A Civil Contract by Georgette Heyer

A Civil Contract

 by Georgette Heyer, first published 1961

All of Heyer’s Regency novels are simple escapism; this one is certainly that, but at the same time it gives readers a lot to think about. The theme could be stated quite simply as “Romantic love versus matrimonial love”.

Adam Deveril, an officer in Wellington’s army, in love with the beautiful and aristocratic Julia Oversley, has just succeeded to his father’s title of Viscount Lynton, and finds himself overwhelmed by his late father’s massive debts. In order to provide for his family and save Fontley, the family home, he marries the plebeian Jenny Chawleigh, daughter of a very wealthy banker. The book follows their first year of married life, up until the Battle of Waterloo (18th June 1815).

As in all Heyer’s books, the research is impeccable. From Adam’s colonel in the 52nd Regiment, to the exact day and time when the news of Waterloo reached London, from the behaviour of the Prince Regent to the fashions of the day in hats and dresses, the details are reliable and accurate.

The other very enjoyable feature that this book shares with other Heyer novels is the excellent writing. Not a single sentence jars; plenty of them are memorable. In A Civil Contract, perhaps more than in any of her other books, Heyer sets herself to give a very complete picture of the main characters in the book.

Adam is a gentleman through and through: his character traits are loyalty, chivalry, honesty, a sense of humour, and strength of character (he holds out in support of Wellington against surrounding friends who are Whigs). Fastidious, even finicky, reserved, he retires behind “an impenetrable barrier” when displeased or upset. He is deeply attached to Fontley; he loved soldiering, but turns out to be a farmer at heart. He loathes accepting gifts – either from Lord Oversley or from Mr Chawleigh.

He feels a romantic love for Julia; over the course of the book he develops a solid matrimonial love for Jenny. Having taken the decision to marry her, he commits himself fully to his marriage. Right from the start, as soon as they were married, “He did pity her, and forgot his own aching heart in the need to reassure her.” Later on, Julia suggests that since they both still love each other, they could have an affair: he rejects the suggestion out of a sense of honour, and loyalty and compassion for Jenny. We witness his feelings develop from his reply to Julia’s question “ ‘Can you be happy?’ A tiny headshake answered her”, through “he had grown to be fond of (Jenny) — so fond, he realized, that if, by the wave of a wand he could cause her to disappear he would not wave it”, to “ ‘I do love you, Jenny,’ he said gently. ‘Very much indeed — and I couldn’t do without you’.” By the end of the book he has recognised what Julia’s father, and Adam’s friend Brough, had seen clearly from the start: that Julia and he would have been very badly suited.

Jenny’s character includes common sense, generosity, and strength of character. She is well-educated and intelligent; loving, forthright, blunt, understanding, and perceptive. We discover that she has been secretly in love with Adam ever since she first met him the year before. She is “unromantic”; “a round, rosy face remarkable only for its determination”. “The trend of her mind was practical; she entered into married life in a business-like way; and almost immediately presented the appearance of a wife of several years’ standing. She quickly discovered, and never forgot, his particular fads”. She sets herself to make Adam comfortable by creating a welcoming, well-cared-for home and being constantly even-tempered and undemanding – though being pregnant, and unwell, causes a considerable change in her behaviour!

The other really remarkable character is Jenny’s father, Mr Chawleigh. He is rough, generous, vulgar, too old to learn, sharp, decent, honest, and bullying. He is ambitious for Jenny to enter high society, but not for himself: he recognises that he would only appear ridiculous among “the nobs”. Adam says to Jenny at one stage, “I think there can be no more generous persons alive than you and your father.” Adam and Mr Chawleigh have several clashes, but in the end, recognising how totally different they are, they each learn to respect and even admire the other. Adam reflects about Chawleigh that “He did not know that the things he said were unpardonable, or that self-control in moments of stress was incumbent on him. He had fought his way up in the world with no other weapons than his hard head and his ruthless will. He was brutal but generous, overbearing yet curiously humble, and he gave way to his emotions with the ease of a child.”

