August 2021 – Into the Woods

The Heart of Mid-Lothian ★★★★

“The Porteous Mob,” James Drummond, 1855. The painting is on display in the Scottish National Gallery in Edinburgh. Source: Wikimedia Commons. Click here for high-resolution version.

A couple of weeks ago, I came across an article in The Herald of Scotland in which a scholar of literature urged filmmakers to make “blockbuster” movies from Walter Scott novels. The article is “Call for Walter Scott’s novels to be given film treatment,” Aug. 10.

I found the article charming, but I also was skeptical. At that point, I had read only one Walter Scott novel, The Antiquary, 1816, the third of Scott’s Waverley novels. That novel was a good enough read, but it’s not blockbuster material. Had I continued to judge Scott’s novels based only on the The Antiquary, I would not have rated him all that high, and I would have continued to wonder whether the high esteem in which the Scottish hold Scott has more to do with nationalism than with literature.

But any scholar, in this age, who makes a specialty of 19th Century literature automatically has my respect. So, I thought it likely than Alison Lumsden, who is quoted in the article, must know things that I don’t know. I ordered a used copy of The Heart of Mid-Lothian from Amazon. It’s a 1947 edition, poorly printed and with small type, but I didn’t want to read this book on a Kindle. Almost always, when old books are made into Kindle editions, they are full of typos because the text was scanned and was poorly edited, or not edited at all, for scanner errors.

The novel was first published in 1818. That makes it more than 200 years old. I had just finished reading Charles Dickens’ Martin Chuzzlewit (1842) and Barnaby Rudge (1841). To read these novels back to back seemed like a good idea, not least because my neural circuits for parsing long 19th Century sentences were fully warmed up, and also because I was curious how the Dickens would compare with the Scott.

The Heart of Mid-Lothian is a seriously good novel, and I now agree with Alison Lumsden: It deserves to be made into a blockbuster.

One of the reasons Lumsden gives for bringing Scott to the screen is “because I think that’s a really good way of getting people to engage with writers again — they see the film and then they read the book.”

No doubt Professor Lumsden has students who would be able to read The Heart of Mid-Lothian. But my guess is that this novel would be insurmountable by most young readers today. The novel is long. The sentences are very long. For the first 120 pages, hardly anything happens. Most daunting, though, is that the dialogue (of which there is a great deal) is in dialect, written phonetically. (Some people would see this speech not as a dialect of English, but as a separate Scots language.) Thus there is a great deal of reader friction. Other readers may have other methods, but my method is to sound the dialogue in my mind. Usually it can be understood from the sound of it. If a character uses the word “waur” in a sentence, it’s not too difficult to recognize that “waur” means “worse.” The word “maun,” meaning “must,” will already be understood by readers of English literature. But some words simply have to be looked up, such as “gleg,” meaning sharp or wary. I learned the meaning of “Gardyloo!” from a walking tour in Edinburgh, in which I also learned about the Grassmarket and Half-Hanged Maggie, and where the gallows used to be. (If you love Edinburgh or are planning a trip there, that alone is a reason to read this novel.)

Even the people of Edinburgh speak in dialect. But characters from the Highlands are more challenging:

Hout, tout, ne’er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The law is put twa-three years auld yet, and is ower young to hae come our length ; and pesides, how is the lads to climb the praes wi’ thae tamn’d breekens on them? It makes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I kend Donacha’s haunts gey and weel, and I was at the place where he had rested yestreen ; for I saw the laves the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them ; by the same token there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am thinking they got some word out o’ the island what was intended — I sought every glen and cleuch, as if I had been deer-stalking, but teil and wauff of his coat-tail could I see — Cot tam!

Note the beautiful rhythm of this little speech. Rhythm has a great deal to do with why we find Scottish accents so charming.

