Philippa Gregory and Catherine of Aragon
Being sick has one advantage. . . you can catch up on some of your reading. Philippa Gregory is one of my favorite writers of historical fiction.
To my great shame, I have a very difficult time reading history. Unless it is vigorously written, it puts me to sleep. It is particularly embarassing when my husband has a degree in History, and his eyes light up discussing battles and strategems and who said what to whom and why it matters. It has to do with my hard-wiring, it’s not even a gender thing.
So I gravitate toward historical fiction; give me people and motivations and interactions any day, and I can remember it. Sometimes, I even learn something. Philippa Gregory never lets me down. She researches, she documents, and she might speculate, but you always have a clear idea what is real (historically documented) and what is a good story, putting meat on the bones of the history.
Out of sequence, I read The Queen’s Fool and The Other Boleyn Girl. Each of these books is peripheral to the story of Catherine of Aragon. The first features a woman chosen to be a Fool at the court of Queen Mary, Catherine’s daughter. She is of Jewish descent, hiding as a Christian, escaped from the fires of the Spanish Inquisition. She lives in fear of being caught out in her deception. With her father, a printer, she tries to secrete and maintain many of the books of Moorish Spain, the knowledge of the ancients, which the church begins to declare heretical in England. The second book, The Other Boleyn Girl, is about Anne Boleyn, but told from the perspective of her sister, Lady Mary, who was also mistress to Henry, King of England, while he was married to Catherine of Aragon. The Boleyn girls are portrayed as mere pawns in the great game of power in the English court.
So this newest book, The Constant Princess, opens in Spain, as Queen Isabella of Castile, Catherine’s mother, and King Ferdinand of Aragon fight to eliminate the Moors and to unite their lands into one Kingdom. The little girl, whose mother is the chief strategist and who fights in armor alongside her husband, learns battlefield tactics at her parent’s feet and in their camps and learns diplomatic skills in their throne rooms.
We follow Catherine to England, married first to Arthur, then after Arthur’s death, to Henry. She assures them her marriage to Arthur was never consummated, that Arthur was too young, and impotent. Gregory assumes this was a lie. We don’t know. I would guess that it was one of those lies that nobody believes but was convenient to all to pretend to believe, for money, for power, for alliances.
We stand with Catherine as she sends Henry off to fight the French, then leads her own troops up to vanquish the Scots. We agonize with her as she strives to become pregnant, to carry an heir to the throne full term to birth, and as she loses a seemingly perfect baby boy to infant death. We sit with her in stragegic councils, watch her balance the budgets for court and state, and scheme to protect the English borders against all threats. Whew! Being a Queen of England is hard work!
The book ends with Catherine facing the eccliastical trial as her own husband disputes the validity of her marriage to him and seeks to set her aside for his freedom to marry Anne Boleyn.
I don’t review every book I read, but I was captivated by the cross cultural threads in this book, and by the fact that while we all know the basic facts of the story – Henry divorces Catherine of Aragon to marry Anne Boeyn – Catherine’s history, her talents, her strengths and victories were news to me. The influence of her upbringing in Moorish Spain and the influence it played on her growing understanding of the world is a golden thread woven throughout the story.
Early in her first marriage, the young princess tells her beloved husband of her childhood in Grenada:
” . . . We walk in their gardens, we bathe in their hammams, we step into their scented leather slippers and we live a life that is more refined and more luxurious than they could dream of in Paris or London or Rome. We live graciously. We live, as we have always aspired to do, like Moors. Our fellow Christians herd goats in the mountains, pray at roadside cairns to the Madonna, are terrified by superstition and lousy with disease, live dirty and die young. We learn from Moslem scholars, we are attended by their doctors, study the stars in the sky which they have named, count with their numbers which start at the magical zero, eat of their sweetest fruits and delight in the waters which run through their aquaeducts. Their architecture pleases us: at every turn of every corner we know that we are living inside beauty. . . . We learn their poetry, we laugh at their games, we delight in their gardens in their fruits, we bathe in the waters that have made flow. We are the victors, but they have taught us how to rule. . . .”
