Julia is also available for (English language) book and theatre reviews. Please find some examples below.
Damage by D. G Holliday
Reviewer: Julia Lee Dean Date: 14th February 2016 Publisher: Matador, imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd, 2014
“A Novel of the Great War” proclaims the title page of my review copy, claiming for “Damage” that which so many novels published in the centenary of the beginning of the First World War have sought to claim. For me, however, a novel of the first war is exactly what “Damage” is not. The war is not absent; it is glimpsed as the protagonist hunts for first editions in little patronised book shops, it is heard – distantly – between dinnertime conversations but it feels generally superfluous to the plot. The book starts off well. A jaunty opening; summertime Somerset, almost instantly clouded over by rather too much exposition, ensuring that the reader is informed about the protagonist’s childhood without learning anything about the man himself. This exposition is a recurrent problem and should have been headed off by an editor; in its undiluted form it interrupts the story and, while digressions – often dressed as dialogue – into central European history and eighteenth-century translations of Homer are interesting and informative in their own right, it is difficult to see what they contribute to the story or our understanding of the characters. The book’s blurb sets out the story that the novel allegedly contains, information that I struggled to get from the book itself. Even Glover’s final wounding is vague; the detached style of narrative never wavers, it is as though Glover’s own injury cannot be felt, only reported. I did admire the use of short snatches of dialogue that heralded his gradual return to consciousness but then was surprised that an officer, badly wounded enough to be accompanied home by a nurse, is prevented from visiting his favourite book shop only by the need to hurry onto the next train. There is certainly never any suggestion, despite what is promised by the blurb, that his recovery is anything less than complete; there is hardly time for such possibilities as the book fades to an end without any sense of any conclusion having been reached. That is not to say that D. G. Holliday cannot write. There is sure ability here; a certain grace of expression that entices us onwards, yet Holliday’s torturous faux-Victorian syntax – so at odds with the fresh voices of contemporaries such as Leighton Green, Leonard and Hankey – holds the reader at arm’s length, denying us any sense of connection with characters who seem to see all but feel nothing. War is surely the most visceral experience that a human being can experiences yet there is nothing in Glover’s remote comment that the blood here is fresh and scarlet and warm that sounds natural. It is a fact of historical record that many army chaplains were killed on active service; they involved themselves far beyond the call of their non-combatant role and many died alongside the men with whom they had lived and worked. Yet somehow Glover seems to step through all such experiences with little more than a nod and a profoundly-phrased observation as though none of what he has seen has very much to do with him. And here is one of my chief objections to this book. Where is the research? One of the most joyful things about First World War research is that it is so alive; material is easy to come by and there are scores of people willing to help. So it comes as a disappointment that this book is so bereft. The image of an army chaplain Holliday presents now feels out of date; Glover comes across as one of those well-meaning but ineffectual chaplains whose sole achievement was to turn up. Six hundred yards to the front line, Mr Glover. Greets one commander, Thanks for coming! As though he has just arrived at a tea party. And tea he certainly takes, along with beef and very fine wine, safely discussing literature – and the nobility of Odysseus; the reluctant warrior who wanted only to go home - while the men fight on elsewhere. (It is perhaps an unintended irony that not one of the officers’ present thinks to point out that it was the pride of “noble Odysseus” that prolonged the journey home for both himself and his men). The balance is weighted too much towards Glover’s intellectual life and too little towards the physical; the friends he gains all appear to harbour the same passions as Glover himself as though picked out by some kind of academic and social selection. The concert party described is graced by the presence of a professional opera singer and held for the benefit of staff-officers rather than the relief and entertainment of the men. There is a thinly veiled snobbery here that depresses; there is little talk of the ordinary soldier nor does Glover ever seem to meet one, reserving his time for the officer class and his fellow clergy. Not only does this remove much of the colour to be had from mixing different types of people and their attitudes towards each other, it also, I would suggest, echoes a flawed and partisan portrayal of army chaplains that did their reputation so much damage in the collective memory of the post-war years, something that has so successfully and so recently been refuted by the work of historians such as Dr. Michael Snape. Given the developments in research into the role and character of army chaplains during the First World War, one must wonder why Holliday chose to make Philip Glover an army chaplain. A clergyman perhaps, but what is he doing at the front? How could this pristine intellectual have passed the interview with the notoriously difficult Taylor Smith – known for his aversion for High Church? This difficulty extends to the story itself. While the ruminations on the ending of civilisations – ancient and modern – are of value they are not directly pertinent to action on the front line and were the story to be lifted from the western front and set down in Wiltshire, it would suffer no detriment. Therefore, while there is certainly something to be admired in both the writing and the intellect at work behind it, “Damage” is not a novel of the First World War.