There is another factor that Chuzzlewit, Rudge, and Mid-Lothian have in common that may be offputting to contemporary readers. That is that the dramatic trajectories are very different. Contemporary readers will expect a story to begin with some dramatic action. Then the author will be forgiven for a bit of exposition. Then the action will resume and build step by step until the climax. The climax will be followed by a very short denouement. Readers of 200 years ago, no doubt, would have been entirely content with a different sort of trajectory. For many pages — maybe even 20 percent of the novel’s length — nothing much will happen. Some scenes will be set and characters will be introduced. But nothing happens, and how the characters and settings are related is not disclosed. There will be clues and a bit of foreshadowing, but there is hardly any dramatic tension. Finally the threads of the plot (and the subplots) will start to emerge. By the halfway point, the reader will finally see where the story is going. The climax will occur very early, around the three-quarters mark, followed by a very long denouement. Readers who anticipate this might be more motivated to stick with an antique novel if they have low expections that anything important will happen until well after 100 pages.

For that reason, books such as The Heart of Mid-Lothian would present some big problems for filmmakers. A filmmaker might, for example, have to start the movie with a high-drama event that doesn’t occur until much later in the story, and then depend on a flashback to introduce the characters and settings and to do the necessary exposition. Or screenwriters might cut the first quarter of the novel completely, and dribble in the background some other way. Exposition is another challenge. Contemporary writers avoid relying on exposition, in which the author explains what is happening. Instead, the action is expected to tell the story. In Mid-Lothian, the readers will encounter many pages of exposition, and only the key dramatic parts will be handled with scenes and dialogue. The art of storytelling and the expectations of readers have changed. But old stories are good stories all the same.

As the drama in Mid-Lothian picked up and peaked, I found myself staying up late to read. Was it a good read, worth the effort? Yes!

There are other rewards, though, for reading a novel like this. I understand much better now why the Scottish hold Scott in such high esteem. I have a much better feel for some Scottish history — particularly the events that followed “the Glorious revolution,” though that history is complicated and remains vague to me. Scott was a lawyer. He works in some very interesting facts about Scottish law, for which he clearly had great respect. And though I don’t think that Scott was particularly religious, a major theme in Mid-Lothian is the religious conflict in Scotland that was closely connected with conflict around the union of Scotland and England. One of the characters in Mid-Lothian, David Deans, goes into long and rather tedious disquisitions on doctrine. Scott refers to Deans as a “proser,” and it’s fairly clear that Scott was making fun of doctrinal hair-splitting, as well as of old men who talk too much.

As for the Porteous riots, the riots are not central to the plot of Mid-Lothian, but the riots have a great deal to do with the characters. The Porteous riots — of which Scott’s account is surely historically accurate — also ruffled feathers in London, and those ruffled feathers in London also connect with the plot.

Jeanie Deans, Mid-Lothian‘s heroine, will seem like a prude, I think, to young people today. But Jeanie’s sister, Effie, is very different. The difference between these two sisters will give modern young readers plenty to think about. And for students looking for a topic for a paper, I suggest this: Compare the hangman characters in Barnaby Rudge and The Heart of Mid-Lothian. Was Scott as much a social reformer as Dickens? How did the Scottish of the time justify capital punishment? Was the public attitude toward capital punishment starting to change? Why or why not? How does a duke’s attitude compare with that of a peasant, or with that of a religious character such as David Deans?

I should say a few words about the moral tone of The Heart of Mid-Lothian. It is an extended meditation on suffering and justice. Here is a quotation from Jeanie Deans:

O madam, if ever ye kend what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffering creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be neither ca’d fit to live or die, have some compassion on our misery! — Save an honest house from dishonour, and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and dreadful death! Alas! it is not when we sleep soft and wake merrily ourselves that we think on other people’s sufferings. Our hearts are waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the body — and seldom may it visit your Leddyship — and when the hour of death comes, that comes to high and low — lang and late may it be yours! — Oh, my Leddy, then it isna what we hae dune for oursells, but what we hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing’s life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow.

In short, though I read this novel in two weeks, I feel as though I just finished an entire semester in a tough course on Scottish literature and history that I found very rewarding. Thank you, Professor Alison Lumsden of the University of Aberdeen.

