My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Historical fiction meets contemporary romance in this tale of two glassblowers. Leonora Manin, an artist with some skill in glassblowing, has been reading about her ancestor, the illustrious Venetian glassmaker Corradino Manin (fictional). Now reeling from her recent divorce, she decides to make a new start in Venice, which is also the city of her own birth. Leonora fortuitously lands a job and a new love interest during her very first week as a native Venetian. Author Marina Fiorato spins out her debut novel by juxtaposing, in alternating chapters, the lives of 18th century Corradino and 21st century Leonora. By far the most effective of the two story lines is that of Corradino, who, during the downfall of his wealthy merchant family, is taken in by the master of one of Murano’s best glassworks. He grows to become one of the greatest glass artists of all time, and while this sounds wonderful to modern readers, the Republic closely guarded those artists with an eye to preventing them from selling secret formulas and techniques to other countries. But to save his illegitimate daughter, Corradino is reluctantly drawn into a plot to do just that, by traveling to Paris to create the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Leonora will learn that she is the direct descendant of that girl.
Leonora’s story is far less compelling, and, because it relies so heavily upon coincidence, less than satisfying. In these sections, Ms. Fiorato resorts to extravagant description, perhaps to dress up a somewhat prosaic plot, in which she is fired when a columnist accuses Corradino of treason. The love match between Leonora and Alessandro Bardolino, descendant of another of Venice’s patrician lines, looks like “someone who stepped out of a painting”, quite literally. So for that matter does Leonora; in her case, it’s the famous Primavera. It takes a while to get started, but things do heat up a bit, and avid romance readers are likely to enjoy their tale more than I did.
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post updated 4/26/15
This article was originally posted in 2009, and, in light of the sad news of Mary Keefe’s death this week, at the age of 92, thought it only right to update it today. Ms. Keefe is an American icon, and will always be remembered as Rosie. Not a bad legacy to leave !
One of the famous iconic images from World War II is Norman Rockwell’s poster of Rosie the Riveter. The painting, for which now-79 year old Mary Doyle Keefe posed twice and was paid $10, came to embody the can-do attitude of American women whose work helped win the war. Full story here .
post updated 10/1/09
I’ve been doing natural dyeing for a long time, and was always exasperated about the absence of a good plant source for the color green. Paradoxical, isn’t it? But the green coloration in plants is due to the presence of chlorophyll. In fall, the chlorophyll ceases production and gradually disappears, leaving the leaf’s true color to show. Once, while making a dye with fern fiddleheads, the only plant material available that early spring day, I discovered to my dismay that I’d left my brass kettle at home. Had to make do with the iron one, and had a pleasant surprise. The result was a lovely, soft gray-green.
But fiddleheads are around for just a short time every year. I needed a source available in the summer. Comfrey to the rescue. This plant has many advantages, the primary one being the size and abundance of its leaves. Making comfrey dye is easy: Simmer the leaves, about a grocery bag full, in about a gallon of water for about 1/2 hour, then remove the plant material. Submerge wet, alum mordanted wool into the bath and simmer in an iron container for another 1/2 hour or so. Olive green should be the result.
Using brass, glass, stainless steel containers will not yield the same results; probably a watery yellow will emerge, but who knows? Natural dyeing is more art than science.
Comfrey in New England is a perennial known for its abundant proliferation. Its tiny flowers start to blossom in June, but the flowers aren’t used for dyeing. Medicinally, comfrey has been used to treat bruises, sores, broken bones, hemorrhoids ( there they are again), gout and joint pain. It used to be eaten in salads and tonics but has been found to cause liver damage.
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
History repeats itself at an estate high above the shores of Lake Garda, where a century ago, renowned playwright Galeazzo D’Ascanio wrote a drama, considered to be his masterpiece, expressly for his muse, actress Celia Sands. She disappeared without a trace on the eve of its opening, leaving him broken and bereft, and locals believe that she has haunted the estate ever since. Now his grandson, Alessandro, has endowed the property to a historic trust, and as a final tribute to Galeazzo, he plans to stage the play for the public before relinquishing the villa. For the leading lady, he has engaged a fledgling English actress, another Celia Sands, who with trepidation accepts the role and travels to Italy for rehearsals. At the villa, she is assigned the very same room once occupied by her namesake, whose portrait hangs above the bedstead. Celia’s nervousness about taking on her first starring role is exacerbated by tales about ghostly encounters, and the fact that two household staff members are missing adds to her uneasiness. When some unsettling incidents occur, she tries to chalk them up to imagination.
Season of Storms unfolds at a leisurely pace. It’s clear from the outset that events from the past will be mirrored in the present, so the book relies on characters and the process of staging a play as its center. Character development is uneven, however, and it’s unfortunate that Celia remains a reactor, passive and unsophisticated. Although she will come to feel real fear, the reader never does. Part mystery and part romance, both story lines fall a bit flat in spite of the spectacular Gothic setting in which they play out. What works somewhat better is the gradual reveal around modern Celia’s own family history, which is cleverly plotted and does come as a surprise
Susanna Kearsley’s books have been compared to those of Mary Stewart, which is fair, and I’m also reminded of Daphne DuMaurier (excepting the incomparable Rebecca).