Subversive Peacemakers War Resistance 1914 – 1918 An Anglican Perspective by Clive Barrett A solid, if biased, contribution to the history of early twentieth century war resistance By Julia Lee Dean
The request to review this book arrived while I was absent from England, having moved to Germany one day before the centenary of the outbreak of the First World War. I am always pleased to receive review requests and this book in particular caught my eye purporting, as it does, to contribute to the long overlooked subject of war resistance during the Great War. In thirteen tightly written chapters this book delivers, providing a comprehensive and detailed portrait not only of the movements involved but also of the key Anglican figures associated with war resistance of this period such as George Lansbury, Maude Royden and Charles Stimson. What Barrett does very well is establish the philosophical – and theological – basis from which much of pacifism sprang and he goes further by putting the Anglican experience of war resistance into an international context thus giving an excellent sense of its considerable reach. He also makes the point, often easily overlooked, that the First World War did not “invent” pacifism but it was the refusal to participate in, rather than simply protest about this war that became a defining issue for pacifists and so, while war-resistance itself did not originate in the First World War, it was this conflict that gave rise to Conscientious Objection. For all the literature that has been generated by the First World War, the subject of Conscientious Objection has languished largely in the footnotes of histories written predominantly from a martial point of view. However, it is in the chapters that deal with resistance to conscription and the subsequent treatment of Conscientious Objectors that Subversive Peacemakers really comes into its own. The breadth and quality of research exhibited here is considerable; Barrett has a store of eyewitness accounts to call upon and, in his description of the response to Conscientious Objectors, he focuses not only on England but examines the comparative treatments of Conscientious Objectors in all the member countries of the United Kingdom. By the author’s own admission, this volume is the fruit of twenty years’ work and what we have is a well-ordered and painstakingly researched survey of early twentieth century pacifism. However, for a book that invokes the First World War in its title, it takes a remarkably long time to get there. The explanation of the contentious Article Thirty-Seven is undeniably helpful, yet I cannot help but wonder whether the discussion of its sixteenth century origins, complete with an examination of the meaning of justa bella - revisited again in Excursus: a “Just” War? 33 pages later - is really necessary. Similarly the Etymological Digression on the terms “pacificist” and “pacifist” and several paragraphs on the pacifism of Leo Tolstoy which concludes, rather bewilderingly, that he had little influence on the British peace movement of the early twentieth century, while interesting in their own right, do not contribute to the book as a whole and seem to be an authorial indulgence that would have benefitted from a sharper edit. Editorial quibbles aside, the chief weakness in the book is in the political bias of the author, revealed in phrases such as refused to come forward as cannon-fodder[1] and the familiar moronic renderings of Rule Britannia[2]. Despite claiming an Anglican perspective, Barrett appears at pains to deride the role of the Church of England without any attempt to empathise with the unique challenges that body faced and is openly scornful of recent attempts among historians to rehabilitate the reputation of those who donned military uniform and accepted military pay...[3] Writing as one familiar with some of these “attempts” I feel their aim is misrepresented here and Barrett’s sweeping dismissal is ill-founded if not unjust. Furthermore, Barrett describes the British public as being taken by surprise by the outbreak of war, suggesting that the prevailing “patriotic” reaction to the war was due entirely to the machinations of the press. Existing work in this area generally describes a society that, if not consciously spoiling for a fight with the new and rapidly growing Germany, were at least more than conversant with the martial tradition of duty and self-sacrifice. Now it may be that Barrett has discovered new evidence to sweep away our established understanding in this regard but he has not chosen to share that with us here and, without that explanation, his description of the rather different pre-war society he presents here smacks of the teacher’s red pen rather than the historian’s desire to offer a new theory for debate. This book is undoubtedly an achievement, impressive for its breadth of scope and the detail of the author’s research. The subject, too, is an important one and its contribution to our understanding of early twentieth century war resistance is invaluable. However, as a work of history, its clear political bias – which feels at times like an attempt to proselytise – and its dogmatic tone gives it an old-fashioned feel and I am sufficiently uncomfortable about some of the historiography displayed to be wary of recommending this book to newcomers to First World War research.