The Scott Monument in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens. The monument stands on prime real estate just west of Waverley Station, below, and northeast of, the castle. I’ve never been inside this tower and have only admired it from the park, from which I took this photo, but I’ll climb the steps on my next trip. The tower is over 200 feet high.

On a lighter note: It’s entirely possible that the difficulty of understanding the many Scottish accents has been a running joke among speakers of English for centuries. I’d have to say that, as a native speaker of Southern Appalachian English, I am pretty good at parsing Scottish. I easily understand all of the video below. Twice in my life I have encountered English accents that I have not been able to understand, and it’s possible that one of them was speaking Gaelic rather than English. One was a Cockney taxi driver in London. I knew he was speaking Cockney only because of “My Fair Lady” (though I also read “Pygmalion” in high school and thought that it was one of the funniest things I’d ever read). The other was an old man, a beggar, I think, who approached me on the street in Edinburgh. Sometimes locals will take the time to school you, as with a clerk in the ferry office in the east of England who wouldn’t give me my ticket to the Hook of Holland until I correctly pronounced “Harwich” (which sounds like “Harridge” to me). There are very funny videos about this on YouTube with James McAvoy.

Watchmen

I’m two years behind on this. It took a while for Watchmen (2019) to show up on my radar screen. I’ve watched only the first episode so far, but rarely have I seen a first episode as original, as surprising, and as good as this.

A friend recommended Watchmen (in a texting conversation) while we were talking about Trumpists and Trumpist militias. Watchmen is based on a comic book series from the 1980s. HBO, I understand, made significant changes in updating the storylines. Comics purists, I understand, were enraged at the changes. But Watchmen — or at least the first episode — speaks directly, and maybe even presciently, to what we’re living through. It was extremely satisfying to see rightwing defectives who would take the law into their own hands taken down and taken out in the picturesque ways that Hollywood can deal with villains.

But it also worried me. I texted my friend: “Has there been any concern that it might encourage the militia crazies?” He replied, “No, those folks didn’t have it on their radar.” Whew.

As we wait for justice to catch up with the tyrants, traitors, racists, insurrectionists and criminals who are trying to destroy American democracy and install their little Hitler, Watchmen is good therapy. There are nine episodes, and they can be streamed from HBO.

Late summer

Abelia

Those of us who live in southern climates are usually glad to see cooler weather return after a hot summer. But there’s also something melancholy about the idea of summer’s end. As Shakespeare wrote (sonnet 18), “… summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

The abelia bush is in full bloom. The bush is huge. I could hide my Fiat 500 inside it. And though the bees don’t seem to be all that interested in the thousands of little trumpet flowers, there often are a dozen butterflies at a time working the bush. Meanwhile, the fig trees in the orchard are looking good. But the true bumper crop of fall tree fruit here comes from the persimmon trees, wild trees that volunteered in the yard 12 years ago and that now are producing lots of fruit. There will be many persimmon puddings this fall, and, I hope, enough persimmon pulp to freeze.

Abelia is a relative of honeysuckle. It’s an old-fashioned shrub that one doesn’t see as often anymore. I wish I had entire hedges of it. Unlike honeysuckle, it doesn’t climb and choke things. It grows quickly, and though I have never pruned my abelia bush, I think abelia doesn’t mind being shaped a bit.

September is the season of yellow flowers. Soon — and almost overnight — the rural roadsides will be lined with yellow flowers. We’re starting to have nighttime temperatures in the 60s (F), a sure sign that September is on the way.

Green persimmons, four to six weeks away from ripening

A profile in courage

Rep. Barbara Lee at an anti-war powers protest in 2020. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Twice in my life I have had the experience of living through a period of great collective danger, periods in which many of the American people completely lost their minds. One of those times was November 2016, when, though he lost the popular vote by 2.87 million votes, the criminally depraved Donald Trump was installed as president of the United States. The other time was the period after the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, when a mass madness of war fever swept over the United States.

