Brunelleschi's Dome

Brunelleschi's Dome: How a Renaissance Genius Reinvented Architecture by Ross King, 167 pages

At the end of the 13th century, the Florentines decided that they required a new cathedral, as much to celebrate the city's growing prosperity as to replace the crumbling Santa Reparata.  An ambitious plan was approved, but progress was slow, and it was not until the beginning of the 15th century that preparations began for the construction of what would be the largest masonry dome ever constructed.  Filippo Brunelleschi's innovative proposal for the dome construction was ultimately selected over several more conventional plans, including one by Lorenzo Ghiberti.  The dome was completed sixteen years later and remains an iconic symbol of one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

The story of this construction, through two decades of war, plague, and civil strife, is the subject of Ross King's book.  It is a promising subject indeed - a great construction project during one of the most colorful and fertile periods in human history, a contest of human ingenuity and the feuding wills of great artists and their patrons.  Unfortunately, King's book is deadly dull.  Working with incomplete historical and biographical records, he constructs his own account of events, asserting that a figure "must have" done this, or "seems to have" done that.  He plays equally fast and loose with history (at one point he flatly declares that the technique of perspective was "lost", then shortly thereafter says it was abandoned as "dishonest") and even basic facts (he asserts that other than Brunelleschi, the "only other person interred inside the cathedral was St Zenobius", which seems to be simply untrue).  Worse than all this, he seems to regard only the technical challenges of construction to be worth writing about, resulting in a book that contains nothing of beauty, nothing of poetry, and precious little of mind or spirit.

Fascism in Spain

Fascism in Spain: 1923-1977 by Stanley G Payne, 479 pages

The rise of fascism in Europe in the 1920s and '30s had their impact on the political landscape of Spain.  Far-right activists, seeking a way forward in the crisis of the interwar years, naturally found attractive the path shown to them by Mussolini in Italy, a nation with a history and culture so intimately connected with that of Spain.  Various leaders alternately embraced and rejected the fascist label, incorporated elements of fascist ideology into their own thinking, sought assistance from the fascist powers, or adapted fascist symbols and slogans to a Spanish context.

However, as Stanley Payne demonstrates in his landmark history of Spanish fascism, fascism was never comprehensively adopted by the Spanish far right.  Even Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, the founder of the Falange, was ambivalent about many aspects of fascism as it was practiced in Italy and especially in Germany.  Certainly Franco resisted identification with fascism, even in 1940-1 when the Axis seemed on the verge of total victory, effectively neutering the Falange by incorporating it into his new uniparty.  Efforts to strengthen the syndicalist movement within the Franco dictatorship were systematically thwarted.  Payne suggests a number of reasons for this, including the historical regionalism of the Spanish right and the strength of Catholic traditionalism as an alternative to fascism.  

The most important element of Payne's masterful study is not its thoroughness, but its fundamental refusal to treat the study of fascism as something akin to demonology.  Not that Payne is blind to the violent, revolutionary component that is essential to the ideology, but his goal is understanding rather than judgement, and he doesn't feel any need to restate every few pages that comprehension does not mean approval.  The result is a work that allows the reader to see the meaning that fascism had for mass man in the first half of the twentieth century, and therefore its appeal, growth, and failure.

Real Presence

The Real Presence of the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Blessed Eucharist Proved From Scripture in Eight Lectures Delivered in the English College, Rome by Nicholas Cardinal Wiseman, 328 pages

As the full title explains, this is a printed collection of eight lectures which the future Cardinal delivered at the English College in Rome in 1836.  As might be expected by the audience, the lectures are academic in tone and content.  They are also straightforward defenses on Scriptural and philosophical grounds of the Catholic belief in the Real Presence, and there is no devotional spirit to them, nor do they reveal much about their author, who would soon become the first Archbishop of Westminster.  This does not mean that they have no value, but that there is little reason to prefer them to other texts on the same subject.

Life of Robert Southwell

The Life of Robert Southwell, Poet and Martyr by Christopher Devlin, 324 pages

Born into a well-connected family in England in the middle of the sixteenth century, as a teenager Robert Southwell, possibly under the influence of recusant relations, converted to Catholicism and departed to the Continent where he could practice his faith freely, beyond the reach of Protestant persecution.  Attracted, like many devout young men of the time, to the Society of Jesus, he entered the Jesuits after an initial rejection and became first a student and later a professor at the English College in Rome.  He left behind this position to become a missionary in his homeland, where he managed to minister to the Catholic community for several years before finally being cornered, captured, tortured, and executed.  Southwell's poetry, much of it written while in hiding, would serve as an inspiration to Shakespeare, Jonson, Donne, and Hopkins, among others, while his holy life and martyrdom led to his canonization in 1970, 14 years after this biography was published.

