"Fingerprints of the Gods" by Graham Hancock

In the beginning there was Erich von Däniken.

Of course this is not completely true - nobody ever creates things out of the thin air, every single idea has always been influenced by someone else, comparable to keeping the torch of the flame or wave ripples going trough the lake - we hear some informations, we soak some influences and than we create something new out of it.

Naturally, there were other people before Däniken who dared to question the church, religions and generally accepted opinions and surely Däniken himself read some of the books published trough previous generations, which in turn made him curious about the origins of our ancient world. Perhaps it was simply the case of right time and the right place, or he caught the zeitgeist of the times, in any case Däniken created unprecedented publishing phenomenon with his books about ancient astronauts - even though the official scientific world did everything to ridicule and disparage him, millions around the world (me included) were thrilled that somebody finally dares to raise the questions - not to claim, or to provide the answers, like so many of his critics concluded with exasperating self-righteousness, Däniken simply posed the questions "what if?" and his books are full of question marks, where he makes the reader thinking and wondering could the ancient history of this planet perhaps be very different from officially accepted story. Its infuriating to see how many people completely misunderstood him as someone who "claims" and "speculate" - the way I see it now, from the perspective of distinguished middle age, Däniken wondered and posed the questions, he never gave the answers.

But he created something - and maybe this is the sole purpose of his life - he started the spark that caught many readers and made them excited about different possibilities, different, unorthodox theories that might sound completely off the wall but are darn staggering, astonishing and powerful. Millions around the world gulped his books and some of us accepted the idea that perhaps the origins of our human race might be different from what is taught in school. Ask me in the middle of the night, ask me in the front of shooting squad, hanging upside down or standing on one leg, but I am simply more prone to accept the possibility of Alien intervention (read: genetic experimentation) than the idea of one omnipotent creator to whom people light the candles, surrounded by invisible, cherubic winged helpers and so on. 

Graham Hancock is one of those people who came later inspired by Däniken. I still think that Däniken himself was extremely important because he ignited the original flame that caught attention of millions around the world, but other people eventually continued the path he started (once the ice was broken) and Hancock is one of them.

Not only that his book came some two decades after Däniken but the younger man actually writes far more eloquently (English being his native language) and there is a contagious enthusiasm and spirit about him, impossible to ignore. Wide eyed, excitable and very, very likable, Hancock basically continues what Däniken had started but does it in his own Indiana Jones way. Looking closely, they both actually do exactly the same things - both Däniken and Hancock travel around the world, take pictures of ancient temples, ruins in Bolivia or central America and than elaborate on proposed theories - but where Däniken being first, always comes across as defensive and argumentative (because the pressure, attacks and criticism on him were much bigger), Hancock is blessed with some good-natured charm so the readers feel the natural pull of following him, instead of fighting with his reasoning, like in case of Däniken. 

I read Hancock's book "Fingerprints of the Gods" some seventeen years ago and still have the original copy bought in Amsterdam. I vividly remember the moment in my life, where I was, what was I doing and what a great excitement this book gave me. It was Däniken all over again but this time even better, somehow improved. Even though later I continued to faithfully follow Hancock and always loved his subsequent work, it is this particular book that caught my attention initially and I always have a soft spot for it, so I decided to re-visit it again just to re-fresh my memory and to check how do I feel about it now.

Guess what, I still love it. In fact, I'm reading it as for the first time - Hancock has a wonderfully contagious way with words and his excitement is palpable. Wheter he travels in the trains trough remote areas of South America or flies above The Nazca plateau, I am right with him in all these places - Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, ancient pyramids, Tiahuanaco, you name it. I might be somewhat older and perhaps a bit jaded now but years are forgotten when Graham Hancock takes me along on his adventures around the world and he also makes me question, wonder and think. Not that we as readers are expected to blindly accept him but every now and than I get a brain buzz and occasional thought flashes trough my mind, when I say to myself "wait, go back, this might be important, remember this"  and the book is full of this kinds of moments. I could easily imagine being very comfortable on desert island with the whole collection of books by Graham Hancock. 