Three days after 9/11 — three days! — a bill was rushed through the U.S. Congress giving President George Bush, vice president Dick Cheney, and their war-hungry cabinet a blank check to use the U.S. military pretty much anywhere they saw fit, if the two Republicans in the White House claimed that it had to do with terrorism. That bill passed 98-0 in the U.S. Senate and 420-1 in the U.S. House of Representatives. The only person to vote against it was Rep. Barbara Lee, who still represents California’s 13th congressional district (Oakland and northern Alameda county). The Washington Post reminds us of this in an article today about Barbara Lee: “She was the only member of Congress to vote against war in Afghanistan. Some called her a traitor.”

Sometimes people are right for the wrong reasons. But Barbara Lee was right for the right reasons. She said, on the House floor: “However difficult this vote may be, some of us must urge the use of restraint. Our country is in a state of mourning. Some of us must say, ‘Let’s step back for a moment, let’s just pause, just for a minute, and think through the implications of our actions today, so that this does not spiral out of control.’”

Many Americans subsequently come to their senses after an epidemic of madness, though many never do. I was proud of Barbara Lee then, and I am even more proud of her now. As for the Trump madness, it rages on.

I listened to President Biden’s address to the nation on Afghanistan yesterday. Insofar as I know anything about the situation and remember some history, I did not detect any attempt by Biden to mislead us or any attempt to rewrite history. Republicans, on the other hand, went as far as erasing from their web sites any references to the deal that Trump made with the Taliban last year. And, today, Republican mouths are running fast and loud to rewrite history and blame Biden for Afghanistan.

Tom Nichols gets it right in an article yesterday in The Atlantic, “Afghanistan Is Your Fault.” On the whole, that is true, because the beginning of the disaster in Afghanistan had almost total support from the American people. What have we learned?

Country-style seitan

Country-style steak made from seitan

I have bought seitan in the past (it’s very expensive), and I didn’t really like it. Homemade seitan is a whole ′nother thing. The key ingredient is gluten flour. Gluten alone would be impossibly rubbery, so a certain amount of ground legumes (I used garbanzo beans in the seitan in the photo) is needed to optimize the “bite” of the seitan. And because gluten and legumes alone wouldn’t have much flavor, sauce and seasoning are very important.

I feel sorry for those who can’t tolerate gluten (most people can) or who avoid gluten for some reason. My suspicion is that gluten takes the rap for the downsides of white flour. And, in my view, even white flour has its essential uses, in moderation. Personally, I love gluten, and I have no reason to suspect that gluten has done me or my digestive system any harm. Quite the opposite, I would testify. Gluten is a good source of vegetarian protein.

Anyway, here is a good basic recipe for seitan. That recipe uses 3 parts gluten to 2 parts legume. That’s too much gluten, in my opinion. Even 1 to 1 seems a little high on gluten, so you should experiment with the proportions. The recipe in the link uses lentils. I usually use cooked chickpeas. But any legume would work. Varying the type of legume would vary the spin of the seitan. If you want something more chickeny, use chickpeas. For something more beefy, use blackbeans. Recipes differ on how to cook the seitan. I shape the dough and simmer the seitan in stock. That seems simplest, plus the seitan absorbs flavor from the stock.

I welcome the trend toward fake meats. However, after my initial enthusiasm, I find that I’m not all that interested in fake meats. For one, they’re just too meaty. I prefer vegetarian alternatives that are high in protein but that don’t pretend to be anything other than what they are. Though, according to Wikipedia, the word “seitan” is new, wheat gluten has been eaten in Asia for hundreds of years. The Chinese word translates to “dough tendon,” which is a fine description of the texture of gluten unless you cut the gluten with something that isn’t so rubbery.

Is gluten a processed food? I would argue that it is not. Even old water-powered mills could produce flour from the germ of the wheat. They called it “shorts” flour and sold it as food for pigs. Separating the germ from the bran from the white endosperm after milling was just a matter of sifting, as far as I know.

Seitan is very absorbent, so it loves sauces and gravies. For Asian dishes, I’d suggest cutting it into thin strips (and giving the seitan a quick stir-fry) as though you were making beef and broccoli. Seitan steaks, with dark gravy, naturally, lie at the Western end of the seitan spectrum. I rolled the seitan steak in seasoned flour and lightly fried it, the better to simulate country-style steak.

