The Lives of Stella Bain – Anita Shreve

We’ll be submerged in it. Just when we will think it’ll be safe to come up for air they’ll hit us with another fictional or factual offering on the unpleasant, inhumane events that happened one hundred years ago – as if we haven’t enough of those in our present-day. I’ve no doubt this’ll continue right up till the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, 2018 – and possibly beyond. As far as this scribe is concerned, it was all done and dusted so long ago. And yes, the Aussies involved were heroic in proving their mettle in combat – but please, let us move on. As for it seeing our nation ‘coming of age’, that is just so much piffle. That occurred fourteen years previously. If you want a battle to mark it, look, as Paul Keating did, to Kokoda. He had it right. At least then we were defending home soil and not fighting somebody else’s war. For me, the ‘One Day of the Year’ is more than enough ‘celebration’. Tasmania’s late, esteemed governor certainly had the role of that right too.

So, for four long years, on our small screens and in the print media, we will be subjected to it. Most of it will be patriotic, possibly jingoistic mush – such as the ABC’s current ‘Anzac Girls’. I watched the first episode. It was indeed sudsy slush. Maybe some of the other offerings will be more worthy – but I think Peter Weir’s ‘Gallipoli’ says all that needs to be said and will never be bettered, so they’ll probably pass me by.

A print tale on the events is Anita Shreve’s ‘The Lives of Stella Bain’. I read Ms Shreve as a matter of course. She is a versatile and normally engrossing writer – if a tad uneven. As a take on what it was like to deal with the shattered results of the insanity that was trench warfare, this view of it leaves the aforementioned production in its wake. That being said, I still found the first half of the tome, concerning Stella Bain’s (not our heroine’s real name) convoluted war service a slog, to tell the honest to goodness So this is not Anita S’s finest effort, but it did become more palatable as we moved to the post-war period of her story.

stella bain

In the latter part there was a court battle over the custody of her children. Then she faces a return to Britain to confront a number of issues that will not go away and we then move into Hollywood territory. These later stages I zoomed through – it became quite compulsive reading. It told us much about the attitudes of the age about the place of the fairer gender in society and under the law. It tells of of the treatment of the often shells of combatants who did not come back from the great conflict unscathed in body or mind, as well as giving an insight into the early gestation of the study of mental disease.

Little did she know it, but Stella and her ilk were at the forefront of the transition into equality for her sex. Because of her pluck she was placed on something approximating the same footing in so many ways as the male of the species. Her admirable resilience in fighting against the absurd legal mores of the times only serves to remind that this battle still needs to be won.

As the novel ends, Stella and her hubby sit down to work out how long it will be into the future before ‘…the last soldier of the Great War is dead?’ They figure it out pretty well. I remember the Anzac Days of my youth when a bevy of these survivors marched at the head of the parade. Later on, we saw them struggling to wave from cars – and then they were gone. Now that process is repeating with the veterans from the second conflict. My own father participated in that, but sadly has long departed. In both wars tremendous courage abounded with the call to arms. But the realisation soon came about the true nature of killing your fellow man. Now, sadly, this week, here we go again. We have a prime minister seemingly itching to commit young Australian men and women to another messy and probably unwinnable war in a foreign land. When will we ever learn?

anita

The author’s website = http://www.anitashreve.com/

Tiger

I love Tiger. I am her doting grandfather. I freely admit I am besotted by the little mite, my daughter’s daughter. Her spirit, her brave-heartedness and her charm combine to ensure she is just simply adored by this old man. Of course Tiger is not her given name – and I have written before of the reasons our Tessa has been given that sobriquet – the appellation most now know her by. But this piece is not about her. It concerns another Tiger, one I delved back into the historical ether to discover more about. What I found was a remarkable woman – remarkable even when measured against the mores of any time, let alone the turbulent period she lived through. To meet her we need to travel back to when the Borgias were casting their spell over the Italian peninsula.

And, essentially, that’s where I first encountered this tigress, on the eponymous television series. It starred an actor I never tire of watching, Jeremy Irons. It ran for three series, but needed another to fully tell its tale. But a fourth instalment was not meant to be. In the telling we meet Pope Alexander VI (Rodrigo Borgia – Irons’ role), his son Cesare (François Arnaud) and daughter, the notorious Lucrezia (Holliday Grainger) – she comes off better in the show than she does in history. As well it features such notables of the time as Savonarola and Machiavelli. We also meet the amazing Caterina Sforza.