I can hardly wait for a trip to Spain!
What is YOUR Comfort Food?
You know how it is. You’re not yourself. Your throat hurts or your tummy hurts and Mom fixes something something you love, and it happens so often throughout your childhood that when you get to be an adult, and you find yourself sick, it’s the food you think of.
And, of course, it depends on the illness. For tummy things, I remember chicken broth and jello. But for colds and flu, it was always tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Now, even if I just had a bad day, grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup can still cheer me up.
For my husband, raised in another part of the country, it is vegetable soup and cornbread. After we married, I learned to make cornbread in an iron skillet, and it is pretty good. He breaks it up and puts it in a glass of milk, though, and I can’t even watch him eat it.
Our son grew up in Tunis – when he has a sore throat, nothing will do but mint tea.
So what is YOUR comfort food? What did your Mamma (or Papa) make you when you were sick as a child? What do you dream of even now, all grown up, but sick and miserable?
Little Diamond
My neice is blogging! She started just as I did, without telling anyone. When I saw her on Friday, she very casually mentioned it in passing. Woooo Hoooooo! She is beautiful, and articulate, and always full of amazing information, and a lot of fun. Her website is A Diamond in Sunlight.
The “A” Word: Accountability
My internet was out when I got up – waaaaaay too early this morning, totally jet lagging, so I read this morning’s Kuwait Times, which I usually save as my reward for getting work done. (Yep, total news geek.)
You can usually scan a politician’s speech quickly to tell if it is platitudes or substance – so Speaker of the National Assemply Jassem Mohammed al-Koraifi’s speech at the opening of the National Assembly yesterday caught my eye. For one thing, he used the “A” word – accountability – three times. That’s a very brave word for a government official to use, and he used it in impressive ways.
He may have used the “A” word more than three times – I am betting he was speaking in Arabic, and the full text of the speech is not printed, only excerpts. Still – three times!
First, I’m impressed that he encourage women who are interested in participating as elected officials to start running NOW. He’s right. It takes more than an electoral season to build a winning platform. You know there are good women out there qualified and capable of public office – encourage them, support them, and introduce them to your friends.
The KT quotes the Speaker as saying that “reform is a responsibility that lies with all, and that that both parliament and government are first to bear that responsibility. ‘I stress to the head and members of the government; you are responsible for laying policies and responsible for implementing legislation and are accountable for your institutions and bodies’ performance, and bear the responsibility before your superiors.'” (emphasis mine)
His next reported use of the word is in his section on reform: “Parliament is a constitutional partner in the planning of reform precedures and legislation, and an overseer over implementing reform programs and realization of its objectives, and a body those who abuse its means and tools shall stand accountable to.” (emphasis mine)
The last reported use was in the part of his address on building consensus. “This should all come within a positive relationship based on transparency, credibility, mutual respect, and guarantees for optimal use of supervisory and accountability tools and where the independence of the judicial authority is maintained with none interfering in its affairs and where its objectives are the interests of Kuwait and its future, its security and its stability.”
My favorite part of the speech, beyond the “A” word, is this: “When coming upon difference inopinion or disagreement over an issue, the matter should be dealt with in parliament and in its committees and with a keeness to preserve this partnership.
“Handling such issues should be as partners who disagree rather than as enemies with a dispute; none shall question the patriotism of another, it is not right for any to doubt another’s loyalty, and there cannot be hurling of accusations and abuse and settling of scores as that would strain the social fabric and dispel amicability and respect.”
I started reading blogs when I was coming to Kuwait, and trying to find out what the issues were. The papers are . . . ambiguous. Vague. I could catch glimpses, but it was following the blogs that I have learned the most. One blog helped me understand the issues in May The Ultimate with words and photos and a discussion of what the difference was between one voting district, five voting districts or ten voting districts – something I had never found in reading the English press.
