Tower, by Nigel Jones

When I travelled to London to work on my Master’s thesis, one of the major tourist activities I wanted to do was a visit to the Tower of London.  I was so gung-ho about it, that my plan was to land at Heathrow, go to my hotel and drop off my stuff (since I would be hours early for check-in), then head to the Tower.  I figured this would be a great plan to cross something of my ‘must-see’ list and avoid jet-lag.  Things didn’t quite work like that….  On the flight from Canada to the UK, I took a combination of OTC meds that were guaranteed to knock me out so I could sleep; but the usual effectiveness was ruined by taking them at 6pm my time, flight attendants, seat mates, and the white noise of the plane (which I find really loud and not at all soothing).  I landed in London, cleared customs, and then took the Tube into town, dragging behind me a massive suite-case stuffed with an office supply store (I was going to work for a full week in the archives), while making a couple of line transfers.  All while suffering the nausea brought on by the OTCs, too little sleep, and the anxiety of travelling alone in a new place.

By the time I got to my hotel, I was almost in tears I was so anxious.  I dropped my bags as planned, washed my face and brushed my teeth in the lobby bathroom, then sat down with my guidebook to see about visiting the Tower.  And promptly nodded in and out of sleep for the next three hours.  I must have looked really sketchy to the guest that were coming and going… but it sure did encourage management to get my room ready as quickly as possible.  Checked in, I headed to my room, took a shower, and had a nap.  Any plans for a visit to the Tower were put on hold.  I realized my initial thoughts of hitting the ground running were ambitious, and I little naïve – I lesson I tried imparting to my dad the next year during out trip to Germany, with very little success.  

All that to say, I have a special place in my history-nerd heart for the Tower of London.  As a British historian, the Tower is a symbol of the continuity of England, Britain and Empire; it’s stood for centuries and was the load-stone for much of the power-base and decision makers over the centuries.  So, while doing my usual peruse through the History section at the local Chapters, my latest read, Tower: An Epic History of the Tower of London by Nigel Jones caught my attention.  At 400 pages, the book certainly did seem epic, so I was excited to pick it up and get into the nitty-gritty of the Tower’s existence.  

The Tower of London got its official start after the Norman invasion of 1066.  The iconic White Tower that we all associate with the Tower of London is of Norman design, and was built in order to intimidate the local populace into accepting the foreign rule of William the Conqueror.  Since the 11^th century, the Tower has been expanded upon, redesigned, rebuilt, and revitalized in its multiple roles, multiple times; since its foundation, the Tower has acted as fort, royal palace, religious centre, mint, munitions store, zoo, prison, torture centre, execution site, and home for thousands.  While it is commonly know as the Tower of London, the site is actually a large complex of multiple towers, fortress-like walls, and support buildings.  Originally at the east end of London (and now at its heart), the Tower was an important piece of the daily life of Londoners, Englishmen and women, and Britons since its foundations were set.

My main problem with this book is that the Tower is presented almost as a background player to the events that Jones lays out.  For a book that I was expecting to the ‘an epic history of the Tower of London,’ Jones has a bad habit of going on and on for pages without mentioning the complex.  Rather, Jones’ book is a study of England and Britain’s political history, of which the Tower was a key player by necessity, as one of the most secure royal palaces and prisons in the capital city.  However, to call this book a history of the Tower is flawed.

For the most part, Jones’ study is organized chronologically; he begins with the Normans and goes on from there.  Of the 17 chapters, only four are presented thematically – the first is on the role of the Tower as mint and zoo, the second on escapees, the third on the more colourfull prisoners, and the fourth on the role of the Tower in the two World Wars.  These are by far the most interesting chapters, but they are few and far between, and they are surrounded by a plain-ol’ political history of England.  More, it’s a political history of England that’s heavy on the Tudors and the Roundheads.  While I understand that the Tower was more in use in those periods than in others, it seems like Jones used the Tower as a convenient excuse to get his foot in the door to write about what he really wanted to write about – the sexier bits of English/British political history.  You’re able to tell where Jones’ personal interest in British history is, because these sections are the longest; he manages to cover 1066 until Henry VIII (1509) in about 150 pages, then the Restoration (1660) to present day in about 100 pages; 100 pages to cover almost 400 years?  I felt cheated after the detailed assessment the Tudors and Cavaliers got in the other 150 pages of the book (that’s about 150 years for those keeping count).

Jones himself (according to the bio on the back of the book) is a “historian, journalist, and biographer…”  The journalist bit it easy enough to identify while reading this book.  For all its flaws, it is an interesting and engaging read; Jones took what can be very dry topic mater in the wrong hands, and even though I felt like the book was a bait and switch, got me to keep reading and finish it based on its readability.  