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My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Richard Papen is chronically depressed, a loser in his own eyes. Penniless, he leaves his native California and his dismissive parents for Hampden College in New Hampshire, where he hopes to reinvent himself. Still very much a fish out of water, his knowledge of the language of ancient Greece eventually comes to the attention of the school’s elite, a group of five wealthy students who study all things Greek under the tutelage of distinguished scholar Julian Delgado. To Richard’s astonishment and delight, he’s invited into this exclusive coterie. Soon, as a result of the mythology and philosophy in which the students become immersed, one of the group will die at the hands of his fellows. This is the secret. As narrator, Richard’s job is to guide readers along on the journey that leads to murder and its inevitable tragic aftermath. This is the history.
The Secret History owes much to such classic forerunners as Crime and Punishment, Brideshead Revisited, and Lord of the Flies, as well as the body of Greek Mythology. To the credit of its author, however, this mystery cum coming of age tale is no mere derivative.
This is an accomplished first novel. Yes, it has its problems. The plot, though certainly compelling, is not complex enough to warrant nearly 600 pages, and it drags in places toward the middle. Readers who expect to “like” the characters will probably not like The Secret History; while they each possess a level of intellectual brilliance, morally they are bankrupt. Self-appointed elitists, the totality of their self absorption will ruin them all. Except for Richard, whose self-contempt paralyzes him to the point that he watches their actions as though watching a game or a movie. But Ms. Tartt is spot on in her portrayal of the 1980’s texture of life at a small town college during a snowy winter, well enough to invoke some nostalgia for my own college days. While revealing the secret in the prologue saps the story of suspense, knowing what will happen evokes a strong sense of dread that grows as the plot plays out, rather like watching a snake from a distance when you know it might strike. Rather like we do whenever any heinous act splashes itself across our television screens.
Fascinating work by a talented writer. Can’t believe I didn’t read it earlier.
Whether or not you believe that Richard III is a hero or a villain, it was a great discovery when his bones were discovered under a parking lot at the site of a long-gone medieval church. Having read quite a bit about Richard, I’ve come down on the side of those who believe that his reputation was systematically vilified by the Tudors. The Guardian.com has posted some brilliant photos of scenes from the March 22, 2015 procession to escort the coffin of Richard III from the University of Leicester to Leicester Cathedral, where it is currently on view and will be interred on March 25. This is not an official state ceremony, but one sponsored by the city and the Richard III Society. I believe that Richard deserves a king’s funeral and am pleased to see the pageantry that he was denied. May his remains at long last rest in peace.
Canadian-born carpenter Michael Ibsen, left, the King’s 17th great-grandnephew, places a rose on the oak coffin, which he had the honor to build. Photograph: Suzanne Plunkett/Reuters
Cortege leaves the University. Photograph: Andy Rain/EPA
Members of a re-enactment group await the ceremonial procession at Bosworth Battlefield Heritage Centre in Leicestershire. Photograph: Ben Stansall/AFP/Getty Images
Cadets wheel Richard III’s coffin on to the battefield at Bosworth. Photograph: Eddie Keogh/Reuters
A historical re-enactor of the Plantagenet era plays the drums prior to the battlefield gun salute. Photograph: Andrew Cowie/EPA
Members of the King’s Guard. Photograph: Peter Macdiarmid/Getty Images
Photograph: Andrew Cowie/EPA
White roses, one of Richard’s symbols as a Yorkist, on the bonnet of the hearse carrying Richard III’s coffin as it processes towards Leicester. Photograph: Darren Staples/Reuters
Richard III’s coffin processes on a gun carriage through Leicester on its way to the cathedral. Photograph: Suzanne Plunkett/Reuters
White roses lie at the foot of King Richard III’s statue outside the cathedral . His funeral on Thursday is taking place more than 500 years after his death Photograph: Andy Rain/EPA
Richard III’s coffin is draped in a specially-embroidered pall and adorned with a crown Photograph: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
The crown which sits atop the coffin inside Leicester Cathedral Photograph: Andy Rain/EPA
If you’ve had the patience to scroll all the way through, here’s a little reward. Medieval English language specialist Dr. Philip Shaw reads from one of Richard’s own letters, to convey how he would likely have sounded when he spoke. Here’s a link to the audio clip, and here’s one to the text from which Dr. Shaw is reading. Interesting!
Discovery News reports that construction crews working at the site of a new London Tube station have uncovered thousands of skeletons and more than 10,000 artifacts during excavations. The building site is located within the precincts of the infamous Bedlam “Madhouse”, where the city’s first municipal cemetery was located and used from the 1560’s to 1738. Among the interments are Great Plague victims, and archaeologists are interested in studying the bones to learn more about the evolution of the strain that repeatedly struck London. It is expected to take at least a month to complete the disinterments, and plans are to rebury the bones at a cemetery outside city. It is anticipated that a Roman road will also be brought to light. The results of this investigation, once analyzed, promise to provide a fascinating look at life in one of London’s oldest neighborhoods.