In the author's note that begins this biography, Christopher Devlin connects Southwell with St Edmund Campion, the illustrious Jesuit scholar and martyr of the preceding generation, and refers readers to the "brilliant study" of Campion by Evelyn Waugh.  Just as Southwell lived happily in the shadow of Campion, so Devlin writes in the shadow of Waugh.  While Devlin cannot match Waugh's literary genius, he compensates with thorough scholarship, something sorely needed when the historical record is so fragmentary.  

Boyne Water

The Boyne Water: The Battle of the Boyne, 1690 by Peter Berresford Ellis, 152 pages

In 1690, the deposed Catholic King of England, Scotland, and Ireland, James II, backed by France's Louis XIV, seized control of Ireland and attempted to use it as a stepping stone to reclaim his throne from his Protestant son-in-law, William of Orange.  William landed his primarily English and Dutch troops in northern Ireland, and James resolved to use his largely Irish and French army to block William's advance on Dublin at the river Boyne.  The battle was brief, James' forces were routed, and James himself made the defeat seem decisive by returning to France rather than attempting to carry on the fight in Ireland, where his supporters would continue to resist until the Battle of Aughrim the following year.  By the 19th century, the anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne became the occasion for annual celebrations by Irish Protestants, and the Battle itself became understood as one of the turning points of Irish history.

According to Peter Berresford Ellis, this is all very exaggerated.  In the context of the Williamite Wars, he argues, it is Aughrim which was the final, decisive defeat, but even more importantly he sees the Jacobite cause as alien to Ireland itself.  Ellis contends that while James was able to rouse the Irish Catholics to his side, his restoration would have had little effect on the course of Irish history.  Indeed, insofar as the struggle was a personal one between rival claimants to the throne, Ellis' sympathy is entirely with William, who conducted his campaign in Ireland with dash and daring, in stark contrast to James, who proved timid and uncertain.

It is precisely in his portrayal of the individuals involved in the battle that Ellis is at his best, presenting an array of memorable characters, from William's grizzled, grumpy general the Duke of Schomberg to the bold cavalier, James' bastard son the Duke of Berwick.  As a result, the narrative of the battle proves highly interesting despite the author's claims that it was not tremendously historically significant.

Mornings in Florence

Mornings in Florence, Being Simple Studies of Christian Art for English Travellers by John Ruskin, 115 pages

Mornings in Florence takes the form of a guidebook, wherein the reader is instructed how to profitably spend six successive mornings in Florence examining the art and architecture of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance.  It is a book written in open contempt for the guidebooks of Ruskin's day, and it is undoubted that he would have been no more impressed by Mr Steves in our day than he was by Mr Murray in his own.  Moving back and forth between Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce, and the Duomo, the purpose here is less to tell the reader what he should see as how he should see.  And this is a gift that extends to much more than the appreciation of Cimabue and Giotto and Botticelli, great as they are: "Easy or not, it is all the sight required of you in this world - to see things, and men, and yourself - as they are."

Ruskin is able to see things as they are, not because of his excellent education or refined sensibility or even because he was an incredible snob, but because he was not a materialist, not even unconsciously.  Whatever the truths or errors of his personal metaphysics, Ruskin was able to hear that "higher wisdom, governing by her presence, all earthly conduct, and by her teaching, all earthly art, Florence tells you, she obtained only by prayer."

Stoner

Stoner by John Williams, 278 pages

When William Stoner left his parents' small farm to attend the University of Missouri, he never expected that he would be spending the rest of his life there.  By chance he discovers in Archer Sloane's English course a love of literature and poetry he had never known he possessed.  It is a love that remains with him all his life, through disappointments in his career, his romances, his marriage, and his fatherhood.  It is, in the end, the pattern of all his loves, and the one love to which he remains most true.

John Williams, who taught at the same university for a time, is clearly at ease describing familiar places and personalities.  This gives his writing a powerful realism, so that the novel is genuinely moving without being sentimental.  The flap of the first edition describes Stoner as "a man who is clearly out of keeping with his times," and if the lackluster sales of the book upon its publication bear this out, its subsequent rediscovery suggests that Stoner, like Sloane before him, is of a type that exists in all times.