But the other way the journalist in Jones came through in the reading was almost unforgivable.  In writing about the Gun Power Plot (1605), Jones describes it as “… an inhumanely audacious act of random mass terror like 9/11.” (pg. 279)  Just like that.  No context to that comment before or after; he just throws it out there.  I will give Jones that the Gun Power Plot was audacious, maybe even inhumane (but that implies a disregard for human life, and Jones himself notes that the plot was foiled because several of the conspirators’ consciences got in the way), but the planned act was neither random nor ‘mass’ on the scale of 9/11.  In the 2011 terrorist attacks on America, the goal was a high body count of as many people as possible – it was indiscriminate.  Guy Fox and his cronies were aiming to blow up the Houses of Parliament during its opening session; they new approximately how many victims their act would impact, and it was targeted at the ruling elite, not the average citizen.  Jones’ inflammatory comment really threw a huge hurdle down in my reading about the Plot, and showed his journalism background in his efforts (I assume) to sell copy.

So, final verdict?  I would say if you’re a history buff, this is a book for you, but don’t expect Jones to deliver on the promise of the title.  If, however, your interest is only in the history of the Tower, take a pass.  Jones’ work is far from an ‘epic history of the Tower,’ and is more a well-written history of English and British politics.  Which is a shame, because his research and writing styles make me think he would have nailed a true history of the Tower.  As for me, I did finally get to visit the Tower while in London.  It was a highlight of my trip, and I recommend everyone put it on their Bucket List.  (For more on my visit to the Tower, see an older blog of mine here.)

The best thing I've read all summer!

Congratulations to the Duke and Dutchess of Cambridge in the growth of their little family!

Gulliver's Travels, by Jonathan Swift

**Spoiler Warning!  I’m not holding back on plot details – you’ve had 300 years to read this sucker.  And at least one episode of Wishbone.  You’ve been warned.**

I’m always amazed to read ‘classical’ literature and to learn that it’s not what I was expecting, even though I had heard about the story a million times.  That was the case with my last read, Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift.  I think it’s fair to say that we have all, at one time or another, heard of Gulliver and his adventures.  However, how much do you really know about them?

A brief overview of the plot: Lemuel Gulliver is a ship’s surgeon who sets out to sea only to be shipwrecked.  As the sole survivor, he wakes up on an island inhabited be people that stand no higher than six inches or so.  Gulliver spends several months as a giant amongst the population.  Gulliver’s next stop is to a land where he stands no more than six inches tall to the other inhabitants.  Next, he visits a place where the capital city is a floating island and where all the male inhabitants are philosophers of one stripe or another (it’s a population that literally lives with its head in the clouds, whether they live on the floating island or on the ground).  The last of Gulliver’s destinations is an island where horses are the top species and human serve them. 

Now, for all these adventures, I was only really aware of the first!  I was a little surprised when Gulliver was leaving Lilliput in the first quarter of the book!  Regardless, I got over the confusion, and enjoyed the rest of Gulliver’s travels.  Swift, being a master satirist (just check out A Modest Proposal for one of the best written pieces of satire in Western literature), used his protagonist’s travels to comment on his own world and the realities he observed therein.

The dichotomy between Lilliput and Brobdingnag (where Gulliver is a giant vs. where he lives amongst giants) is obvious.  To go from one extreme to another is shocking for Gulliver and the reader.  In the first instance, Gulliver helps to protect the Liliputians and does them many great favours because of his size; however, in Brobdingnag he’s seen as only good for entertaining the king and his court.  It’s a subtle comment on the people of his own time, if you ask me (more on that below).

In Gulliver’s next stop, there is also a dichotomy, but one that is less obvious.  In this case, the comparison is between England and Laputa.  In the city-states of Laputa, and on the floating island, the men are all engaged in deep thought, so much so that they employ servants to bash them about the head and face to get their attention when someone is speaking to them.  They are ruminating on a great number of things – how to improve agriculture, how to cure illnesses, or how to strengthen the government.  For all these thoughts, however, the practice fails.  The comparison between Gulliver’s own land and Laputa is evident; the philosophers of Laputa spend so much time in thought, that they pay almost no attention to anything else, be it the execution of their plans, or their wives.  It’s a damning comment on the state of affairs in England, as perceived by Swift.

Gulliver’s final stop, in Houyhnhnms, is perhaps the most biting of all his satirical comments.  In this land, the horses are the top species, and they are served by human-like creatures, the Yahoos.  Yahoos are best described to the modern reader as feral humans; they have all the characteristics of humans, but there is an animal quality to them.  Compared against the noble horse, the Yahoos seem to be filthy and mean creatures, and not deserving of sympathy.  Gulliver, living amongst the horses because he was able to learn their language, quickly disengages from these human-like creatures, going so far as to wear their skins as hides, much like he would any other leather.