Born into wealthy Milanese nobility, but illegitimately so, in 1463, Caterina was nonetheless a welcome member of the Sforza family court through her childhood. She was educated, as was usual for the times, as per the boys of noble lineage. In other words, she had the classics, but was also taught the art of warfare and the skills required to govern. She also displayed her customary brave-heartedness from the get go. By her tenth year she was already wedded – although the marriage could not be consummated until she attained the age of consent, fourteen. Hubby number one – she had three – was reportedly the bastard son of Pope Sixtus IV. None of this celibacy nonsense in the Church of Rome back then that goes on today. Then they lustily got their rocks off with impunity and everybody was presumably happy – how much better off we’d be if that was the case in modern times. But I digress.

Marriage, of course, back then, was arranged amongst the upper classes for political or monetary gain. Soon after her vows became legal, Caterina did what was expected of her and she started producing offspring. The new mother and husband (Giralomo Riario) moved to the Eternal City and they soon found themselves at the centre of courtly proceedings and intrigue. Giralomo gave Caterina a stiff talking to and told her to keep her nose out of the men’s business, but she couldn’t help herself – still in her teens she became heartily embroiled.

All contemporary accounts remark on her allure as an extroverted and socially adventurous young woman. All were in thrall of her grace and beauty. Observe her portrait – was she not a Botticellian beauty? In fact, the artist used her likeness in a number of his works.

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What first struck me, watching ‘The Borgias’, was the fact that this Renaissance femme fatale was played by an actress I am very partial to – Gina McKee – lately also seen on our small screens in ‘Secret State’. That started me wondering about the feisty, downright ballsy woman she portrayed. Was she historically accurate? From what I discovered, certainly the show’s writers played around with the facts somewhat, but history tells us she was every bit as courageous as the small screen saga would indicate. She could fight like a man, wore armour and would only take a backward step when she had absolutely no wriggle room. She was the amazing Amazon woman of her era.

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Girolomo died prematurely, resulting in Caterina finding herself, through a combination of events too byzantine to go into here, in charge of the city state of Forli. It was small fry compared to powerful Venice, Milan, Florence and the Papal lands, but its location was strategic, so she became quite a central player in the charged world of Italian politics. The states squabbled, alliances were made and unmade, France invaded several times and Ms Sforza was up to her neck in it all. She personally took charge of the training of her army and it was during a spat with the Orsis family, who figured they had some claim to Forli, that her moment of infamy arose. Through another Machiavellian series of happenings, the Orsis lot had managed to take her children as hostage – the television series twists the story here somewhat. The youngsters were lined up in front of her battlements and were threatened with death if she did not surrender. When their supposed demise was imminent, Caterina hitched up her skirts, stood high afore all, pointed to her exposed genitalia and declared to the besieging forces –
‘Ho con me lo stampo per farne degli altri.’ – (‘I have the mold to make more.’)
Her enemy’s callous plot came immediately unstuck. She had successfully called their bluff and in the end she had the last laugh. Her kiddies duly survived, but Caterina’s vengeance on the Orsis clan was quite severe. She felt it was a strong enough message to put off any future threat to her dominion – but not so. In 1495 the thirty-two year old lost her beloved second husband (Giacoma Feo – a nasty piece of work by all accounts) in another attempt by her detractors to usurp her position. When it failed she pulled out all stops – slaughtering all whom she suspected – torturing them before execution – and that went for their wives and children as well. Torture them – exterminate them.

Life had given her a cruel streak and as a result she was never loved by the general populace – but she was totally respected.