Seitan is high in protein and low in carbs. It’s also low in fiber, so I think it’s a good idea to serve it with high-fiber foods. I kneaded grated carrots and chopped onions into the seitan in the photo, not only to increase the fiber but also to improve the bite.

Church culture

A tent revival

I drove out during the cool of the evening yesterday to pick up the mail and look for more canning jars. At Sandy Ridge up near the Virginia line, people were gathering under a big tent for a tent revival. I stopped to take pictures, but I kept well back from the tent, assuming that I would quickly be identified as an outsider up to no good. I watched for a few minutes, though, and it was easy to see that this was a social occasion. Most of the people clearly knew each other. To them, I think, it was an occasion for dressing up just a little and spending a pleasant summer evening fanning themselves and exchanging gossip.

I envy them for the social part. Country churches, had they not aligned themselves with such an ugly politics, could serve as social glue in places where social glue is badly needed. Nor am I just guessing at the politics being offered at this particular tent revival. The preacher behind this tent revival ran for county commissioner a few years ago but lost in the Republican primary. After losing, he set up a little church in a vacant building across the road from this tent. I think the vacant building formerly was a garage. When he was running for commissioner, he ran his campaign from Facebook, where his theology and his politics were on full display. If you’ve read about some of the preachers who recently tried to take over the Southern Baptist church, then you know the type.

If there is an opposite of church culture, I think it would be pub culture. I would argue that one of the reasons rural American culture is falling apart is that church culture has become such a poison. Church culture is highly antagonistic to pub culture. Churches have done everything possible to prevent and kill pub culture. The real reason, I would argue, is competition. Even now, in the state of North Carolina, alcohol cannot be sold on Sunday mornings. Given a choice between a healthy pub culture and church culture, most people would choose pub culture, as they still do all over the British Isles and Ireland.

We do have places here that serve alcohol. But a healthy pub culture does not exist. On the way to Walnut Cove there is a motorcycle bar. I believe it is loosely aligned with one or more militias. On the other side of Danbury, in a nice spot overlooking the Dan River, there is a place that might have succeeded if people in these parts understood pub culture. I am among those who will never go back again, though, because the atmosphere is so ugly and the music is so loud. Those who won’t go back tell similar versions of the same story: friends of the musicians tell people to shut up so they can hear the music, and people who want to talk ask the musicians to keep it down. The owner of the place is so undiplomatic that he makes things worse. And so the vibe is terrible. A pub can’t be a concert hall and a place for friends to drink at the same time. Certainly, in Ireland, the music and noise in a popular pub might go on until late at night. But the locals also know when they can go for a quiet drink and when the place will be a party.

Mental health people tell us that drinking is healthiest when it’s social. In places like this, social drinking is pretty much totally unsupported. Instead, people stop at Dollar Generals and gas stations for beer. Recently, on my way to buy groceries, I passed the ABC store in Walnut Cove a few minutes before opening time. There were a dozen people lined up to buy liquor at 9:30 a.m. Alcoholism is a major rural problem, but social drinking in a form that could serve as healthy social glue is unsupported and almost unknown.

There is little charm anymore in rural American culture, as far as I can tell. Most rural people these days crave a suburban lifestyle, not a rural lifestyle — that is, a lifestyle that revolves around cars, without the slightest effort toward self-sufficiency or any kind of interaction with the outdoors. Even deer hunters rarely stalk deer on foot in the woods anymore. Instead, they set up deer feeders (containing corn) and then put up blinds or stands that they can drive to and in which they can sit and shoot deer. (Walmart sells blinds and deer stands.) I have met one local “coon hunter” whom a neighbor invites to hunt in our woods. I’m not sure that I’m on board with killing raccoons for sport (in spite of the damage that one has done to my tomatoes), but at least the coon hunter does it in the traditional way — on foot, in the woods, at night. I liked this coon hunter, actually. He said he didn’t know why, but that there was something spooky and exciting about being in the woods at night. “It’s primal,” I offered. “That’s it,” he said, “primal.” So he is one unsuburbanized person, at least, who is still in touch with traditional rural culture. He’d probably go to pubs, if there were any. The woods are his church, my guess would be.