Richard Matheson

Extremely slow-paced previous book by Peter Straub still didn't cure me from my new passion for horror genre - once I have discovered that it keeps me awake trough the early hours of the night, now I can't get enough of it. So I decided to have "just a peek" at Richard Matheson whom I know as a man behind famous horror classic "I Am Legend"  that was brought to movie screen three times. 

First, out of curiosity, I poked around to find Matheson's famous early short story titled "Born of Man and Woman" that initially made him famous at the age of twenty four. It is strikingly memorable, poignant and unforgettable story told from the point of view of unnamed deformed child kept in chains by his parents - shocked and embarrassed by his unnatural looks (the full extent of his deformity is never completely described, just hinted at - which makes the reader's brain buzzing even more) the parents keep him away from everybody else in some sort of dark basement and the child knows only cold walls, hunger and beatings. He escapes every now and than just to look at the other children from the windows (he don't understand they are children, he sees them as  "little people like the little mother and little fathers" and it shows the heartbreaking isolation and loneliness of his life) after which he is usually brutally beaten. The relatively short story ends with anger rising in abused and badly beaten child who - not knowing anything else - might turn potentially dangerous towards his tormentors. Even at this early stage, Matheson shows such a brilliance and imagination - I actually couldn't sleep after I read that short story, it upset me so much that I wanted to jump into the story and save this child from the real monsters who are his parents. I still think about it, it left a deep impression on me.

You can read the complete story here

Seeing not one, but three film versions of "I Am Legend" kind of spoiled what could have been a wonderful literary discovery - knowing the story beforehand and seeing it all in various interpretations means that I couldn't help but going back to what I remember seeing in the movies. Rewinding the scenes in my mind and finding that, surprisingly, "The Last Man on Earth" with Vincent Price (that initially I didn't really like) is far more faithful to its literary original than Charlton Heston's "The Ωmega Man" (which I thought was super cool) - the way I see it now, latter is simply action vampire movie, while the former has true post-apocalyptic emptiness and loneliness that Matheson was writing about. It is haunting and powerful - but not in a really horror way, more like psychological isolation, loneliness and powerlessness in a world with no love, affections of company. When Robert Neville finally encounters the equally lonely stray dog, just to have him dying in his arms, it breaks your heart. This is the only sane living being that Neville had finally met in a long time and just as he almost tamed the little scared dog, it dies probably from the same germs that killed the rest of the planet.

"It was about eleven that night when Neville slowly undid the blanket folds and exposed the dog’s head.

For a few minutes it cringed away from his hand, snapping a little. But he kept talking to it quietly, and after a while his hand rested on the warm neck and he was moving his fingers gently, scratching and caressing.

He smiled down at the dog, his throat moving.

“You’ll be all better soon,” he whispered. “Real soon.”The dog looked up at him with its dulled, sick eyes and then its tongue faltered out and licked roughly and moistly across the palm of Neville’s hand. Something broke in Neville’s throat. He sat there silently while tears ran slowly down his cheeks.

In a week the dog was dead."

"Hell House" 

Perhaps I read this too soon after brilliant, multi-layered "The Haunting of Hill House" but unfortunately Matheson's "Hell House" did not have nearly same, seismic effect on me as Shirley Jackson's famous predecessor. Where Jackson weaved her story around ambiguous world of hallucination - all trough her novel, we are never told explicitly that there are ghosts in the house - Matheson is firm about it, we are supposed to take supernatural evil for granted and start from that premise. It is just a matter of time before characters start hearing things that go bump in the night and so on, eventually it turns into quite detailed, lurid prose that would probably appeal to my 14 years old self, but as it is, at this stage reading about sex deviations, crosses with penises and church orgies just feels like exaggerated case of vulgarity. It is a far cry from what I expected from Matheson of 1950s. Somewhere towards the end, I was also reminded of something that actually bothers me with the whole genre, the anticlimax that comes after author has been carefully building chilling atmosphere for so long - once we find and discover the origins of things that go bump in the night from than on it just feels pointless. To be honest, obviously nobody comes close to Shirley Jackson (with honorable exception of her follower Stephen King) so now after reading five horror novels in a row, I think it's a time to move on to something else. 