By the end of the Fifteenth Century she had earnt the enmity of the Venetians, as well as the Borgias in their Papal palace. It was the ability of her self trained militia to defeat the former on the battlefield that she became known, throughout the length and breadth of the land, as ‘Il Tigre‘ – ‘The Tiger’ It couldn’t last though. Her little patch was invaded by Cesare Borgia and eventually she had to lower her ramparts to him – in more ways than one if the television take is to be believed. She was captured, but her bravery in standing up to her foes (by this time the French were also in the mix) was admired by all. As a result she didn’t suffer the ultimate price, but was allowed to retreat into a form of banishment with her children. She stayed under the radar for a while in Florence until, such was the labyrinthine nature of the times, the climate became suitable for a return to Forli. Unfortunately for our heroine the populace declared they would rise up in revolt if this occurred. They’d had more than enough of Il Tigre, so her plans were shelved. She saw out the remainder of her days quietly. In 1509 ‘The Tiger of Forli’ succumbed to pneumonia.

borgias

As for the representation of this Renaissance tale in ‘The Borgias’ itself? Well, it wasn’t a bad way to pass some time, for one is soon wrapped up in the Italianate intrigue presented. Season One lost me in places, but the remaining two were more accessible. Probably the damage had been done in the opening round and the story of the family, synonymous with putting power before anything else, didn’t have a final chapter. It would have been interesting to see how it all panned out, although it’s all revealed in Wikipedia. But through it I discovered a woman for the ages with a hell of a story – one who truly deserved the title worn by my own granddaughter – Tiger

Caterina in Art01= http://yelenacasale.blogspot.com.au/2013/11/friday-art-history-feature-caterina.html

Caterina in Art02= https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWgONBQrA8c

Sam de Brito and Fathers Day

As weekends go, it was a ripper. A northern weekend – back up in the family homelands. Yes, it was a weekend all about family.

It commenced with my teaching family, on Friday eve. To Somerset I journeyed. It was the retirement function of a colleague who’d graced the classrooms of Cape Country – of Wynyard and Yolla. It was magic being amongst people I love and respect – those who have in the past enhanced my life, joined with those who continue to do so. And they so enhance the lives of those young people who are fortunate enough to come under their care on a daily basis.

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Then there was Saturday and it was all about my mate, Little Ford Man. He was celebrating his second year on the planet and my, did he celebrate! Sundry Lovells. Newlings, Kleins, Maskells, and Gordons turned up for the event, as well as an assortment of friends old and new. We were there to share in the delight of Brynner Newling’s dinosaur party. Our Sheffield hostess, Ilsa, together with the weather gods conspired to produce the perfect spring day and the little people went for it. They threw themselves into that freedom permitted to their age – that of being able to spread their wings on amassed mini-vehicles, as well as to gorging themselves on jellybean dino-droppings and other carefully planned and constructed fare. The green dinosaur cake was a humdinger – and Victor the goat observed from a respectable distance and approved of all he surveyed.

SONY DSC

Sunday dawned with, as befits Fathers Day, wonderful messages in print, picture and voice that made me feel special. My son caught three flathead to mark the day and my daughter shared images of the place she loves – her in-law’s bucolic Aberdeen haven.

And later that day I read Sam de Brito. One of his Age columns was a paean to the first Sunday in September. Recently I have accused him of being jaded and curmudgeonly, but in ‘The Sound of ‘Daddy’ he lovingly encapsulates all that fatherhood is about – the feeling that I had/have for my Katie and Rich – even if they’re twenty-five years or so older that his precious, adored little mite. My two – by the people they are, by what they’ve been through and come out the other side of, as well as because of the terrific souls they’ve chosen to partner them in life – make it so easy to give them my unconditional love.

And then there’s Tessa Tiger – so I get what Sam has all over again. Using his words, Tiges is ‘…such a kind, smart, funny, fierce, beautiful and brave little person.’ The best bit is that I’ll always be her Poppy. And, boy, did she enjoy the dinosaur party. She milked it for every ounce of adventuring. With her and her ‘cousin’, Little Ford Man, my life is complete.

Read Sam’s column attached and you will no doubt react as I did. He so gets it. His piece, like my weekend, is a ripper.

Oh! And did I mention it? The mighty Hawks won too.

Sam de Brito’s Fathers Day column = http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/sam-de-brito-20140902-3erak.html

Gaining Control

‘It’s not a bad version of it, this one by Van,’ I thought as I drove into the Hobart city that blustery autumn day. Driving is not my favourite occupation as my mind tends to wander. At least having music on keeps me focused – to a degree. I was soon to leave the woman I loved for six weeks – enjoyable weeks, but nonetheless I knew I’d miss her very much. So with Van’s assistance there was a tinge of melancholy in my automobile that day. The car I treated myself to on retirement was in fact the first I’d owned that came with a CD player – all previous one’s had had redundant cassette affairs. Van Morrison’s oeuvre always features prominently on them, as well as on their up-market replacement.