I would argue that, decades ago, we passed the point at which rural white churches served any healthy purpose. Instead, the purpose they chiefly serve is to reinforce the grievances and identity that the Republican Party requires to retain its hold on rural America. Churches now operate as social wedges, not social glue. If we liberals were half as anti-freedom as authoritarians think we are, we’d close the churches and open some pubs to save some rural souls.

By the way, not one single mask was in sight at that tent revival.

On sliding from note to note

Listen link #1. Please read the first two paragraphs before you listen.

Want to start a barroom brawl in a place where the musical cognoscenti hang out to drink? Easy. Just say the explosive Italian word portamento and run for your life.

The Italian word is about carrying something. But portamento singing, in English, better translates to sliding, or gliding, from one note to the next note. Gliding from note to note is one of the markers of country music singing — so much so that there is even a country music instrument designed to slide from note to note, the steel guitar. Patsy Cline’s wonderful version of “The Wayward Wind” sounds almost as though she is imitating the steel guitar, sliding both up and down to reach her notes. Go ahead and listen to Listen link #1 now.

Patsy Cline was a fantastic singer, from the days when country music singers actually could sing. But, as far as I know, she never had formal musical training. Her portamento sliding from note to note works (for most ears, anyway), because she does eventually end up on pitch, and the timing of her sliding serves her musical and emotional intent. One of the reasons I grit my teeth at, and run screaming from, most country music is that the sliding from note to note is done with little musical skill and in poor taste. As for skill, the singer seems to lack the ability to land on pitch and must hunt for the note (often without ever finding it). As for taste, the singer is attempting to convey emotion but doesn’t have the skill or taste to do it.

It would be easy to write off all portamento singing as provincial. But the Italians, after all, do have a word for it. And then there is Maria Callas (and many other opera singers). Go ahead and listen to Listen link #2 now and take note of her portamento. You may need to listen carefully, because Callas’ portamento is more discreet than Patsy Cline’s.

Listen link #2

Though the musical cognoscenti and Callas fans (of which there are millions) may argue about her portamento, there is no disagreement on her technique. She knew what the destination pitch was and was perfectly capable of landing on that pitch.

If you’re not quite clear what it means to slide from note to note, consider the piano, where no sliding is possible. Strike a key and you’re on pitch. But consider the violin, which has no frets. Violinists can slide from note to note by sliding a finger, but they don’t (except occasionally and intentionally for musical effect).

For an extreme example of a portamento instrument, consider the theramin. The musician has pretty much no choice but to slide from note to note, and the quality of the musician’s ear will determine the accuracy of the destination pitch and the musical quality of the sliding. And a skillful player such as Clara Rockmore can make surprisingly quick transitions from note to note:

Listen link #3.

Extra credit: In the Maria Callas video above, note the difference between portamento and the glissando. At 6:09, Callas sings a descending glissando. Note that she doesn’t slide from note to note in the glissando. She hits each individual note, stunningly and on pitch, on the way down.

In the theramin video, note the wavering of the musician’s left hand, which produces vibrato, a kind of trembling of the pitch.

Joan Baez was known for her rapid vibrato. Clearly it wasn’t easy, because as she aged (she is now 80) she lost this vibrato and wisely sings many of her old songs differently.

Bottom line: singers and musicians play with pitch. But it helps if they know what they’re doing.

Tomato day

Canning is serious work. But it’s very satisfying to put up vegetables for the cold winter that you yourself grew during the hot summer. I canned tomatoes today. I have so many tomatoes that I probably will need to do it again.

I worked on the deck to the keep the heat out of the house, using a gas cooker fired with propane. But it was remarkably cool this morning — 64F when I started working about 7:30 a.m., and 75F when I finished about 11. A cool breeze was blowing out of the woods. A hummingbird hovered for a while to watch what I was doing. She must have been attracted by all the red.