The Lady in Gold by Anne-Marie O'Connor

The Lady in Gold

Anne-Marie O’Connor

Knopf, 2012

An account of how Klimt’s most famous painting, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, also known as Lady in Gold, came to be painted; what happened to Klimt and his circle, and what became of Adele, her family and friends – assimilated Austrian Jewish families in Viennese high society. The last part of the book tells the story of how in the 1990s Maria Gutmann, Adele’s niece, then living in America, successfully sued the Austrian Government for possession of the painting.

Anne-Marie O’Connor is a journalist by training and profession, as is evident from the style of her writing – a high proportion of one-clause sentences and one-sentence paragraphs. She has undertaken a vast amount of research into the lives of everyone even remotely connected to her main themes.

It’s a fascinating story, and one learns a lot about Austria and art; Austria and the Austrians before and during the Second World War; and, of course, the Bloch-Bauer family themselves. The story is told through events, following one after another, not as a narrative. Most of us found it quite hard to keep track of who was related to whom, especially as the author has a habit of referring to people by their first names only, so that even the (essential) index couldn’t help. However, we found it utterly fascinating, crammed with facts, packed with information and new lights on twentieth-century history – and art history ­–, and some simply couldn’t put it down.

It is intriguing to find that here, as in so many places, wealthy Jewish families are major patrons of culture. The answer has to be that, as Pieper famously explained, “Leisure is the basis of culture”.

One of the important lessons of the book is how, after the Second World War, Austrians denied they had invited German Nazis into their country at the Anschluss (the union between Nazi Germany and Austria in 1938) and instead claimed to be the “first victims” of the Nazis. Once again, the book shows how Nazis plumbed the depths of human cruelty. One reader was amused at the change it brought about in her attitudes: The Olive Grove made her hate Israeli Jews for what they did to the Palestinians; but now she hates Austrians for what they did to the Jews. It is not, of course, only the Austrians or only the Nazis: the tragedy of Viktor Gutmann’s death in the Croatia he was hoping to help rebuild, stays in the mind.

However, the Austrian establishment persisted in its refusal either to admit the truth of the Nazi era, or to return the stolen or appropriated art to its rightful owners. The fact is that in the immediate post-war period, a large proportion of those in management or positions of authority were former Nazis or sympathisers. This parallels the situation in ex-Communist countries after 1989.

The characters in the book provoke endless reflection. Adele, unable to have children, was a “modern” woman and became a socialist. Klimt, and his artist friends, raise the question of why they didn’t have any morals. Maria (nee Bloch-Bauer) and her husband Fritz Altmann, after a dodgy beginning, were obviously very much in love. After escaping to America, Maria “discovered that she liked work” !!!!!!!!!!!! Perhaps “the devil finds work for idle hands”. And the book explains that Randol (her lawyer) worked so hard because he had a wife and children to support. One of the original things that could be pulled out of the book is: HOW BORING IT IS WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE WORK TO DO.

Another question which remains unaddressed is: Where was the Catholic Church in all of this? Wasn’t Austria a Catholic country? Maybe there is scope for another book about this?

The Flying Inn by G K Chesterton

The Flying Inn

G. K. Chesterton, first published 1914

A weird and exhilarating fantasy, rather too weird and too much of a fantasy for some readers. Chesterton imagines early twentieth-century England being taken over by an Islamic prophet and a peer of the realm who works tirelessly to introduce Islamic customs as English laws little by little. What the heroes of the book – a lunatic Irishman and a stolid, taciturn pub-owner – object to is the ban on alcohol. Their adventures as they combat the menace become more and more riotous as the book progresses, and they end up in a full-scale pitched battle against the Turks who have secretly been brought in to complete the conquest.