Check out his version by all means on YouTube – but for my money nothing beats the original by its singer/songwriter author.

I first encountered this songsmith when I found his CD in a remainder bin years and years ago, at around the beginning of the nineties methinks. I examined it closely and purchased. When I had it home and slotted into my music machine, it certainly was a revelation – and I’ve been hooked on him ever since. I have now a dozen or so of his albums, including his latest, ‘Tarpaper Sky’. He also won an Emmy last year for his team-up with Emmylou Harris on ‘Old Yellow Moon’. This original album, though, was simply called ‘Collection’ – it was mainly stuff written by him for other people as he was yet to make a name for himself as a singer in his own right – that was to come later. It had such great tunes on it as ‘Ashes by Now’, ‘Stars on the Water’, ‘Shame on the Moon’, ‘Victim or a Fool’ and ‘Leaving Louisiana in the Broad Daylight’. Hits they all were – but for others. It wasn’t until 1988 that he captured pay-dirt for himself with his ‘Diamonds and Dirt’ offering.

crowell

For me the stand-out track on ‘Collection’ was the one Van the Man was wrapping his tonsils around as I hit the Brooker during that morning drive – ‘Till I Gain Control Again’. This plaintive classic first saw the light of day on sweet Emmlou’s album, ‘Elite Hotel’, in 1975. It was soon after this that the songstress invited its writer, Rodney Crowell, to join her touring band as a guitarist – his start as a performer. He soon displayed proficiency as her back-up crooner as well. He then diversified into production – and this bought him into close proximity with country music royalty. He was hired to do the honours for Rosanne Cash’s debut (‘Right or Wrong’, 1974) – and we all know who her old man was. Producer and singer fell in love and were soon living together – much to the Man in Black’s disgust. They’d upset his Christian sensibilities. Young Rodney knew Cash senior’s views on pre-marital sex, but when he (after gaining an ample amount of Dutch courage on the flight down) joined Rosanne’s family on a Caribbean holiday and decided to take umbrage on John’s pronouncement that they were to have separate sleeping arrangement, he was soon cut down. ‘Son, I don’t know you well enough to miss you when you’re gone.’ was the great one’s pity response and the young buck pulled his horns in. Cash soon saw his qualities, musical and otherwise, so they became great mates – a relationship that lasted even after he and Rosanne split in 1991. The subsequent divorce is examined in his ‘Life is Messy’ release. Three daughters were the result of the marriage, but these days Crowell is hitched to another songbird in Claudia Church. As an addendum, one of his best tracts this century is an upbeat duet with the great Johnny Cash, ‘I Walk the Line (Revisited)’. Take to YouTube once more – it’s wonderful.

crowell and cash

But back to the song that is the point of this exercise. It is now regarded as a country classic, with a veritable who’s who having placed their own take on the record for our ears since its gestation. I adore it. It contains some lovely couplets. There’s this –

‘You know I love to spend the morning time
Like sunlight dancing on your skin’

or

‘There is nothing I can hide from you
You see me better than I can’

or, because I’m male after all –

‘Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin’

culminating with –

I only hope that you can hold me now
Till I gain control again’

It’s marvellous stuff – a true heartfelt country lament. In its words one can perceive the influence of Crowell’s tunesmith heroes – the incomparable Guy Clark and Townes van Zandt. He is quoted as saying that from the former he attained ‘…a real cold splash of what songwriting is about.’ With that knowledge he has produced songs for the ages, nonetheless of which is Keith Urban’s chart topper ‘Making Memories of Us’, originally composed as a Valentine’s Day gift for wife Claudia

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It took me years till I personally felt I was in control again. It wasn’t until beautiful Leigh came into my world that I truly felt that. I have her to thank – but during that journey Rodney Crowell’s music was with me through the troughs and highs of getting to this contented point. May he keep on producing songs to live a life by.