"Bus children" by Garrison Keillor

Out on the prairie so wide
The school buses wending their way
From the towns they travel
For miles on the gravel
An hour before it is day.
And the winter wind blows
Cross the corn stubble rows
Where the dirt has turned the snow gray.

And the children walk down to the road
From the farmhouses' warm kitchen glow,
Stand waiting and yearning
To see the bus turning
And the sweep of the headlights' glow.
And they climb up inside
And away they all ride
Past the farms and the fields full of snow.

And they think about math as they go
And the chemistry of atmosphere
And unequal equations
And French conjugations
And the sonnets of William Shakespeare
And then up the drive
At the school they arrive
On the darkest day of the year.

And in due course they will fly
Away, young women and men
With mixed emotions
Cross mountains and oceans
And become what we could not have been. 
We will tenderly kiss them
Goodbye and miss them
And never will see them again.

"Ghost Story" by Peter Straub

Shirley Jackson was such a discovery that - in the heat of the moment - I thought that perhaps I should invest more time in genre of horror, because frankly my dear, I actually don't know anybody besides Stephen King and Anne Rice anyway. As noted previously, I like to read about authors and their work, but than I find myself busy with something else and it takes forever to actually select the next title - with more than 1 500 books on my Kindle, it is not a joke, it's a commitment. So, knowing King, Rice and now Shirley Jackson, I said to myself let's check this guy Peter Straub who is actually vaguely familiar as he collaborated with Stephen King on "Black House"  that I remember reading long ago. 

A hard nut to crack, "Ghost Story" might initially appear difficult, inaccessible and complicated because Straub takes his sweet time to set the stage. Where S.King grabs you from the very first page and never lets go, Straub apparently delights in describing every single person, animal, tree and a car that ever crossed little town of Milburn, without much concern would this actually appeal to his readers. It is all well planned, conducted and imagined - there is a dazzling display of technical craftsmanship in sense that he shows off with different perspectives and points of view, sometimes in dizzying succession, until you come to expect that perhaps even the fly on the wall might have chapter with a story told from its own perspective. Peter Straub obviously loves his voice, he goes on and on while at several points I started wondering are all this trivial dialogues and mundane dinner conversations really important and will anything ever start happening in this darn book. 

It does - the story actually picks up around third part ("The Coon Hunt") of the novel and at this point you either already gave up in frustration or you were hooked. I have persevered with real difficulties because every now and than the story became so meandering and convoluted (not to mention thousand and one character, whose names I simply couldn't remember anymore) that the novel knocked me off to sleep. Seriously, instead of keeping me awake trough the night, horror novel titled "Ghost story" actually made me yawning. It doesn't matter if your tired eyes skip half of the page, because, you know, good people of Milburn are still talking about feeling very strange and everything is so foreboding but chapter after chapter nothing is happening. Until third part  where now I found myself and it's too late to stop anyway, now everybody seems to start realising that evil has descendent on Milburn and Straub kind of feels obliged to finally unravel all these puzzles. I see where similarities with S.King came from - they are kind of on similar wave length but King is straight shooter who knows how to get your attention, while Straub revel in weaving, plotting and descriptions. Normally I have no problems whatsoever with writers who take their time, as long as they have interesting or original style but Straub really tests my patience and at this point I am not so sure that I like or even appreciate his style at all. Yes, the story finally started cooking but its kind of too late now, I still feel bitterness and frustration that it took me two thirds of the book for something finally starting to happen. 

Happy together - smiling boy embracing a smiling dog

Old pictures of Scotland

                                        Aberdeen, The Castlegate and Union Street around 1900

                                     Glasgow Bridge in the 1890s

The Beautiful Cat

A very old photo (taken some 130 years ago) of absolutely beautiful cat, and you know this is really Mona Lisa of the cat's world. 