For a recent comment, see:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/10918700/A-prophetic-trip-on-the-rolling-English-road.html

Eleni by Nicholas Gage

Eleni (first published 1983)

Nicholas Gage

This book is really two stories combined: the life and death of Eleni Gatzoyiannis, a Greek peasant woman, and the quest of her son Nicholas for truth and justice thirty years later.

Eleni was tortured, condemned to death and killed by the Greek Communist rebels who were occupying and controlling her mountain village.

In writing the book, Nicholas identifies with his mother and brings her life as vividly before us as if the book had been written by Eleni herself. His account of her life and character is detailed and convincing.

It is a tough book to read, and hard to recommend, as one suffers a lot in reading it. But one also learns an enormous amount. In the first place, about Greece in the mid-twentieth century. Secondly, about Communism, an idealism which, because it is totalitarian, necessarily includes the torture and murder of anyone who does not cooperate whole-heartedly – and, indeed, of plenty who do.

The Shallows by Nicholas Carr

The Shallows: How the Internet is changing the way we think, read and remember 

Nicholas Carr. Atlantic Books, 2010.

A book like this forces you to read it in small bites in order to understand and consider Carr’s observations.

Carr offers a very detailed study of ... what it says on the tin (how the Internet is changing the way we think, read and remember). Careful scientific and psychological studies show that our brains physically change in response to what we do with them. Because internet technology (typified by Google) is designed to encourage us to jump from one thing to another quickly via hypertext links, related stories, images, etc., internet users progressively lose the ability for deep thought, concentration on one subject, reasoning things to a logical conclusion, silent contemplation, and so on.

He includes a survey of the development of reading. Interestingly enough, at the point where he discusses the ancient and mediaeval world and the transmission of texts, he makes some very ignorant blunders.

“The scribes didn’t pay much attention to the order of the words in a sentence [...]. In spoken language, meaning had always been conveyed mainly through inflection, the pattern of stresses a speaker places on syllables, and that oral tradition continued to govern writing. In interpreting the writing in books through the early Middle Ages, readers would not have been able to use word order as a signal of meaning. The rules hadn’t been invented yet.” (p. 61)

This is simply nonsense. He is confusing “inflection” with “intonation”. The word “inflection” is often used to mean the same as “intonation”, but when dealing with Latin and other languages, it means that the form of the word (typically its ending) changes in order to signify its function in the sentence. That is the reason why word-order in Latin and other inflected languages is much less important than it is in English, French, etc.: you could tell the meaning of the sentence from the forms of the words.

Less importantly, he says, p. 62: “... most literate Greeks and Romans were happy to have their books read to them by slaves.” As a matter of fact, only a tiny minority of literate Greeks or Roman owned slaves who could read Greek or Latin. I could continue with further examples, but it doesn’t really affect the argument of the book so I won’t.

Carr exposes the real problem with technology today – it’s not the speed and type of content it can deliver making our lives more efficient, enjoyable, informative, etc. etc., but actually the medium itself (TV, mobile phone, internet etc.) determining how we now think and work. I am already a child (actually adult, as this change took place in my adulthood) of spellcheck, cut-and-paste, fast forward, rewind, and instant access on the go, and I expect others to think and behave like me.

Funnily enough, the expectation to adapt to technological change is so strong with my grown-up children that after a year of pushing me to change my Windows phone, they clubbed together and bought me an iPhone 6 for my birthday. They argued that this type of phone was more intuitive and easier to use for old people like myself, because we don’t understand how all these things work! Secretly, I have already found I can do things on my iPhone 6 that I couldn’t do on my Windows phone, and so, slowly, I too am evolving new habits.

Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine and What Matters in the End by Atul Gawande

Being Mortal: Illness, Medicine and What Matters in the End

Atul Gawande

Profile Books, 2014

Atul Gawande is an American doctor whose parents came from India. His book discusses, in detail, the current state of Western medicine with regard to the end of life. We read it because of its extreme relevance; each of us has lived through, or is currently living through, the death of a family member or close friend from different kinds of terminal illnesses.

