Going Georgian
I've always loved history, but have never been a fan of the Georgian period, despite occasionally being seduced by the delights of the All things Georgian blog. For the last 6 weeks though I seem to have been obsessed with all things Georgian myself.
It all started with Edward Marston's period mystery Shadow of the hangman. I had read some of Marston's mysteries set in Tudor England, and enjoyed them, so I was interested to see how he would deal with a later period. It was an enjoyable enough read, with some interesting sidelights on the period - American prisoners of war in Dartmoor jail, bare-knuckle boxing, and an astonishing celebrity culture for those who made it big in the theatre. It was a fun read, but a mixture of thin characterisation, and an unconvincing story-line left me not that eager for more.
Andrew Taylor's period murder The scent of death, however was completely different and utterly compelling. We're part-way through the American War of Independence (also known as the American Revolutionary War), and civil servant, Edward Savill has been sent to New York to sort out reparations and relief for loyalists who have been displaced by the war. Manhattan is in a state of chaos following fire, war, and a refugee crisis; staying at the home of Judge Wintour, Savill soon becomes involved in a murder investigation, that seems to be leading into the heart of the family that he is beginning to love. I loved this stylish mystery, not just for the crime at the centre, which is cleverly plotted, and has a superb Buchanesque denouement, but also for the wonderful portrait of Manhattan at a pivotal point in its history, and for the background to the war. Never before had I seem so clearly that it truly was a civil war, and a vicious one too. A brilliant book recommended both for its crime content and the fabulous period detail. It also has great characterisation and a wonderful sense of place.
Oddly, although it was written during the Georgian period, there is a timelessness about Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, that is endearingly engaging. This was the only full-length Austen that I hadn't read, and I was drawn to it, at least partly, by Edward Marston's Gothic storyline, along with listening to a lot of Haydn en route to a trip to Scotland (Haydn always makes me want to read Jane Austen!). It is now my favourite Jane Austen - not surprising really as it's a book about book lovers by a book lover and for book lovers.
Catherine Morland loves nothing better than a good read, and if it's a creepy Gothic read, all the rage in the period, great! While "in training to be a heroine" she meets the engaging Henry Tilney, another book lover, and my personal would marry Austen hero. Henry invites Catherine back to his not-so-Gothic pile Northanger Abbey, where Catherine frightens herself silly reading Gothic romances. Meanwhile however the romance with Henry runs into trouble, with unfaithful friends, unexpected proposals, and an ogre of a father, who prefers money to happiness. Will love conquer all? Will literature win the day? It's Jane Austen, what do you think - a gloriously sunny read.
As has been my Georgian tour-de-force, the journals of John Marsh, 1752-1828, edited by Brian Robins, all 1200 pages of them. John Marsh was a Georgian gentleman; a solicitor by profession, his brothers and father were all in the Royal Navy. What he loved most in life though was music, and thanks to owning land, he had plenty of time to do what he loved, composing (though sadly many of his works are lost), playing, and organising subscription concerts in provincial England - more on this, where I blog wearing my other hat, at MusiCB3. He was also heavily involved in church music, and because of this parts of his journals read like an early sketch for the Barchester Chronicles.
It was believed that most of the information relating to the journals was held at Cambridge University Library - a history of John Marsh's life collated from his journals, and the editor had almost completed his work on these, when another 37 volumes, with over 6,000 pages turned up in Huntington Library, California. These turned out to be Marsh's own writings with the CUL version being a heavily edited version put together by Marsh's clergyman son. Brian Robins had long suspected that this might be the case, but nevertheless it must have been very disheartening to be so close to the finishing line, only to find that it was just the start of another literary marathon. Huge kudos to him for continuing with the project; personally I'm very thankful, as this was, without doubt, one of the most absorbing pieces of non-fiction I've ever read.
If you follow me on Twitter (@Benregis1) or Facebook, or work with me, or happen to be my friend, I have probably driven you nutty over the last fortnight with the latest adventures of John Marsh. All Georgian life is here from the market in saucy songs to hot-air balloonists with get-away horses (Georgian crowds weren't afraid to show their feelings if the entertainment wasn't up to scratch), war with the French and Americans, and political unrest in the country, crazy food prices, a passion for seaside holidays, travel and music, the latest celebrity gossip, and some very odd payments (Marsh was once given an organ stop in exchange for the copyright on his latest work). Births, deaths (including a premature report of Marsh's own!), and marriages, scandal, and generosity. Music making at home, and the burgeoning interest in large-scale music festivals.