The connection we have with our pets, our animal friends is really something special and scientists tried to explain it with a thousands years of breeding but in my opinion we were simply perfect companionship for each other. No matter what kind of pet - I couldn't really care less is it a cat, dog, bird or a fish, I am capable of being very loving, tender and caring for any animal, including probably even some wild, untamed ones. (Which of course makes me feeling guilty about meat eating since I understand it is very hypocritical to eat some animals and pet the other)  There were some really gentle experiences with pets in my life and I hope that I provided them with as much love as I could have mustered at the time, many of them I still remember to this day.

This is such a pretty picture - picture that speaks thousands words - that I just had to include it on my blog. 

Obviously there was somebody who loved (in fact, admired) this cat so much that the owner wanted to preserve the portrait of it for posterity. And what a beauty it is - no matter was it boy or girl, it was such a lovely animal and handsome pet friend that I feel delighted just looking at this intelligent face. 

"O, What a Luxury: Verses Lyrical, Vulgar, Pathetic & Profound" by Garrison Keillor

Right now we have a charter cruise - which means it was booked by particular group of guests - I have experienced several charter cruises before, of course, I particularly remember Russian and Chinese, both of them being very chaotic as language barrier might have been too much for a handful of exhausted translators. Well, this one is about "A Prairie Home Companion" which is a famous radio program - did I somehow invite this by listening BBC4 so faithfully for the past month? - and my first impression is of a happy surprise since these guests are really charming & excited to be here, not to mention they brought their own musicians with them so for the time being I am not tortured with usual whiny repertoire of same old lounge veterans ("Besame mucho" in thousand and one version) but in fact I am treated with most eclectic choices from one corner to another (Folk music, ragtime, classical, Broadway and so on) - best of all, there are some books around, written by certain Garrison Keillor who seems to have been masterminded this radio program for decades. Well, since I am passionate book lover and can't have a book around without checking what it is, I took a peek at his poetry collection called "O, what a luxury" and immediately laughed out loud - right in the middle of the shop - took it to my cabin to read some more and voilà after I spend some time giggling and being absolutely thrilled with his witty poetry, I decided that I might as well actually buy the darn book instead of just admiring it from the shop window - it obviously delights me & makes me happy, so here you go, this is one of his witty little masterpieces, I just love this man.

The Plumber

When the ice comes and the snow and it's 48 below

And the temperature starts to fall

And they hear the moan and whine of that frozen water line

Than the plumber is the man who saves them all.

He is not sleek and slim and they may look down on him

But the plumber is the man who saves them all.

When the toilet will not flush and the odor makes you blush

And you cannot use the sink or shower stall,

Than your learning and your art slowly starts to fall apart

But the plumber is the man who saves it all.

They can take their sins to Jesus but when their water freezes

Than the plumber is the man who saves them all.

In the innocence of youth, beauty, justice, truth, 

Seems to be what life is all about

But when the facts are faced, you realize life is based

On water coming in and going out.

It is fine to love Chopin, but when it hits the fan

The plumber is the man who saves them all.

                                              Garrison Keillor

"The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson

Since "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" turned out to be such a refreshing surprise, I decided to continue with great, late Shirley Jackson - she is really a treasure, a lady amongst horror royalty and deservedly so, in fact I can't even think of anybody else except Anne Rice much later, who actually left the mark. Of course I don't presume that during her lifetime Jackson thought about herself in terms of being great, important or influential - we all live day by day, with our mundane realities and fantasy worlds as escape - however, as time had erased the private and personal, all that is left and what is important is what Jackson wrote for posterity. Considering that in her lifetime Jackson also refused to be a celebrity, this is exactly as it should be - the writer should be known for his/hers work and not for the peripheral things that lot of people confuse with fame. I have a lot of respect for a person like Jackson, who decidedly refuse to court the media for the sake of book sales and naturally I am quite delighted with her prose, she really had such eerie understanding how the mind works + her descriptions of places and atmosphere were quite unforgettable. 

"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."