Notes on the Lord's Prayer

Notes on the Lord's Prayer by Raissa Maritain, 122 pages

Assembled posthumously from notes left by the author for a work that was never completed, Notes on the Lord's Prayer is a commentary on the seven petitions of the Paternoster as recorded by St Matthew: Hallowed be thy name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, Give us this day our daily bread, Forgive us our trespasses, Lead us not into temptation, and Deliver us from evil.

In his foreword, Thomas Merton laments the modern division between "spirituality" and "theology", recommending this book as a corrective.  This should provide a suggestion of the depth of thought as well as feeling, of sense as well as sensibility, present in this meditation, designed not only as a pious exercise but also as an exploration of the divine mysteries.

Cardinal Manning

Cardinal Manning: A Biography by Robert Gray, 327 pages

Henry Manning did not set out to become a clergyman.  Financial pressures forced him away from a promising future in law and politics into a clerical career in the Church of England.  He did not set out to become a Catholic.  A long process led him from his upbringing in the heart of Evangelical piety into a more grounded, apostolic faith, and only a genuine crisis of conscience drove him out of Anglicanism.  Having become Catholic, however, and a Catholic priest, he did set out to take a leading position in the Catholic Church in England.  Conscious of his own considerable gifts, he was not reluctant to use them to guide the Church and society in the direction he thought best.

In his own time, Manning was highly esteemed.  Although his conversion cost him many of those dazzling friendships he had made in his youth, his tireless efforts for the working classes of England won for him an admiration far broader and no less genuine.  This was enhanced by his emaciated appearance, which seemed to be a visible record of long decades of prayer and fasting - Chesterton recalled seeing him in his cardinalatial robes looking like "a ghost clad in flames."  Subsequent generations were not so kind.  Comfortable secular scoffers had Lytton Strachey's infamous hackiograpy, which depicted Manning as an ambitious hypocrite.  Among Catholics, Manning's troubled relationship with St John Henry Newman caused his reputation to decline even as that of Newman grew.

Robert Gray's biography, then, is an important recovery.  For Gray's even-handed account of Manning's life, thought, and work reveals a man who was, indeed, ambitious and driven, yet fully aware of these tendencies in himself and determined to fight against them and, where possible, bend them towards good.  In the end, the reader is likely to echo the sentiment of the author, "if Henry Manning is not saved seventy times seven times, God help the rest of us."

Field of Cloth of Gold

The Field of Cloth of Gold: Men and Manners in 1520 by Joycelyne Gledhill Russell, 190 pages

In 1520, the King of England, Henry VIII, met with the King of France, Francis I, upon a field in northern France not far from Calais.  On one level, the meeting was part of Cardinal Wolsey's triangulation strategy, positioning England as the difference maker in the struggle between France and Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain.  On another, it was an opportunity for displays of royal magnificence by both princes, and feats of courage and skill during the days of tournaments that amused the two courts.  In the end, little of lasting value was accomplished, and the event serves in many ways as a brilliant coda to medieval Christendom before the horrors of the Reformation.

Russell's book is an exhaustive academic study of this legendary gathering.  As such, the casual reader is likely to find it exhausting.  Still, there is much of value and interest here, not only to the antiquarian, but also to those attempting to better understand a moment and period out of which the modern world was birthed.

Hell or Connaught!

Hell or Connaught!: The Cromwellian Colonisation of Ireland 1652-1660 by Peter Berresford Ellis, 252 pages

Catholic Ireland revolted against the Protestant rule of Charles I in 1641.  By 1644 the Irish were supporting the King against Parliament, and after the execution of the King in 1649 the Roundhead army arrived in Ireland to end resistance by fire and sword and, most deadly of all, starvation.  Hundreds of thousands of Irish, perhaps as much as a quarter of the population, perished and thousands more were enslaved and transported to the New World.  In Ireland itself, the decision was made to isolate the native Catholic population in the province of Connaught, the northwestern quarter of the island, with the lands thus depopulated to be given as pay for the Commonwealth soldiery and the London investors who backed the campaign.