For what it’s worth, my pressure canner is an All American model 915. It holds seven quart jars. Normally I am pretty good at estimating quantities. But I had no idea how many quarts my pile of tomatoes would make. I ended up with a lot of tomatoes left over. From those I will make sauce, and put it up in pint jars, if I can find some pint jars. This is not the best time of year to buy canning supplies, because some places are running out. If you have space to store things for the future, a good supply of canning jars and lids would be good stuff to stock.

Boiling water for blanching the skins off the tomatoes

Ready to pack the jars

I allowed almost three hours for the pressure cooker to cool.

Finally done

What ended the Mediterranean civilizations?

The Mediterranean today. Google Earth. Click here for high-resolution version.

1177 B.C.: The Year Civilization Collapsed. Eric H. Cline. Princeton University Press and Oxford University Press, 2021. 278 pages.

Reading about ancient history before the time of the classical Greeks is a challenge. We want a reasonably clear narrative and a good story. But the problem is that we don’t know enough about what happened 3,000 years ago for a clear narrative. All we get is a big mosaic of random pieces, with most of the pieces missing. No clear narrative emerges. But we continue to learn about ancient history, and so quickly, that this book, originally published in 2014, was revised in 2021.

Books from Oxford University Press (and certainly from Princeton as well) can be very dry reading. But the Oxford press in particular has a knack for finding academics who can write for non-academic (though motivated) readers. Eric Cline is a professor of classics and anthropology at George Washington University. His device for making this book more readable is to treat it as a mystery. That’s fair, because the history of high civilization in the Mediterranean and how it ended is a mystery. The year 1177 B.C. is arbitrary, of course. Cline chose that year because that is the year that Egypt, under the pharaoh Ramses III, was invaded by the “Sea Peoples,” and the long era of Egyptian power came to an end.

The kingdoms of the eastern Mediterranean were rich and powerful — Egyptians, Hittites, Mycenaeans, Canaanites, Cypriots. Each kingdom fell, quickly, like dominoes. There followed a dark age, out of which new civilizations arose — Israelites, Aramaeans, Phonenicians, Athenians, Spartans.

Because Cline wrote this book as a mystery, I think I will not get into what he has to say about what caused the collapse, insofar as we even understand what caused the collapse. The pleasure of this book is in becoming interested in the mystery. For a long time, what we knew about this period was learned only through archeology and from the thousands of cuneiform clay tablets that have been found all over the eastern Mediterranean. I had no idea, actually, that so many tablets survived. Many are mundane — inventories, or ships’ manifests. But the rulers of those kingdoms wrote each other lots of letters (on clay tablets), and many of them survive. At least one language has not been deciphered. Other tablets are still being translated and published. In addition to the new material from newly discovered and newly translated clay tablets and the ongoing work in archeology, new types of data are becoming available — DNA studies (from DNA recovered from bones), climate studies, and data on ancient disease pathogens. The history of the ancient Mediterranean is still very much being written.

Clearly some historians including Cline would like for us to know more about ancient history because there are parallels with today’s world that might serve as warnings. That’s fine. But historians are as unlikely to agree on the lessons to be learned as they are to agree on why a civilization fell. Cline makes reference to one historian whose view is that maybe it was a good thing that palace power in the Mediterranean collapsed, leaving room for experiments with different sorts of cultures and governments and a wider (if only slightly) distribution of wealth and power.

As for the warnings, did the ancients have any?:

“Many questions still remain unanswered, however. We do not know whether the various entities (Hittites, Mycenaeans, Egyptians, etc.) knew they were in the midst of a collapse of their society. We do not know whether there were organized efforts to evaluate and remedy the overall evolving situation and look to the future. We do not yet have any indications in the archaeological remains or textual records that anyone at the time was aware of the larger picture.