What a great opener. I mean, wow. It really sets the atmosphere from the start and I can't think about anybody else who possessed such a elegant touch. It really makes me wish that Jackson went on to live up to hundred and to publish countless masterpieces instead of leaving this world at the age of 48 and only handful of titles behind. Than again, what really count is the quality and not the quantity - Anthony Trollope was one of the most popular writers of 19th century but afterwards the future generations didn't look positively on his enormous body of work (some forty seven novels) and nowadays he is all but forgotten - on the other hand, Jackson left behind just a few titles but they are so strong that every time somebody "discovers" her über-seminal works like "We Have Always Lived in the Castle" and "The Haunting of Hill House" you can bet they will turn every stone to find is there anything more written by her. What makes Jackson so special - and influential - is that she completely goes under the skin and into the minds of her characters. Much more is going inside than outside. (This is what Stephen King got from her) It is not to say that there is nothing going on in a sense of story - yes, there is - but Jackson is more concerned with a mind-games and often she plays with a reader like a cat with a mouse, until - once we became aware of it - we are forced to go a few pages back and pay more attention to small details in fact I found myself being far more concentrated and focused than what I used to be in ages. This is not just some easy, armchair detective but a serious (and gifted) manipulator who understands what makes you shiver. 

The premise of this book appears simple today - four people experimenting in a haunted house - but its only because it was published almost 60 years ago so generations of film-makers and future writers all took their clues from Jackson who set definitive standards of what haunted house novel should be. That her own original still stands to this day head and shoulders above anybody else just proves how important, serious, influential and yes, talented Jackson was. She lives inside of the heads of her characters and this is much scarier than anything we expect might come howling trough the night. 

-----------------

I have just finished it (on my lunch break - no lunch, book was more important) and my head is still buzzing from excitement. 

The brilliance and timelessness of this book is in its ambiguity - not sure is this exactly how Shirley Jackson had it in mind, but it works on several different levels. There are many hints - and on closer inspection, they could all be correct - that the house is really haunted and people are right to stay away from it. Or, you can read it as an incredibly fascinating close look at a nervous breakdown. I chose to see it as a latter, simply because in my opinion, the madness glimpsed in the mirror is far more frightening than any possible monster in a dark. But ever since I read the book, I mulled it over in my head and found that it could be both - neither ghosts nor madness are not actually mentioned explicitly, it's all up to the reader to make his mind about what actually happened. 

"We Have Always Lived in the Castle" by Shirley Jackson

Because I needed a break from monumental (and maddeningly meandering) "Gil Blas" and I had just re-visited serious historical biography, I was looking for something entertaining and not too demanding. Although I feel a little guilty inside for putting "Gil Blas" away, the reality is, I want escapism. I want to feel that excitement and passion I felt with good novel by Anne Rice or Diana Gabaldon, Stephen King or this year's surprise James Clavell, when I don't just take a book out of boredom or obligation (as some people do) but out of pleasure it brings me, for that wonderful sense of being completely lost in imaginary world and far away from reality. James Clavell inspired me so much that I basically discovered history of Japan because of him. Unfortunately "Gil Blas" is not so compelling and its old age shows quite a bit, so I was at loss what exactly to do, until I glanced at the name of Shirley Jackson and decision was made right than and there, on the spot.

Shirley Jackson belongs to that long (and constantly growing) list of authors - and titles - that I am vaguely familiar from hearing or reading about them and waiting for the right moment to properly discover them. But I never actually read anything by her beforehand -  I would remember it certainly because Jackson turned out to be so interesting and unique  - so I said to myself "why not", after all, this "Gil Blas" is killing me and obviously its going nowhere so let's try something I have not read before at all.

"We Have Always Lived in the Castle" turned out to be so strong, original and unforgettable that I gulped in two days straight - it is fairly slim volume and relatively easy to get into, except that story is told from the point of view of increasingly unlikable Merricat Blackwood so you kind of have to work hard to get under the skin of someone so weird and creepy. Merricat, her older sister and invalid old uncle live alone in an old house and ignore any local people of the village - later we find out they are actually shunned because of unexplained crime case that happened long ago in this very same house. Although they have no friends or visitors, Blackwoods live quite pleasant lives until slimy cousin Charles arrives at the doorstep, disturbing family's peaceful equilibrium with his obvious poking in every corner in search of money - he couldn't be more obnoxious until the tragedy drives him away from the place (once and all) leaving surviving Blackwoods alone again.