The story of this decision, the effort made trying to put it into effect, and the pain it engendered are the primary themes of Ellis' history of the period.  There are other important narratives here, too, including the impact of land speculation, the religious sectarian divides among the colonists, the internal politics of the Commonwealth, ultimately resulting in its end, and the disappointments of the Restoration.  Ellis tells these stories, and more, including the long running personal feud over the survey of Ireland, in a straightforward manner that nevertheless manages to incorporate primary sources and contemporary poetry to provide a complete picture of a crucial moment in Irish history.

Leonie Martin

Leonie Martin: A Difficult Life by Marie Baudouin-Croix, translated by Mary Frances Mooney, 157 pages

Leonie was born in 1863 to Ss Louis and Zelie Martin, the third of their six children, all daughters, who survived into adulthood.  All six eventually became nuns, with five joining the Carmelite monastery at Lisieux.  Leonie alone entered the Visitandine order at Caen, finally persevering on her third attempt.  Then again, Leonie had always been the difficult one, a sickly child, struggling with disobedience at home and failing in her studies at school, a trial and a worry to the mother who died when she was 14.  How she overcame these shortcomings, not alone but through the grace of God and her saintly intercessors, is the great theme of this short book.

Although Leonie Martin has not been canonized, Marie Baudouin-Croix's biography is unmistakably a hagiography.  It elides difficult, complex issues, notably the mental illness that afflicted Louis Martin in his later days, simplifying them into hardships to be overcome with the holy serenity of faith.  The problems this presents are more than compensated for by the author's evident understanding of, and sympathy with, the religion and religious life of the Martin family.  This is undoubtedly her story as Leonie herself would have liked it told.

Emperor of Japan

Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852-1912 by Donald Keene, 723 pages

When the 122nd Emperor of Japan ascended the Chrysanthemum throne in 1867 at the age of 14, no Japanese emperor had exercised real power for nearly seven centuries.  A year later, the last shogun resigned his position and the man who would be known as Meiji became the actual as well as symbolic ruler of Japan.  The country was dominated by a feudal aristocracy, educated according to Confucian principles, and threatened by the greed of the Western powers.  When Meiji died 45 years later, Japan had rapidly Westernized, adopted a parliamentary system, defeated China and Russia in successive wars, annexed Korea, and established itself as a major power on the global stage.  It had, however, lost something which is less tangible.

It is unclear how much influence the Meiji emperor actually exercised over the seismic changes that occurred in Japanese culture and politics during his reign.  Indeed, it is difficult to say much of anything about the personality of the emperor, given the reverential protectiveness of all those in a position to know him.  The few candid accounts of the man were provided by foreign dignitaries whose access was necessarily limited.  Understandably, then, Donald Keene's biography is as much a portrait of the era as of the emperor who gave the era its name, although discerning readers may sense the spirit of the man moving throughout.  Keene himself seems devoted to the fashionable cult of "progress", but his devotion does not become fanaticism, indeed, some of the most memorable passages concern Ulysses Grant's role in the preservation of No drama and the European derision of Western-style dance halls in Tokyo.  The result is a compelling, rich tale of an era of momentous change, both for better and for worse, told through the refracted image of the man who was its symbol.

Leopard

The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, translated by Archibald Colquhoun, 320 pages

Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salinas, would be perfectly content ruling over his large family, amusing himself with his mistress, indulging in his passion for astronomy, playing with his dog, and watching over his hereditary estates with benevolent indifference.  Unfortunately for him, history has other plans, as Garibaldi's revolutionaries lay siege to Palermo, with Fabrizio's own nephew, the dashing Tancredi, joining them in their effort to overthrow the monarchy.  Even in the security of his country estate at Donnafugata, the prince has to reckon with his eldest daughter Concetta's love for Tancredi and his nephew's growing affection for the bourgeois beauty Angelica.

The Leopard is a masterpiece.  It is not a dramatic novel - most of the major external conflicts are resolved without struggle or comment.  The real drama is social, historical, psychological, and, in the end, metaphysical.  Despite the sentimentality of its characters, it is a remarkably unsentimental work.  There is much to attract us in the passing world of the Sicilian nobility, but the novel does not romanticize them.  CS Lewis famously remarked that there is no "magic about the past.  People were no cleverer then than they are now; they made as many mistakes as we.  But not the same mistakes.  They will not flatter us in the errors we are already committing; and their own errors, being now open and palpable, will not endanger us."  So it is with The Leopard - the novel unfolds for the reader a universe of values which overlaps but significantly diverges from those of liberal modernity and allows him to judge between them.