The running commonality through all these voyages is Swift’s observations on the flaws of his own people in early 18^th century England.  Whether he’s drawing a stark comparison between these new lands and his own, or aligning them to one another, it’s clear that Swift finds very little to commend his own society.  And, as with most satirists, he does it with a deft hand – you have to know what you’re looking for to see it.

This thought raised an interesting question for me.  When this book was first published in 1726, the reading audience was far less savvy that we are today.  This was an era when the common people were able to afford to purchase luxury items (such as fictional literature), thanks to the serialization of stories and the growth of the middle class; the Empire was starting to flourish and stories were getting back to the mother-country about the explorations that were being undertaken for king and country; and the concept of the ‘other’ was taking hold in the minds of the populace – that is, the understanding of something like them, but wholly different, appearing to alter their world view.  All this led me to ask – how many people thought Swift’s work was the true account of a world traveler?  In an age before TV and the internet, the only way to explore the world was through travel literature.  With one satirical piece among so many sincere publications, I’m willing to bet Swift fooled more than a few.  And I’m sure he’s still smiling about that.

So, final verdict?  Read it.  It’s a piece of the Western literary tradition, and a substantial piece of the zeitgeist.  You might, like me, have been wholly ignorant of the true scope of the story, so I highly recommend you get yourself up to speed.  There are passages which wax and wane on the morality of the era, and some of the satire is probably lost if you aren’t up on the 18^th century British social-political scene, so I think it’s fair to say that this is one book where an abridged version might be the best bet for the majority of readers.  However, I do strongly urge you all to check it out.

The Lambs of London, by Peter Ackroyd

As previously stated, I’m a philistine who doesn’t understand the global appreciation for Shakespeare’s writings.  I do, however, appreciate the impact he had on western literary tradition, and the global literary zeitgeist.  When I picked up The Lambs of London, by Peter Ackroyd, I wasn’t sure what I was going to get, other than something of a love letter to the Bard himself.  And I was right – Ackroyd is obviously a fan, as his appreciation for Shakespeare’s writing pervades every page of the book.

First, an overview of the plot.  The Lambs of London is a series of stories that overlap and intermingle.  There are, however, two main story lines.  The first centers on Mary and her brother, Charles Lamb.  The names might sound familiar to some of you – their claim to fame was a series of children’s tales, based on Shakespeare’s works that were published in the early 19^th century.  When the story begins, however, Charles and Mary are living at home – Charles is working as a clerk for the East India Company and is gaining some notoriety for being published in the weeklies; Mary, however, is stagnating – as intelligent as Charles (maybe more so), she’s stuck at home helping to keep the house in an era where educating women was not common practice.  The second main story focuses on William Ireland – another name that may be familiar to those in the historical know.  Ireland is famous for having ‘discovered’ a cache of previously unknown documents authored by Shakespeare, including a new play.  William, Mary and Charles develop an odd set of relationships and rivalries amongst themselves which carries all the other sub-plots.

The book, overall, is interesting.  The reader is treated to a fictionalization of the early lives of the Lambs, and to the events surrounding the discovery made by Ireland.  The characters, however, are hit and miss.  William is interesting and dynamic – his personal drive, intelligence and interactions with his over-bearing father all make for an interesting read.  Charles is slightly less interesting – he’s a young man about town with no real sense of responsibility for those in his life, and Ackroyd almost skims over any character development concerning him until the last chapter.  As for Mary… well, Ackroyd gave her short shrift.  On paper, her story should be the most interesting and well developed by far, and yet Ackroyd alludes to character development without giving us any real sense of the whys and wherefores.  Her end is startling in that it’s abruptly presented and poorly explained.  

Where Ackroyd does excel, however, is in the history.  You can’t read through a history about London (and many about English society) during all periods without coming across Ackroyd’s name in a bibliography.  Ackroyd is a prolific author on English history, and is especially noted for London: A Biography and Albion.  Both are expertly researched and presented, and both are widely acclaimed.  Before seeing The Lambs of London, I was unaware that Ackroyd was also a fiction writer, but he’s apparently prolific in that arena as well.  While his plot and characters may leave something to be desired in this work, the backdrop he paints for them is stunningly rich with historic detail.

Final verdict?  If you’re interested in London, early 19^th century British history, Shakespeare, and/or the Elizabethan age, then I would recommend this book.  Somehow, Ackroyd manages to meld all of them together in this fictionalization of various truths.  While I found Ackroyd’s tale interesting, it wasn’t a barn burner; and while he presents some new arguments in favour of Shakespeare’s genius, I still find the Bard to be overrated.