I find committment, passion, insight and intelligence in your blogs. I find potential leadership, and an honesty when you are talking with one another that I don’t find when I ask questions myself. We are all so careful in our cross-cultural conversations, not to offend, not to give too much information which makes us look bad.
My country is also young – only 200 years. We have had our corrupt Presidents, scandals, lax standards and poorly enforced laws. Rule of Law is not something that happens overnight – it only happens when a good majority of the people have the conviction that the rule of the majority serves the greater good of all, while still protecting the interests of the minority. It takes time. It takes committment. And it takes accountability.
A Visit to Williams Sonoma
I am visiting Williams Sonoma looking for the elusive white truffel butter required in The Equalizer’s recipe for Pumpkin Risotto. Can’t find the white truffel butter, but I did find some very lovely things – things we can get a lot cheaper, maybe even better, in the Middle East.
First is what they call a Greek pepper grinder, for a mere $79.
I bought the same, beautiful pepper grinder in the Diraa souk in Riyadh for $10 – and I believe it came from Turkey. It grinds peppercorns beautifully and stores the grindings airtight in the bottom until you need to use them.
Then these two pots. The first one is $200, and the second ranges from the low $200’s to $320, depending on the size . . .
they are beautiful, hammered copper from Italy . . .and we bought beautiful, heavier pots with beautiful handles in Damascus for a fraction of what these cost. If I had to choose, I would choose Damascus any day for shopping, over Dubai. 😉
Is there anyplace in Kuwait where you can get copper pots re-tinned? Or has that, too, gone by the wayside?
(And a BIG shout-out to Joan of Arc who patiently taught me how to link pretty)
Dubai 2010
My niece (Little Diamond aka adiamondinsunlight) doesn’t have her own blog yet. Until she does, I get to share all the information she shares with me.
This one is from New Left Review and is a fascinating article about the Dubai of the Future, a playground for the rich and idle, with unimaginable luxuries – but at what cost?
Some Things Just Don’t Translate
Three sets of eyes looked at me with disbelief, mixed with horror. I was explaining to my three students that I was having a group of American university students at my house for Halloween. We would all welcome the Hallowe’en trick-or-treaters as they came around in our compound. We expected hundreds – children from far and wide throughout the city came to trick-or-treat where the westerners lived. Even if the children didn’t “get” Halloween, they liked the costumes and the candy.
It wasn’t the trick-or-treating my students didn’t get. It was that I had said we would all be dressed as pirates. We would have patches and capes and bandannas, some would have hooks, others would have swords. We would say things like “Ay matey!” and “Aaargh” and “Pieces of eight.”
They didn’t know what pirates were. They had never seen Peter Pan with Captain Hook, they hadn’t seen Johnny Depp in his fey performance as Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean. I started off with enthusiasm.
“Oh, pirates lived a long time ago. Hmmm, no actually, there are still pirates today. They sail old ships, and then they stop and capture ships on the high seas and like hold people for ransom. They sing songs and drink grog and some of them have peg legs, or hooks for hands . . .” even I could see that this was not going well.
“No no!” one cried. “Why would you want to be a pirate?”
“hmmm, well you’re right, REAL pirates weren’t very nice, I guess. They raped and stole from others, but for some reason we just dress up and PRETEND to be pirates. . .”
Now, it’s even starting to sound lame to me.
“There were some good pirates, too. . .”
“What did they do, khalti?”
(I am totally blank. I have an image of a deer in the headlights; the deer is me with no where to run.)
I don’t know. Were there any good pirates? Why do we think pirates are so much fun? Is it the costumes? As kids we would make each other walk the plank, and swashbuckle around, it was a good break from cowboys and Indians. Seeing it through my students’ eyes, though, it just wasn’t working.
Some things just don’t translate.
“We Don’t Judge You By Our Standards”
It’s never a good thing when a sentence starts with “we don’t judge you by our standards.” You know that whatever comes next isn’t going to be good.
