On books: Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian

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Entrance to a cave used by Bar Kochba rebels

Admittedly, this is not my usual reading.  At the moment, I’m more likely to be stuck in mid-eighteenth century issues of the Gentleman’s Magazine, or some obscure volume on English shipping and ports.  But having picked up William Horbury’s Jewish War under Trajan and Hadrian (2014), I’m glad I did, since it opened a whole new world of historical possibilities to a fiction writer.

Jewish War examines the three notable conflicts which mark the end of Judea as the homeland of the Jews: the war of Vespasian (AD 66-70), the war of Quietus (AD 115-117), and “the Last War,” better known as the Bar Kochba revolt (AD 132-136).  It’s a book that has been described as “encyclopedic,” and it is certainly a dense read.  Yet Horbury’s precision and detail make his analysis convincing as he examines each piece of available documentary and archaeological evidence to form a narrative often different from earlier ones that were less complete.

One of the most fascinating episodes pictured in this book is the War of Quietus.  This conflict, which arose between Jews and Greeks in Cyrenaica, Cyprus, and Egypt, brings eerily familiar echoes of genocidal conflicts more familiar to us: of Bosnia and Rwanda.  It left whole regions devastated, and must have created an infinite casualty list of psychological traumas and tangled human feelings.  Horbury’s approach favors complexity over simplicity: he avoids blanket statements for the causes of the conflict, and acknowledges that there is not only one historical “Jew,” or historical “Greek.”  Rather, his writing leaves the impression that motives are as varied as individuals, and that human beings are not so different now than two thousand years ago.  At the same time, given his complete treatment of the available evidences, his Jews, Greeks, and Romans can easily become living actors in a writer’s imagination.

Jewish War is, regrettably, an expensive scholarly book ($100-130 for the cheapest), and may become harder to obtain in coming years.  Interlibrary loans, however, can provide copies, and I can well recommend it as worthwhile for anyone intrigued by this period in history.

Photo Credit: Udi Steinwell, CC by 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=19672598

Blank pages

Just one monkey

Having a keybooad keyboard doesn’t make wiring writing go any faster.  It just means you type a lot of stuff over again.

I’m discovering, as many writers probably have, that there’s an appalling difference between writing a scene that someone may read, someday, in its most polished form, perhaps; and coming up with a blog post right this minute now.

All those bright ideas?  Wispy as the mist gathering over the field outside my window.  All that interesting research?  I can’t think of one clever thing to say about The History of Underclothes or James Boswell on the Grand Tour, or the fact that I was reminded this morning of a rich, tragic, firsthand resource on Scotland’s Rising of the ’45 as contained in three volumes of The Lyon in Mourning.

I’m not an archivist or an academic, with oodles of fun things that pop up at work.  I don’t work in a museum (though it would be a dream job!).  I’d hate to try to teach anyone else how to write, when–only last night–it dawned on me that my opening scene wasn’t working because I needed to bridge the emotional gap between my reader and the hero.  *facepalm*

But a blog isn’t a monologue.  It’s about starting a sort of dialogue, and making connections with readers.  And here, I’m floundering.  Because it begs the question, where can you and I connect?  What would we talk about, if we were in the same room?  What would you want to know, if you could ask me?

So please, come in, sit down, and let’s visit.  I’ll try to answer any serious questions posted in the comments section.

 

Reading the encyclopedia

… which happens to be one of the earliest ever published in Britain, and made me drool when I found it, and found out I could have a copy.

Chambers’ Cyclopaedia was printed in 1728, ran to over 2000 pages, and was contained in two volumes.  This edition still exists today, online and for free at the very useful Archive.org.  (Hint, if you want it all, you will need to download the two volumes separately.  There are also two supplemental volumes.)

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A quick snap of an entry to be found here:

DOWER or DOWRY: … “is properly the Money, or Fortune, which the Wife brings her Husband in Marriage, to have the Use of it, during her Marriage, towards supporting the Charge thereof.”

But don’t think marriage comes cheap.  At least not in early 18th century England.  The author next gives us an idea of what’s expected.

“At present, in Germany, the Women of Quality have but very moderate Fortunes. For Instance, the Princesses of the Electoral House of Saxony have only 30000 Crowns: … those of Brunswic[k] and Baden, only 1500 Florins; besides a Sum for Cloaths, Toys, and Equipages.”

So there you have it, ladies!  Pay your expenses up front.  And remember to save enough for your toys.

 

Double your followers…

… by mowing the lawn.  I started out to mow yesterday, with one pair of parent barn swallows swooping around me, snapping up the bugs I kicked up.  Ended with two pairs of birds diving in and out, often just ahead of the mower.  So, who really needs Twitter?

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I don’t have pictures of the present crop that the busy parents are raising, but this brood, almost ready to fly, was kind enough to pose a few years ago.

Starting a blog….

Just because, you know, sometimes it’s fun to talk about writing and research and all the odd little things about this business.  Warning: I don’t have an MFA in writing.  You probably won’t find any earth-shaking advice here.  And you may get an earful on gardening from time to time, which has absolutely nothing to do with any of my novels.  But if you’d like to drop in, you’re very, very welcome to join me.  And with that–we’re open!