Dear Diane Purkiss,
Here we are again, as promised, now that I've finished The Civil War: A People's History, all 570 pages of it. My reading journal records that it has taken me just over 3 months, which makes it second only to Don Quixote in the length of time taken to finish since records began. At best this is a dubious honour. As I found myself nearing the end, I could feel a weight lifting off me; if only because I wouldn't have to see the book's familiar cover starring reproachfully at me every morning as I came down the stairs clutching a preferred volume. At the same time I was aware of a brand of regret. If only I could have enjoyed the book more, if only it had been more to my taste, then it could have been a beautiful beginning to my new fascination with the 17th century. Because, clearly, the civil war is a fascinating subject, situated in a fascinating period of history, and peopled by fascinating groups and individuals. Undoubtedly, I want to know more, and will go on to read more. Unfortunately I will be at least partly motivated by an urge to fill in the chronological and thematical gaps you left me with, and by a need to confirm the veracity of your unreferenced text.
At times A People's History is well-written, thorough and interesting - for 30, 40, even 50 pages at time it held my interest with a firm hand. Towards the end of the book, for example, you pulled out all the stops and wrote another brilliant chapter, this time about the Levellers, an echo back to the section on iconoclasm, and I felt that expanding ball in my chest that shortens my breath and precedes true readerly excitement. I flew through it with renewed enjoyment:
'Leveller' is a term created by the enemies of those thus named. There is something of destruction in the name: to level is to raze, to erase, to sow every acre with salt, to obliterate civilisation as we know it, and this signifies the origins of the movement in an era which was beginning to believe itself on the verge of apocalyse. The end of the world was the only vision of true, radical and permanent change that Christian thought allowed. Political ideas of change were imagined through its rhetoric of the annihalation of difference; the the lion could lie down with the lamb, then the rich and the poor might also one day be reconciled. The Levellers grew out of three things: the experiences of the godly members of the Parliamentarian army, the experience of Independent church-going and the unfolding story of the times. What they made was a new map of the how the world might look.
Unfortunately, my enthusiasm didn't last. Because A People's History also feels rushed and confused. Occasionally, it proves cryptic - actors, places or events appear suddenly but aren't introduced or explained until 20 pages late. A chapter deals with events that haven't yet happened in the next one, so that the future James II escapes his captors on page 446, but his father's earlier attempts (which are somewhat connected) don't happen until 100 pages later. The effect is dizzying. The sections on specific battles, which are already bound to confuse with their unfamiliar terminology and plethora of names and regiments, are particularly guilty of chronological hopscotch. A battle is finished on page 412, but only half way through on page 414. It is inevitable that a wonky grounding in the events will detract from any understanding of the personal and social context. You cannot have one without the other. There were innumerable times when I yearned for a simple timeline of battles, or a cast of characters, so that I could crib which side the war's many characters were on. The day is only somewhat saved by the natural charisma of your subject at hand.
My major difficulty, however, remains the lack of referencing, now compounded by the nature of that 'Further Reading' section. What I found there was not the longed-for remedy to the lack of endnotes, but a hodge-podge list of printed primary material and arcane articles, mashed together into paragraphs, and punctuated by mysterious and unhelpful comments like 'brilliant, but misguided' or 'interesting but repeatedly challanged.' It gave me no way of knowing where your many quotes had come from, and no way of figuring out how the listed secondary material had impacted on your thinking.
I have to admit that I also felt a little bewildered by your suggestion, in the introduction to the section, that: it would not be practical to list here all the sources I have consulted. What I offer instead is some suggestions for what primary and secondary sources are most central to the matters discussed. It seems to me that this is rather a disingenious statement. First, it suggests that your reading has been so wide-ranging and far-reaching, that we couldn't possibly begin to contemplate its extent for fear our brains might explode. Second, it actively obscures the content and direction of that reading from us, and draws a line between you (the expert) and us (the plebian reader). Third, it almost directly contradicts the actual content of the section, which is packed with the obscure and unneccessary. We're given call numbers for original documents and of books only available in Special Collections libraries; we're offered the titles of articles in specialist journals with limited availability. In contrast the number of accessible books, relevant to the interested amateur or beginner is very limited. What we end up with is a long thirty page Further Reading section apparently designed to put us off reading more. It begins by informing us that this is only the tip of the iceberg - as if we couldn't have guessed as much - and then proceeds to dive 20,000 leagues under the sea. The effect is demoralising and discouraging, not to mention unhelpful.
The problem of the Further Reading section is, for me, part of a wider issue. I hope you'll pardon my being blunt. I felt that A People's History was patronising. Not consistently, but frequently. Do you remember this:
Charles' daughter Elizabeth was even more alone. She was twelve years old, and it was half a year since she had seen her father. ... Charles wrote lovingly to her on 27th October 1648. [Letter] Like modern father calling his daughter on a mobile phone from far away, Charles knew he urgently wanted to make contact with his little girl, but he didn't know enough about her world to know what to say.
Leaving aside the clumsiness of that last sentence, why the reference to the father with the mobile phone? It's jolting and, well, silly. The text of the letter makes it clear what Charles' feels: uncertain, afraid, loving, lonely. Do you think we cannot understand these potent emotions without reference to everyday contemporary experience? I assure you, we can. Not to mention that the analogy itself is ridiculous: Charles stood in danger of his life; his children were prisoners without a known future. It is hardly the same as my dad calling to see how I am. The idea that it is baffles me and belittles the real events. The pathos of the letter is completely destroyed; your gloss condescends to the point of distortion. It is only one example of many such 'chatty' asides.
It seems to me that there has been some fundamental misunderstanding here about what a popular history book is, and what it is for. In edition to the obvious motive (i.e. for enjoyment), I read popular history for an introduction to subjects and periods outside my specialism. As such I expect to be introduced to new events and ideas in a clear, precise and eloquent way. But I don't just want to be told things. I also want my reading to be a jumping off point - I want to feel guided to read other books, including primary materials, that will help me delve deeper into topics of particular interest. I'm engaged in a learning process, of which you are the mentor but not the dictator. I do not want to feel as though my native intelligence is being insulted; and I don't want you to sacrifice the history in the name of readability. In other words, I don't want to be spoon-fed , I just want to be shown a way through the thicket of newness. I imagine (I hope) that many of my fellow readers feel the same; if not, it is a model of non-fiction reading that we should nevertheless aspire to. Exploring, probing, questioning but never simply and incritically accepting.
So, Diane, this is where you and I part company. I'll be sticking around the Civil War - I have appointments with this and this, and I have higher hopes - but you won't be coming with me, for obvious reasons. So long, and farewell.
~~Victoria~~