Multi-layered, creepy and disturbing, the novel is so powerful because it pushes just the right psychological buttons and fears. Merricat and her family are obviously outsiders whom the rest of villagers passionately reject and distrust. First, we think its because of their wealth - apparently Blackwoods live quite comfortably and are blamed for never socialising with the rest  of the people, but towards the end of the book we find out that truth is much more sinister. Sinister would be a perfect "one word" description of the whole novel (perhaps Shirley Jackson as author?) as the uneasiness spreads from cover to cover and envelop the reader in its powerful claws. 

We suspect and distrust slimy cousin Charles but when the whole village turns against Blackwoods, it turns almost into mass hysteria - part witch hunt, part frustrated hostility that finally erupts in its full passion, the novel is overflowing with anger, fear, envy and suspicion, poisoning everybody involved, including the reader. It is quite powerful book that made me run for some more of Shirley Jackson (who seems to have been interesting character herself) but I wouldn't really call this a horror - not in a sense of gripping terror and supernatural werewolves - this would be a perfectly dark, clever, psychological thriller and I am surprised that Hitchcock didn't do the movie version of it. 

New hobby: BBC Radio 4

The work routine - combined with my old obsession with "classic of the month" which didn't work out very well this time - slowed down my usual rhythm of reading. My reading started this year really strong but suddenly stopped -  I mean stopped dead cold - since "Gil Blas" (after my initial enthusiasm) became very meandering and I noticed same old situation repeating, where I would find million other things to do just so I don't have to return to the book I am currently reading. I will finish this self-imposed "classic of the month" title eventually but for now (and some time already) "Gil Blas" is gently placed aside until inspiration leads me back to it.

In the meantime I have discovered something quite wonderful : BBC Radio 4 has some really fascinating programs as a free downloads (podcasts) and as soon I found this out, I started collecting them. Two of my favorite programs (so far) are called Desert Island Discs and In Our Time. I download them when I have chance, somewhere along the way in little fishermen's towns of Norway and later enjoying them, listening one by one episode each night after I finish the work, often with a Jack & Coke, so this is really pleasure and my new hobby, my little nightly ritual. I get sloshed with excuse that this is not a drinking but in fact, a very educational experience, since I am listening serious program about history.

Desert Island Discs is a true, venerable BBC Radio institution that started way back in 1942 with a premise that a celebrity guest will discuss his/hers life trough eight of their favorite recordings and explain why this particular pieces of music mean so much to them. The BBC archives don't go all the way back to 1942 but some of 1959 conversations have been saved, with occasional 1960s interview and than from 1970s I believe almost every episode is preserved. I found it absolutely wonderful, because we all know these people as celebrities but hearing their speaking voices and their music choices is illuminating, as suddenly listener get a completely different perspective of who the celebrity guest actually is on a human level. During the previous month I indulged myself, listening countless interviews (usually one per evening) and there were some true gems: for example, 1959 interview with Alfred Hitchcock who talks about his life and upcoming new movie "Psycho". Most of the celebrity guests I chose to listen, were of course known to me, but now I perceived them differently trough radio program - legendary Ice Queen Annie Lennox turned out to be very warm and thoughtful person, Barry Manilow is deep inside still a little Jewish boy playing accordion for his family, Motown - mogul and self-made Berry Gordy still gets emotional when talking about one of the first songs he ever wrote ("To be loved") when his angry wife kicked him out of the house and so on. It is also fascinating to hear what music they want to take with them on a desert island - as expected, everybody likes to brag with their knowledge of classical music so its hilarious that TV chef Clarissa Dickson Wright (from "Two fat ladies") decides that her disc of choice is "Ra Ra Rasputin". Who would ever imagine that Keith Richards loves music of Hank Williams or that Glenda Jackson shakes her booty to Tina Turner?  