Van Morrison singing ‘Till I Gain Control Again’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaVEKpGQkNw&feature=kp

Rodney Crowell singing ‘Till I Gain Control Again’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7i83gaDmyg

Rodney Crowell and Johnny Cash singing ‘I Walk the Line (Revisited)’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjbqMy3g46E

Keith Urban singing ‘Making memories of Us’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSgL01PuAjc

Rodney Crowell’s website = http://rodneycrowell.com/

Scandi-Connections

Scandi-connections enhance my world.

Winter, 1981. It was a real winter in this other hemisphere, but still one on the cusp of spring, when an euro-train took me to Copenhagen. I remember only a tad of that time, but I recall being very surprised at just how tiny the Little Mermaid actually is. I know there was a journey to a gallery devoted to Picasso and I recall the breakfasts at my hotel – the best of that European odyssey. I remember I had the first taste of sunshine in the Danish capital for many a week and dispensed myself of layers – big mistake in those far northern latitudes. The sunshine was short-lived and I was soon regretting my climatic stupidity. But that is all I can remember of my only venture into Scandinavia.

One and a half decades later I reached out for a salve to a mixed up life and found Merete. She became the first of a collection of pen-friends. She remains in my life to this day. Before my lovely Leigh, she and her letter-writing colleagues kept me going trough troubling times. Once I found my beautiful lady closer to home most of my correspondents dropped off – but not Merete. Eventually she too found a partner for life – but even then did not dispense with me.

Then, at the turn of the millennium, our island and Merete’s homeland became interwoven when a Tassie girl found a Danish prince. On a day perhaps not too distant from this one, a Hobart beauty will become Queen of the Danes, Queen of my Merete. She will charm the world anew.

Around the same time as Danish royalty was meeting a Taroona lass, there came a literary invasion to rival that of Harry Potter. ‘The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo’ intrigued her way into our lives, a precursor to the world’s love affair with ‘Scandi-noir’. Much followed in the acclaimed trilogy’s wake as the books morphed into movies and the Scandinavians started to punch well above their weight in popular culture. On our screens, big and small, as well as in print, those countries just south of the Arctic Circle are giving the world something it cannot get enough of. They say imitation is the highest compliment, but when the rest of us try to emulate their unique product – well, we simply fall well short. We cannot replicate that distinct ‘feel’.Whereas ‘Harry’ largely passed me by, all this snowy, frigid fare has had me hooked too. Out of all its offerings my personal favourites have been ‘Borgen’, ‘The Bridge’ and ‘Lilyhammer’. Can we link those dastardly pillaging and raping ‘The Vikings’ in with all this ‘Scandiness’ too? These lands of ‘the long winter night’ are on to a good thing and long may we be in their thrall as they continue to mesmerise us with it.

So when Jessi Adler Olsen’s ‘The Keeper of Lost Causes’ reared up at my local art house, I trundled off for another dose. The dourness of the lead actor is this film’s hallmark. Wallander’s life history has nothing on this guy. He’s been shot by love and shot by bullet. He manages a whole movie without an upward twitch of the lips – well, maybe perhaps just the merest of hints before the end credits rolled.

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In this there was a touch of ‘The Bridge’ and its glorious pairing of two police sleuths when Ol’ Sad Sack is joined in cold case investigations by Assad, a Muslim (Fares Fares) – one who initially dismally fails to lighten Carl Mørck’s (Nickolaj Lie Kaas) burden, despite his best efforts. I am hoping this film will be the commencement of a franchise – I want to see much more of that miserable bugger Mørck up there on the silver screen.

Keeper

Pretty soon the unlikely duo, operating more by hunch than evidence, are in a race against time to save the bacon of a feisty dame (Sonia Richter) who’s endures years of incarceration in, of all diabolical prisons, a pressure chamber. The cinematic audience goes along with them on a masterful ride of red herrings and derring do. Gradually the iciness from Mørck towards Assad thaws somewhat as the action component ups the ante. Substitute the frozen urban landscapes for the bayou of ‘True Detective’ and you get the feel of this fine thriller. Its great stuff – but then one now expects this from the these nations fringing the North Sea and Baltic. It is as ‘…superbly gripping…’ as its pre-publicity blurbs laud so, if subtitles do not faze you, ‘The Keeper of Lost Causes’ beats most Hollywood offerings of the same ilk hands down.

 

Official trailer for the ‘Keeper of Lost Causes’ = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mBi0cRnaVM