These days, doctors and nurses are (highly) trained to do things. They identify what is wrong and see what can be done to fix it. They are not trained to cope with death, or to discuss the subject of death, still less to relate to patients on a personal level.

According to Gawande (p. 166), more than 40% of oncologists admit to offering treatments that they believe unlikely to work. And the doctor-patient relationship is increasingly miscast in retail terms: “The Customer is always right”. Sick people want to be “better”, to regain the life they had before; doctors are hesitant to trample on patients’ expectations and are not trained to explain to them just how little hope there is of recovery, for example, or just how little time they may have.

Gawande shows that this often results in terminal patients being subjected to drastic operations, chemotherapy, etc., but not being shown realistically what their situation is or what is the best that can be hoped for.

He also looks at all sorts of initiatives that are being set up to implement a different approach to terminal illness and end-of-life care. This includes a very good description of what a Hospice does, pp. 161 & 165. It raised the question of “Ars bene moriendi” – the art of making a good death, a mediaeval theme encouraging a consideration of what would constitute a good death. In the 20th and early 21st century, overwhelmingly, people who are asked “How would you want to die?” say they would like death to be so sudden that they knew nothing about it.

However, in practice a death like that is often devastating for those who are left behind, who have had no chance to say goodbye, let alone resolve unfinished issues, forgive or seek forgiveness, and so on. Endings matter (p. 239). A traditional Roman Catholic prayer was “From a sudden and unprovided death, O Lord, deliver us.”

Gawande focuses on the importance of having time to talk (p. 177) and even recommends paying doctors to take time to talk, not just perform (p. 187).

He has arrived at a set of questions that can help terminal patients arrive, sooner or later, at a real understanding of their situation, and that can enable them to make the best decisions on their treatment options (p. 183).

“What is most important to you?”

“What goals are most important for you now?”

“What trade-offs are you willing to make?”

“What sacrifices are you willing to make now for the possibility of more time later?”

“What are your worries?’

“What are your biggest fears and concerns?’

He also says to patients, “I am worried” (This means both “this is serious”, and “I’m on your side”).

What is needed is to help people to negotiate the overwhelming anxiety, about death, anxiety about suffering, anxiety about their loved ones, finances and process (p.182). People die only once, so they have no experience to draw upon (p. 188).

The book covers a very wide set of issues, impossible to cover adequately in a blog post like this. One point he makes is that in the case of elderly people, it is normally their children who make the choices for them, and they choose safety over quality of life every time, sometimes leading to dire results for the elderly person's happiness and well-being.

We stop the healthy from committing suicide because we recognize that their psychic suffering is often temporary (p. 244).

For the terminally ill who face sufferings that we know will increase, only the stonehearted can be unsympathetic (p.244). But assisted living is far harder than assisted death (p. 245). If you only read about this book and don’t read the book itself, you could assume that, with his emphasis on making the last stages of life as good as they can be, Gawande would naturally support the “assisted suicide” or “assisted dying” proposals. He does not. One of his 2014 Reith lectures was quoted in a letter urging “assisted dying” from a large group of VIPs, published in The Daily Telegraph on Monday December 29, 2014: “we are heartless if we don’t recognise unbearable suffering and seek to alleviate it”. They used this quotation in support of their urge to legalise “assisted dying”, a.k.a. euthanasia for terminally ill people.

But they were misquoting him by taking one sentence out of context. In fact, on pp. 244-245 of Being Mortal, Gawande looks at the Netherlands, where euthanasia has been legal for some years, and sees that palliative medicine in the Netherlands lags far behind palliative medicine in other countries such as the UK and America.  While he talks about medication to end unendurable pain, it is clear that what he has in mind is precisely what the Catholic Church has always taught: it is not wrong to provide pain-killing medication for the purpose of reducing or ending suffering in a patient with a terminal illness, even when it is foreseen that the medication will have the effect of shortening their life. What is wrong is to end one’s own or someone else’s life in order to escape suffering which can be relieved by medication.