It was our favorite time during Arabic studies. We were sitting around in the majlis room, sprawled against the cushions. We had finished all the lessons of the day, practiced new verbs, done all the dialogues to death, and we had a few minutes left before classes ended. Our teachers were really special women, and during these last minutes it was always question time, when we could ask them anything, anything, and they would answer, even if sometimes to laugh and tell us it was none of our business. We had so many questions!
“When we go downtown, ” I had started, “we have a good time. We laugh and we talk and chat among ourselves as we shop. But when we see local women shopping, we see you in groups, but you aren’t laughing or chatting. Is there some prohibition against it?”
There was a long silence. I really liked this teacher, and she really liked me. I knew, as the silence dragged on, she was seeking for a way to be kind. Finally, she spoke.
“You know, we understand you have other ways, not our ways. We don’t judge you by our standards. . .” and she gave a little sigh.
“In our culture, for a woman to laugh out loud in public . . .it would be taken as lack of self control. People could criticize. It could keep a young woman from making a good marriage.”
You could hear the collective gasp. Although it was said with great kindness, it was a serious blow.
When you are first learning a new language, and a new culture, it can be intimidating, but mostly, if it is well taught, it is fun, exciting, and stimulating to be mastering a new skill. The women at this language center went to a lot of trouble to insure that we were entertained while we were learning. They taught us Ramadan customs, they prepared an Iftar supper for us, they brought in all their jewelry and produced a bride. They henna’d our hands, and poured us tiny cups of qa’wa and chai with milk and spices. They took us on field trips. They treated us like sisters, or daughters. They were so kind, and babied us along as we struggled with the new language.
I give this teacher a lot of credit. She could have finessed the question, but she didn’t. She considered her answer, she knew it could offend us. And she chose to answer us honestly, trusting we would deal with it.
I had a physical reaction. I wanted so badly to “get” Arabic, to understand all the customs . . . but to give up laughter? I went through all the stages of grief, staying longest with denial and anger. I thought of all the times I headed for the souks in a gaggle of laughing women, and I felt ignorant, and ashamed, and also angry. It was a real struggle for me, a blow to my pride, an embarrassment. I felt sick to my stomach, and stayed depressed for a couple weeks. I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to have to give up laughter.
And then one day, somehow, it stopped mattering so much. Time did its work. Life went on. The teacher kept teaching, we kept learning. I no longer go downtown in groups of more than three, and we keep our voices down. We’re still our loud, noisy selves most of the time, among ourselves, but in public – we don’t want to be thought of as women who lack self-control.
Fantasy Dubai Skyscrapers
My very cool nephew who works at Google sent me an e-mail this morning telling me to look at these photos. One of these days I will figure out how to link, but meanwhile, cut and paste to see these fantastic images of Dubai skyscrapers soaring above the fog – looks like a science fiction set or fairy tale city.
“Somebody posted these on Digg.com, thought you might enjoy looking at them. Very cool photos of Dubai skyscrapers piercing a layer of fog.”
http://www.flickr.com/photos/our_dubai_property_investment/sets/1531412/
“I Didn’t Teach You That!”
“I didn’t teach you that!” I exclaimed, mentally reviewing everything we had learned together in the last two years. This girl was SMART. If she learned this from me, I had to think carefully when I taught it – she was smart, and she remembers things.
We had just finished critiqueing a presentation she was about to make, in English, on quitting smoking. She had prepared puppets, and a dialogue, and oh! She did a great job! We were sitting in a restaurant, in a private room, where we could eat and still have fun without worrying about embarrassing ourselves.
“No, khalti, no, you didn’t teach us that in words. But that is what you DID,” she responded.
Hunh? Hmmmm. I had to think about that. While I was thinking, she continued.
“When we would say we wanted to do something, you would say ‘OK, what does your week look like? How would Monday after schoool work?’ and we would DO it. You didn’t just talk about things, you did them. When you start a project, you finish it. This is the most important thing I learned from you.”
There are some things you can’t teach; it’s just words. There are things you teach and you have no idea you are teaching. I have to admit, I got choked up.
And I have no idea where this smart young woman is going to go with her life, but I can’t wait to see.
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