I laughed, I gasped, there was the occasional lump in the throat, I loved it; and was ridiculously pleased to discover an unexpected acknowledgement to me in the second volume of the journals (though sadly I have no memory of the original research). Most of all, I loved Marsh himself, a kindly man, with a fascination for music, the latest scientific advances, and travel. A philanthropist with a seemingly indefatigable store of energy, who adored his family and friends. His journals draw you into his world, and for the period that you are reading it, you too are in Georgian England, worried about the King's health, hoping you're not going to meet with highwaymen, and eagerly unpacking the latest box of organ pipes (Mea culpa - I'm an organist, I just wish that I had Marsh's facility for assembly). It is a great example of how time can make the ordinary extraordinary, and I am going to miss spending time with John Marsh so much...
It all started with Edward Marston's period mystery Shadow of the hangman. I had read some of Marston's mysteries set in Tudor England, and enjoyed them, so I was interested to see how he would deal with a later period. It was an enjoyable enough read, with some interesting sidelights on the period - American prisoners of war in Dartmoor jail, bare-knuckle boxing, and an astonishing celebrity culture for those who made it big in the theatre. It was a fun read, but a mixture of thin characterisation, and an unconvincing story-line left me not that eager for more.
Oddly, although it was written during the Georgian period, there is a timelessness about Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, that is endearingly engaging. This was the only full-length Austen that I hadn't read, and I was drawn to it, at least partly, by Edward Marston's Gothic storyline, along with listening to a lot of Haydn en route to a trip to Scotland (Haydn always makes me want to read Jane Austen!). It is now my favourite Jane Austen - not surprising really as it's a book about book lovers by a book lover and for book lovers.
As has been my Georgian tour-de-force, the journals of John Marsh, 1752-1828, edited by Brian Robins, all 1200 pages of them. John Marsh was a Georgian gentleman; a solicitor by profession, his brothers and father were all in the Royal Navy. What he loved most in life though was music, and thanks to owning land, he had plenty of time to do what he loved, composing (though sadly many of his works are lost), playing, and organising subscription concerts in provincial England - more on this, where I blog wearing my other hat, at MusiCB3. He was also heavily involved in church music, and because of this parts of his journals read like an early sketch for the Barchester Chronicles.
It was believed that most of the information relating to the journals was held at Cambridge University Library - a history of John Marsh's life collated from his journals, and the editor had almost completed his work on these, when another 37 volumes, with over 6,000 pages turned up in Huntington Library, California. These turned out to be Marsh's own writings with the CUL version being a heavily edited version put together by Marsh's clergyman son. Brian Robins had long suspected that this might be the case, but nevertheless it must have been very disheartening to be so close to the finishing line, only to find that it was just the start of another literary marathon. Huge kudos to him for continuing with the project; personally I'm very thankful, as this was, without doubt, one of the most absorbing pieces of non-fiction I've ever read.
If you follow me on Twitter (@Benregis1) or Facebook, or work with me, or happen to be my friend, I have probably driven you nutty over the last fortnight with the latest adventures of John Marsh. All Georgian life is here from the market in saucy songs to hot-air balloonists with get-away horses (Georgian crowds weren't afraid to show their feelings if the entertainment wasn't up to scratch), war with the French and Americans, and political unrest in the country, crazy food prices, a passion for seaside holidays, travel and music, the latest celebrity gossip, and some very odd payments (Marsh was once given an organ stop in exchange for the copyright on his latest work). Births, deaths (including a premature report of Marsh's own!), and marriages, scandal, and generosity. Music making at home, and the burgeoning interest in large-scale music festivals.
I laughed, I gasped, there was the occasional lump in the throat, I loved it; and was ridiculously pleased to discover an unexpected acknowledgement to me in the second volume of the journals (though sadly I have no memory of the original research). Most of all, I loved Marsh himself, a kindly man, with a fascination for music, the latest scientific advances, and travel. A philanthropist with a seemingly indefatigable store of energy, who adored his family and friends. His journals draw you into his world, and for the period that you are reading it, you too are in Georgian England, worried about the King's health, hoping you're not going to meet with highwaymen, and eagerly unpacking the latest box of organ pipes (Mea culpa - I'm an organist, I just wish that I had Marsh's facility for assembly). It is a great example of how time can make the ordinary extraordinary, and I am going to miss spending time with John Marsh so much...
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