Subversive Peacemakers War Resistance 1914-1918: An Anglican Perspective by Clive Barrett, paperback 160 pages, Also available in e-formats. Publisher: Lutterworth Press (published 30 October 2014) Paperback: ISBN: 9780718893675
[1] Clive Barrett, Subversive Peacemakers War Resistance 1914 – 1918 An Anglican Perspective (Cambridge 2014), p. 113
WGGB Books Committee: Debut Novel Award Judge: Julia Lee Dean Date: 9th October 2014
An enjoyable book but one that doesn’t quite live up to its own blurb and, ultimately, frustrates Comment: It’s a nice story, well written with good use of humour. The characters are well-drawn but lack depth. It takes as its setting the world of politics and upper-middle society – a milieu already well-known to us via Jilly Cooper and Penny Vincenzi. Glencross adds nothing new to the genre; it is a rehash of better known efforts from the likes of those already mentioned. Even Buzzy the lower-middle class “heroine”, hapless in a world she was not born too. In fact, rather like Jilly Cooper, Glencross betrays a perplexing snobbery in his portrayal of Buzzy; his constant referral to her dreary life in Orpington as something to be deeply ashamed of is inexplicable. If this is an attempt at being sardonic, he doesn’t do it well enough. Instead portraying the lower-middle classes as ignorant, parochial and uncultured with such phrases as “Ralph, who hasn’t heard of Wagner…” (an impossible feat, surely?) and “Buzzy silently wills her parents not to show their ignorance too obviously…” reveals nothing about the characters in the book and rather too much of the author’s limitations (literary and intellectual). He is using class stereotypes in place of character depth. This is offensive and it cannot be defended as an act of deliberate provocation because Glencross does absolutely nothing with it; it is not used to say anything about the (supposed) insularity of the upper-middle classes nor does Buzzy appear to have overcome any snobbery but her own. The story is pleasant – travelling reading – most of the characters are likeable but nothing really happens; there is very little attempt to get under the skin of any of them – apart from the undergraduate naval-gazing angst which becomes tedious because it fails to lead anywhere. Gilcross sets up multiple strands to the story – the unrequited love of Henry for Buzzy is familiar but diverting enough. Unfortunately that is never resolved with any real clarity or finesse. The ending could have been an excellent key change in the tone of a longer work but, just as some action was introduced, the book ends leaving us uncertain of whether Marcel was suicidal – a development that either occurred to the author rather belatedly or was simply not well signposted, Buzzy a melodramatic fantasist and wondering what happened to everyone else. The overall feeling is that the author had planned to do more but changed his mind or got bored and brought the whole thing to a hasty end. This makes the whole novel unbalanced and intensely unsatisfying. The plot, setting and characters are all familiar from other (better) works, multiple threads are abandoned for a rushed finish and none of the characters are really developed. The author can certainly write but, while I would not necessarily expect an MP’s researcher to be particularly egalitarian, I would expect him to keep his offensive stereotypes out of his published work. His publishers might well claim he is tuning into the Zeitgeist and perhaps he is; it might well go some way to explaining why Continental Europe is teeming with lower-middle class English teachers. On that note, I would personally recommend this author be disqualified from this competition for using “snuck” as a past participle.
The original actor's church, St Leonard's in Shoreditch, provided an excellent backdrop to a performance of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" that was slick, assured, and very very funny. The decision to set the play in the 1940s made for an attractive production, the interval music from the period adding to the sense of anticipation that ran through the entire evening. The downside was that it made Theseus' ultimatum to Hermia - marry Demetrius or face death or a living death in a convent - seem even more arbitrary than it might otherwise have done. For some reason Starveling had become an army chaplain. This worked well, it gave the actor more to do but the line "Robin Starveling, the tailor?" ran false as a result. (A more ironic or desultory tone of voice, might have allowed Quince to gag himself out of trouble). The only other fly in the ointment was the acoustics. These were, in many respects, fabulous, voices carried. Unfortunately the echo meant that if a line was spoken (too) quickly, words were lost. These are but minor grumbles about what was a very enjoyable evening. It promised well from the beginning. The couples were believable; Lysander and Hermia (Joseph Bader and Mary-Ann Cafferty) were suitably fond and it would take a hard heart indeed not to feel for poor lovelorn Helena (Cecilia Colby). Neil Stewart and Rosa Hoskins were both majestic and childish as the warring Oberon and Titania, although some of Titania's speeches were nearly lost against the on-stage music, and it was nice to see the Indian Boy given corporeal form in the shape of Callum Balmforth. Danny Knott gave us a wonderful Puck who was unnerving in his animalism and potentially demonic glee and at other times came across as a slightly dim child which gave an enigmatic characterisation that reminded us that Puck is not necessariy a benevolent character. Bottom's ass's head was straight out of Donnie Darko and for once had an unsettling rather than simply funny effect: you could understand why the Mechanicals made a run for it. It is the humour that really makes this production. The hilarity of the knee-shuffling self-degradation of Lysander and Demtrius (Steven Cheriton), drugged into love for Helena was tempered only by bewildered hurt of both Helena and Hermia. The highlight of the whole was the Mechanicals. As Flute, Paul Harnett has a range of facial expressions designed for comedy. Robert Pegge is excellent value as Bottom and Steve Jesson is whimsically silly as the "courteous moon" who is ever-anxious to wax lyrical ("Wooo!") while Snug's surprisingly kittenish Lion (Miriam Babooram) was great fun and a delight to watch. Glenn Lloyd (Snout) got it just right as the hilariously sullen Wall but, right at the last, the show was stolen, by Flute's Thisbe and her near-fatal attempts to rouse her dead lover, Pyramus (Bottom). Never has falsetto rung so true. Go and see this show - an excellent evening awaits.
