Une vie francaise, Dereliction of Duty, History of War

I read Une vie francaise, a picaresque novel written by Jean-Paul Dubois, a reporter at France's L'express. It is a rocking good novel, I have to say, and one of the few novels with scenes of family such as I once knew them, in my youth: political discussions which include raised voices, all sorts of unspoken undercurrents, surprises all round. I loved it. Then there was a fairly routine book on the failures that led the US to the Vietnam War, Dereliction of Duty by H.R. McMaster. It was a quick, easy read. Hans Delbruck's History of Warfare numbered almost 2000 pages, but it was worth it. I learned, for example, how much the British model of the army owes to Roman Antiquity, and it struck me that India used elephants as later some armies used tanks. I also had a good laugh at the lengthy excursii, the small print, much more specific and detailed parts of the book that followed the normal print of the chapters. It reminded me of Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics, that also had endless excursii. Must be a German thing. I regretted that Delbruck stopped short of the 20th century, I'd have enjoyed him. He also reminded me, in terms of the clarity and the soldier's eye-view, of John Keegan, whom he clearly influenced. All in all, a great week in reading. Battle for History is waiting for me at the university, I will only be able to retrieve it on Monday, rats! It's another Keegan, I'm most anxious to read it.

Creasy's Fifteen Battles; Keegan's Mask of Command

Mask of Command is also very good, especially the chapter on Wellington. I found the chapter on Alexander the Great too unspecific, although that is understandable given the sources. Creasy, on the other hand, is more venerable as an early source of military history than useful or interesting to me now.

On the basis of Mask of Command, I ordered up all of Keegan's book, and I am already half-way through his book on the Iraq war.

Comtesse de Ségur, née Rostopchine by Diesbach, Ghislain de, One Perfect Day by Rebecca Mead, Week-end de chasse a la mere

Week-end de chasse a la mere is boring and bland for a novel: it is about a child's view of his mother, and it joins a distinguished sub-genre of literature. I read it easily and it is short, but that is all that I can say about it. I wonder why it got the Prix Femina: probably because of its subject matter. How trite. On the other hand, I thoroughly enjoyed Diesbach's biography of my favorite childhood author, Comtesse de Segur. It's amazing to me that she is still know by her title instead of her name, in this day and age. In any event, the biography says nothing of her for prolonged periods: I suspect the author signed a contract (he is an award-winning literary biographer) before knowing how little documentation survives her. If not, he did a superficial job. The good countess is an original, to be sure, and commanded better prices for her novels than Zola or Balzac, but she started writing when she was 58. It's not unusual for a woman to start writing late, after the children are grown, but it doesn't make for sparkling reading. I nonetheless also enjoyed the author's appreciation of the 19 novels of hers that line my shelf of favorite books. I don't mention them in this column, but I often re-read those novels to relax, usually all 19 of them although in no particular order. At least once a year.

I also devoured Rebecca Mead's investigation of the bridal industry, One Perfect Day. I was plainly flabbergasted at the amount of money people spend and how ruthlessly exploited brides are. It was a revelation, and it remains inexplicable to me who in all likelihood will just happily keep living in sin without benefit of the ceremony. The author went to various ceremonies, unmasked the 'Apache Wedding Prayer' as being the product of a Jimmy Stewart film, Broken Arrow. (Apache don't even have a wedding ritual, although other first nations do.) And people spend on average 30 000 dollars US on the wedding and accoutrements, which is about the poverty line for a family of four. I was shocked again. Great read though -- I relished the Episcopalian diocese who set rules about what could NOT be done in a wedding. It was a fun read.

Staring at me from my bedside table is Creasy's Fifteen Battles (I'm half way through), and another classic by John Keegan.

Keegan, Runciman and military history

I read an article decrying the lack of impact of military history on current events, and that article conclude with a list of the great classics of military history. I have now requested a bunch of books that I hadn't yet read, although I had read the bulk of them. I also read right away the books held in our own library, which include John Keegan's Face of Battle and Steve Runciman's Fall of Constantinople. Keegan was excellent, especially in the first chapter where he discusses why he has written a book focused on what the experience of battle is like on a human level. He then discusses Agincourt, Waterloo and the Somme. It's well-written and truly unusual in its poilu-tommy point of view. I suppose the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Empire is one of the great turning points of history. Certainly I knew nothing about it, and so I had trouble following the story, although the writing is very clear and the book is a quick, short read. I'm not sure that the Ottoman culture was so inferior in Istanbul compared to the Greek remnants of glory of Constantinople, but when the book was written such views were not questioned. Now I look forward to ready Creasy's account of fifteen historically important battles. I suppose he means important to Western Europe.