“And, even if they did know, could the leaders of the individual societies have done anything to slow the spread of decay or to prevent the ultimate collapse? There were certainly individual efforts to counter the effects of famine and drought (e.g., grain ships sent by the Egyptians; possible breeding of drought-resistant cattle and crops in the Levant), but apparently they were for naught. It has been pointed out elsewhere, though, that in virtually all such previous collapses, ‘there were sages or scholars who had a reasonably good understanding of what was happening and how it might be avoided.’ However, ‘If they were listened to at all … their advice was typically followed too little and too late.'” (The quotation inside this quotation is attributed, in the notes, to Thomas D. Hall.)

You will need some good maps while reading this book, and by the time you’ve finished it your Mediterranean geography will be quite good. There are two maps in the book, but they’re not great.

The Mediterranean in the Bronze Age. Source: Wikimedia Commons. Click here for high-resolution version.

It was much worse than I thought

Until this week, I would have thought that all the events that occurred between election day (Nov. 4, 2020) and the Capitol insurrection (Jan. 6, 2021) were just the random, malignant thrashings of disinformed idiots. But now it appears that there actually was a plan and a conspiracy to overturn the election. The key to that conspiracy was to throw the election to the U.S. House of Representatives. The 12th amendment to the Constitution provides for this if no candidate has an absolute majority of electoral votes. Who becomes president is then decided by the House of Representatives, with the delegation from each state voting en bloc. That is, each state gets only one vote.

Could the plot have succeeded if the House of Representatives had decided the election? The math on that is beyond my ability, but I will point out that, in the 50 states, there are 27 Republican governors and 23 Democratic governors.

Even though, all along, many of the connectable dots were consistent with such a conspiracy, I was skeptical that it could have been a serious attempt at overthrowing the government, simply because it was so hard to imagine that anyone would be so stupid and so evil as to attempt such a thing. The odds of success were poor, the consequences of getting caught would be severe, and the damage to American democracy and rule of law would have been fatal. In fact would have amounted to the cold-blooded murder of the U.S. democracy and rule of law.

Now there is a smoking gun. On Friday, the Justice Department provided Congress with notes on a call that Trump made to the acting attorney general and his deputy on Dec. 27. Trump threatened to fire them. He demanded that the Justice Department declare the election corrupt. They told Trump that they couldn’t do that and that there was no evidence that the election was corrupt. “Just say that the election was corrupt [and] leave the rest to me and the [Republican] Congressmen,” Trump told them.

Ten days later, a Trumpist mob stormed the U.S. Capitol while Congress was meeting to certify the results of the election. Inside the Capitol, Republicans already were attempting to block certification of the election. The votes of eight Republican senators and 139 Republican members of the House of Representatives are on record. Their names are known. Some of them talked to Trump that day or spoke at the Trump rally outside the Capitol. The notes on Trump’s phone call to the Justice Department show that some of those Republicans were co-conspirators. All of them violated their oaths of office.

We do know, at least, that the Justice Department would not join Trump’s conspiracy. Even the odious Bill Barr had resigned on Dec. 14. A new book by Washington Post reporters Carol Leonnig and Philip Rucker says that Gen. Mark Milley, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and other top generals were afraid that Trump would attempt a coup. According to the book, Milley said, “This is a Reichstag moment. The gospel of the Führer.”

Those who know their history see the connections.

I am not out on a limb here in smelling treason and conspiracy. Since Friday, several stories have appeared in the media that I believe show that Washington’s elite now realize that there was a plot and a conspiracy to overturn the election and install Trump as Führer. A piece in The Atlantic, I think, is particularly credible, because the Atlantic is so closely aligned with Washington’s political and media elite. The piece is “The Insurrection Was Just Part of the Plot: The full contours of Trump’s effort to overturn the election are coming into view.”

I am confident that congressional investigations and the U.S. Justice Department will bring everything to light. Everyone who was part of the conspiracy must be brought to justice. Even more important, I think, is that history must have the full story. As for the Republican Party, having proven itself willing to set fire to the U.S. democracy to preserve its own power, I am not confident that it will ever truly get what it deserves, simply because so many Americans are so gullible and so stupid, and because I don’t expect oligarchs to cease their attacks on democracy until they are taxed out of existence.