The Church of England and the First World War by Alan Wilkinson The long overdue re-publication of an essential volume
I first came across Wilkinson’s The Church of England and the First World War, in its 1978 edition, while research my First World War-set novel, And I Shall Be Healed. Since then I have read many articles on the subject of Anglican religion and the First World War and it is notable that most, if not all, of them cite Wilkinson’s book. It is, quite simply, almost unique in its scope; certainly, I am not aware of another book that covers this subject quite so comprehensively and its republication now, in Centenary year, is timely if not overdue. The book is divided into twelve chapters, each covering one aspect of the Church’s experience of the Great War from the declaration of war on 4 August 1914, and the weeks and months leading up to that moment, to the responsibility of Remembrance following the Armistice in 1918. This is no apologia for the established Church, however. Wilkinson is notably critical of some aspects of her conduct throughout the conflict and looks askance at the Church’s attempt to re-engage the British nation through the ultimately doomed National Mission of Repentance and Hope in 1916. One of the strength s of the book is its focus on the Church at home. Wilkinson gives a comprehensive account of the treatment meted out to Conscientious Objectors and the very real dilemma faced by clergymen young enough to serve but exempted by their calling from doing so. Much space is given, too, to the uncomfortable position of those churchmen whose own pacifism was at odds with the Church’s support of the war. Against these difficulties and internal conflicts, Wilkinson gives a vivid impression of just how vital the role of the Church at home was; not only in terms of practical and emotional support for anxious and bereaved relatives of those fighting but also, through the number of clergymen who enlisted as chaplains, in providing a link between home and the front. There is no attempt to gloss over the criticism that the Church attracted or the sense held in some quarters that the war was an opportunity upon which the Church failed to capitalise. The truth was, Wilkinson argues, that the chaplains were unprepared for war and found the men they were there to serve inaccessible. Chapter 6, however, ameliorates the picture somewhat in providing the read with an excellent series of vignettes of clergymen who served as army chaplains to some distinction. Inevitably G. A Studdert Kennedy (the eponymous Woodbine Willie) gets top billing but deservedly so; his reported reflections on the war gives a real insight into the challenges chaplains faced that went well beyond the physical. What this book offers is a well written, comprehensive account of the Church of England in war with all the complexities, contradictions and ambiguities that that entailed. Its value is in the sense it gives of the continuity of the role of the Church, as naive and unprepared as it often was, throughout the war and beyond. While it provides good commentary on the work of army chaplains and religion within the military context, its chief strength is that it leaves the reader with the notion of the Church of England as a living organism that continues even as the war ends, changed, embattled but still a relevant part of a changed and embattled society. For church historians, this volume presents the war was a watershed for the life of the Church and perhaps even Western Christianity as a whole; a destructive moment which also stimulated both ecumenicalism and internationalism and lead, in due course, to the recognition of the Free Churches. Wilkinson ends with the startling suggestion that our continued pre-occupation with the Great War suggests that our work of remembrance is not yet complete. A point worth as much consideration in this, the centenary of the beginning of the First World War as it was in 1978. The Church of England and the First World War is an excellent work that is impressive in both its broad reach and in its abundance of primary source material. Its engaging tone makes it readable as well as informative and as such it is an essential addition to the bookshelf – or e-reader – of every social historian of twentieth century religion and conflict.
The Church of England and the First World War by Alan Wilkinson, paperback 392 pages. Also available in e-formats. Publisher: Lutterworth Press (published 14 February 2014) Paperback: ISBN: 9780718893217