Laurens, Rolin

I read a short, easy read of a novel called Port-Soudan by Olivier Rolin. I thought it was a bit ordinary, a reminiscence about a past death and the difficulties of life in the Sudan in the thirties. I suppose the theme really was anomie. That theme always makes me yawn. Camille Lauren's novel Dans ces bras-la was excellent, about womanhood. It has an episodic, non-linear structure which I usually dislike but that I found added to the experience of discovering womanhood as events unfolded in the narrator's life. There were a few pages which were daring: one which describes (in non-pornographic terms) a sexual fantasy that is politically incorrect; another in which the author talks about why she never mentions her stillborn son now when asked how many children she has, because people don't understand, and yet finds that silence a violence to his memory. I liked it very much, it was full of truth and the author's talent and departures from convention served the novel well.

Francois Cheng, Peter Newman

I read with considerable interest Cheng's autobiographical novel, Le dit de Tiangyi, about a Chinese man coming to Europe in the fifties. The first part, set in revolutionary China, is riveting, and I am happy to read someone whose command of French as a second language is so inspiring. The latter parts are really interesting, discovering the West through the starry eyes of an immigrant.

I also read Peter Newman's The Secret Mulroney Tapes, spurred by the publication of Brian Mulroney's autobiography. The story of the book, which is a cut-and-paste of various interview transcriptions with the then Prime Minister of Canada, is as interesting and intemperate as the uncensored outpouring of the PM himself. It seems that Newman struck a deal with the politician to have uncensored access to papers and to contemporaneous interviews in exchange for a commitment not to publish anything until after the politician had left office. The Prime Minister then apparently got into the habit of unburdening himself unreservedly to the journalist, guarding neither his thoughts nor his language. After leaving office, the politician reneges on the deal in order to write his own autobiography, and the journalist ripostes by publishing a book of selected transcripts across the board. What emerges is a picture of a very self-centered politician deluded about his accomplishments and his place in history. Mulroney also displays appalling resentments and hatreds of, most notably, Pierre Trudeau. Well, Trudeau died several years ago and cannot defend himself. As for Sheila Copps and Joe Clark and Kim Campbell and John Turner, he refers to them variously as Nazi, stupid, profane, poor in judgment. Mulroney rates himself as second in history after Canada's founding prime minister in terms of greatness. I'm glad he does, because no one else will. Wow. Worth the price of admission, and although I am sure the transcriptions are accurate, I would have been interested to read the publisher's legal department's memo on possible libel.

Noguez, Nin, camelote

Camelote is the French word for bargain basement purchase -- I'm reading these days some things that my boyfriend got me. The most interesting was a study of D.H. Lawrence by Anais Nin -- one pornographer to another, I guess. Both writers are preoccupied by the life of the body, and for two cultured writers they certainly focused on the genitality of sex rather than any more spiritual meaning. there were two pulp novels, a Harlequin translated into French and a trashy novel written by a former actress -- Jeanne by Nicole Avril. The blurb says the author is passionate about writing: I hope that she is her own reward, because it's ordinary and predictable. There was also an Alfred Hitchcock Presents collection of short stories. Some of the stories have real originality, although horror is not my thing. In one story, someone who is a sculptor of lifelike works turns out to be a taxidermist...quite a twist. Finally, there is Amour noir by Dominique Noguez, an ill-starred love story between a white Frenchman and an exotic African beauty. anyone who's ever been in an unhealthy relationship will shudder in recognition. As you might expect, she treats him badly and exploits him shamelessly, much like Mildred in Human Bondage.

Carrere, Klein, Thomas

I read a historical novel, Les Adieux a la reine, by Chantal Thomas. It created a fictional character in the waning days of the French court, and covers only a couple of days. It was well researched, but as a professor of literature from Chennai once said to me: "I don't want a clever idea. I want a good read." I'm afraid that rather sums it up for me too, although it wasn't as bad as A. S. Byatt, for example. I also read Gary Klein's Sources of Power, about his studies in decision-making with the armed forces. It was one of the most relevant books I've read in the last five years, when it comes to my own research. I also just finished a novel by Emmanuel Carrere, La Classe de neige, about a young boy who winds up being molested by a pedophile. I hate to say ho-hum to such a tragic occurrence, but I certainly wasn't gripped by the atmosphere of dread and anticipation.