In Our Time is discussion program where charming and seemingly all-knowing Melvyn Bragg  talks with his guests about any serious subject under the sun. There probably might be other subjects but I am a history geek so I downloaded and carefully listened episodes about history: so far I really enjoyed listening about The Aztecs, Babylon, Boudica, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Mary Magdalene, The Salem Witch Trials, Trojan War, 1816, the Year Without a Summer (when eruption of Indonesian volcano influenced climate change around the world - and accidentally gave birth to "Frankenstein"), Epic of Gilgamesh and mid 18th century The Gin Craze (when people started drinking first thing in the morning) but I still have at least seven episodes stored to enjoy later and of course BBC 4 web site has the whole archive so these two programs are really my latest hobby and I enjoy them both very much. 

"The Six Wives of Henry VIII" by Alison Weir

Re-visit to the book I have read long time ago, with different (hopefully more mature) perspective this time.

It is easy to be completely fascinated with Tudors - after all, not only they were really interesting characters surrounded with intriguers, sycophants and manipulative leeches but their lives were fortunately extremely well documented so we don't have to reply on second or third hand testimonies, it has all been noted, filed and remembered in all its glory and gory. What appears as scary, cautionary fairy tale actually really existed and to our current minds seems almost unbelievable that people really lived and behaved that way - which is probably also what the future generations will say about us. For one thing, back than religion had a really utmost importance in people's lives and obviously it was a question of life and death - today we might take it as a purely personal choice but in 16th century there was no such a thing, you either follow the rules or burn on a stake. 

Henry VIII was of course, history's great true life Bluebeard and one of the unexpected facts of this well-researched book is that trough his life people actually liked and respected him very much. Not feared, loved. Such was his public image, glamour and charisma that most of the time it appears that people genuinely cared for his well-being and all this wives business was understood as necessity - one after another, these women went in and out but it seems people blamed them instead of Henry himself. I wonder could it be because as a young man he was so promising (athletic, joyous, generous) that everything that came later in life (obesity, cruelty, egotism and basically tyranny) went kind of overlooked? Historians tend to divide his reign (and personality) between two clearly defined parts, the younger, golden years and later decline into brutality and neurosis. On closer look, it seems that his personality really drastically changed in his mid-40es when the pressure of international politics, internal intrigues and matter of successor eventually made him deeply suspicious of everybody - people were executed at his whim and there is no doubt that some (like Cardinal Wolsey) he later regretted, though when it came to his wives, they had incredibly difficult task of pampering him as a overgrown spoiled child or else. 

I don't remember my impressions first time around - except that I enjoyed the book very much for its vivid presentation of a certain time and place in history - but now I analyse things perhaps little more cautiously and from this perspective, it appears that a lot of space was focused on first wife, Catherine of Aragon, in fact so much that it almost overbalances the rest of the book. True, their marriage was by far the longest (24 years) and it took agonising eight years of legal wrestling before finally Henry had enough, cut the ties with Vatican and made himself head of the church in England. I think there is no doubt that Catherine of Aragon would have completely different life if only she accepted his decision and either packed for Spain or enjoyed comfortable life tucked away somewhere in a countryside - that she refused to do and insisted on her royal prerogative is very brave but, honestly, kind of pointless. The only thing it achieved, it made life more difficult for both herself and her daughter. Boleyn, on the other hand appears as manipulative hussy whose vengefulness eventually turned against herself. Each of following ladies were completely different as personalities and it makes for enjoyable reading, its just that now I somehow see it differently than in my younger days when I read it as almost horror story about Bluebeard and his innocent victims. 

Now I think none of them was innocent - each single of them knew what she is getting herself into, starting from Catherine of Aragon who was biding her time in forced poverty until Henry proposed to her (echo of what is to come). What really makes me curious is, why - after the third wife it became clear that we are dealing with extremely wilful and determined ruler - women still flocked to him and even considered marriage at all. Not everybody - Christina of Denmark famously declined - but it seems that people were just ready to close their eyes and switch off the conscience when it came to possibility of royal favors. Living with such a person meant you were always in some kind of danger - be it from Henry himself or his advisors, as the last wife Catherine Parr learned very well.