining this family closeness whilst your mind rapidly races through your next chapter that can prove difficult. Of course, writing can take months, even years and does not yield instant result. “Overnight success” is never an overnight phenomenon. Fiona rightly stresses the need for planning and hard slog, which sometimes necessitates working for free to establish an author’s name, as I've done on many occasions. While the difficulties facing writing mothers are very similar to those experienced by all working parents, even the established writer must expend considerable time on work that does not result in a pay packet.

Writing mothers have to take the long-term view. Historical biographer Debra sometimes notices that her mind wanders into the fifteenth century when she is with her children but she knows they are happy and healthy and will benefit in the future from their mother being fulfilled. Royalty blogger Samantha felt the same but balanced this with a sense of responsibility to herself. Likewise Emma, a fantasy and horror novelist, suspects she is not the same dedicated mother before she started writing but takes a pragmatic approach to family life, wisely realising that her children won’t remember the house being untidy or their mum being tired but will recall a house full of “magical stories” and proudly tell their friends and teachers that “mummy writes books.” Katharine, who used to be a university lecturer and now writes historical fiction for young adults, made a conscious choice not to spend time on the traditional female obligations of cleaning, grooming or shopping, in favour of making her daughter proud. She is able to discuss her characters and plot lines with her eight year old, who plans to illustrate her mother’s books one day.

Ultimately, writing mothers have made a choice and they know it. Their dilemmas are very similar to those of all working mothers, yet as Rebecca, a TV writer and PhD student acknowledges, she is “lucky to be paid to do something I enjoy” and believes it important that she has a creative outlet. Even when this choice can lead to financial difficulties, writing mothers want their children to benefit from their talent and the example they set provides the family with a sense of hope, a vision of hard work and high aspiration. Samantha sees writing as providing something that fulfils her creativity and will leave a legacy for two sons. She feels a “sense of responsibility” given the misogynistic presentation of women’s roles in the media and hopes to break this cycle by example. These women are driven by passion and a compulsion to write; as Katharine admits, “I find myself doing it when I’m not looking.” Amid all the struggles it necessitates, we persist because, in the words of blogger and businesswoman Helen, we “love it!” It is this drive that connects female artists and writers of all eras.

The lives of Woolf and her sister, the post-modern artist Vanessa Bell, provide an answer to the comment “women can’t write, women can’t paint,” voiced in To The Lighthouse. Still rightly revered as a giant of modernism, Woolf’s reputation is still stronger than Bell’s, whose life encompassed motherhood as well as art. Even though Vanessa’s life was made easier by the presence of nannies, she was a devoted parent and this necessitated some juggling when her three children were small. A century ago, childcare was shared between the mother and hired help, in varying proportions from the middle classes upwards. Today, child minders and nurseries play invaluable roles in the lives of working mothers, particularly for those who are single. Also, the nature of writing, the flexible, freelance aspect to it, means that it is often relegated to the status of “a hobby that pays well” and squeezed in around the shared workload of partners. Most of the women I spoke to fitted their writing around their children’s routine, before they woke in the morning and after they had gone to sleep at night. Others fitted it in whenever and wherever they could; Kerry writes on the train to work and in their lunch hour, Joanne uses a walk as an opportunity and piles of notebooks can be found all round blogger Vicky’s house.

Woolf’s writing evokes the image of her and her sister as young women, dressed in their late Victorian gowns, standing at an easel or desk in their converted Bloomsbury nursery. Woolf, a major figure of literary modernism, was first published by her brother-in-law’s firm, Duckworth and company, before beginning the Hogarth Press with her husband Leonard. The changing nature of self-publishing and cheap, widespread access to the internet has facilitated women’s writing in a way that was unthinkable to Woolf’s contemporaries. Katharine draws support from online groups and for historical researchers, like myself, social networking sites and electronic texts provide an interface without which our work would not be possible. Still, the publicity alone requires commitment and time; Kerry describes herself as “taken aback by the amount of self-publicity required.” However, the lack of career opportunities for arts graduates makes freelance writing a really valuable alternative for working mothers and even those wishing to return to established careers can find their post-child lives are no longer compatible. Helen had worked as an analyst but having small children just didn’t make it a feasible career. Those who can write are increasingly adapting their lives and taking to their keyboards. My career wouldn’t have been possible without the internet; Woolf’s room of one’s own is now unquestionably a virtual one.

Women’s determination to carve out spaces to write also springs from a conviction that female fulfilment is important, and significantly different from work for work’s sake. I know exactly what Joanne means when she describes writing as her “medicine,” of the need to do “what burns within” and give expression to “an essential part of who I am.” This isn’t to be confused with selfishness. Writing has a place in these women’s lives which is often flexible according to the needs of their children; it brings them the benefits of a mother who has found a creative outlet, as well as setting the examples of dedication and hard work. In Helen’s words: “writing has given me the freedom to be the mother I wanted to be.” Woolf’s debate of 1928 focused on the Judith Shakespeares of her world; the women like her who strove to write and paint in the face of opposition from those wishing them to fill more conventional roles. Factor children into this equation and it remains relevant even when we may think this battle should already have been won.

Many thanks go to the busy mothers who took time to share their thoughts with me:

Helen Neale of www.kiddycharts.com

Kerry Barrett, author of “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” (October 2013) www.kerrybarrettwriter.wordpress.com

 

Joanne St Claire, author and founder of www.thenakedraver.com

Fiona Scott of www.mumsinmedia.co.uk 

Vicky of  www.singlemotherahoy.blogspot.com

Samantha Arbisi of www.deadroyalty.wordpress.com

Rebecca Ellis

Debra Bayani, biographer of Jasper Tudor

Katharine