I’m reviewing The Vanished Collection by…

… Pauline Baer de Perignon.  A tale of lost art and the search for justice and restitution.  Read on...

Set in contemporary Paris, this story moves between the present and the past throughout as the author tries to resolve an old family tragedy that has become shrouded in mistruths and secrecy.

Jules Strauss, born in Germany in 1861, became a wealthy banker and art collector.  He moved to Paris and took up residence in a substantial apartment in Avenue Foch in the old heart of the city.  Jules was the author’s great-grandfather and was living in France during the time of the occupation and the division of the country between the southern Free Zone and the occupied north and west.  In June 1940, when the Wehrmacht marched into Paris, Jules refused to leave.  Although the family was of Jewish origin, they continued to live openly within the city.  In the years leading up to the war, Jules amassed an outstanding collection of art ranging from Monet, Pissarro and Degas to Rubens and Titian.  It was a chance remark made by an old acquaintance of the author that set her wondering about her ancestry, the artworks and what had become of them.

The book is part family history and part a search for justice and the return of the artworks to the descendants of Jules Strauss.  The author centres her book on a particular canvas by Nicolas de Largillière - Portrait of a Lady as Pomona, the sitter being Madame de Parabère - and a drawing by Tiepolo.  The narrative follows Madame de Perignon’s searches through archives, museum records, auction house catalogues and various books and repositories of information about art.  The book opens in 2014, and the journey of research and discovery lasts until 2021.  It is also most interesting to note that, despite the international agreements made in the early fifties, little progress had been made in the intervening decades.  Add to that the reluctance of museums and galleries across Europe and the world to give up their treasured works of art, and you will have some idea of the extent of the work involved for Madame de Perignon and the constant frustrations and obstacles she faced throughout her search.

I found the book a fascinating example of family history research, and the legal wrangling and hoops that had to be jumped through to get restitution of the lost items were monumental.  But the narrative presents these difficulties succinctly and without judgement.  The story flows as though it were a novel, the various hurdles presented as though they are twists and turns in the plot of a mystery story.  This book was originally written in French, and the translation has carefully preserved the Frenchness of the original narrative voice.  An enlightening and enjoyable read that I can thoroughly recommend.

As for the artworks?  Are they traced and restored to the family?  That would be telling, and you should read the book to find out.  What I will tell you is that Jules died in 1943 at the age of 81, and the family survived the war.

If you enjoyed this review you might also enjoy my thoughts on Cursed Bread, Clouds Over Paris, The Light of Days or Paris Echo

I'm Off My Beaten Track in Abydos ...

 ... today.  This part of my Egypt Journal picks up from where I left off in September last year and a more recent post from May.  You can read those earlier posts Here and Here if you want to remind yourself ...

ART, OSIRIS AND CAMELS

With barely three hours of sleep for the crew, we were already moored at Abydos when I come down to breakfast.  We are still not a full complement, but numbers are on the way up, and the boat has recovered from its temporary 'illness'.  The temple of Seti I and a ride in a taxi are today's treats.

The ship was tied up at the side of the lock and a short walk on gangplanks to where our transport was waiting.  It was five of us in each taxi.  All the drivers had been asked not to drive like demons, we were told.  Despite the warning, the journey was an experience never to be forgotten.  If the windows were left open to let in the air they also let in all the dust and dirt.  If they were closed, each one of us steadily cooked.  The driver may have been told not to drive like a demon, but no one had given him the OED definition of the word.  He was driving here, there and everywhere.  He had no regard for white lines, what few of them there were, other road users, or pedestrians.  He had developed to a fine art the process of changing gear with as little use of the clutch as possible and was a master at finding and hitting every single pothole and bump.  The highlight of the journey was when our driver threw caution to the wind and proceeded down the wrong side of the road for a good mile or so.  I concluded that if you were not on the ship's sick list before getting in the car, you certainly would be when, and if, you ever got back!

 We were 'checked in' to the village of Kerba by the local police, and we parked up in front of the temple.  It was not quite what I had expected.  The desert stretched out behind, and the monument was flanked by a disarray of mud houses with a high rocky ridge in the distance.  To the right was a newly built concrete and brick mosque still awaiting completion, painting and final decoration.  And there in front of us, amidst all this paraphernalia of modernity, was a magnificent edifice predating our own calendar.  The tops of the external pillars were restored, and it was quite obvious how this had been done.  No attempt had been made to recreate the splendour of the originals.  Each column was highly decorated, although the colour had faded with time and the sun.
Abydos was one of the most sacred sites to the ancients and was a place of pilgrimage.  The temple was built during the existence of the new kingdom, between 1500 and 1100 BC approximately.  The Pharoah Seti I had the temple built, and there are scenes inside depicting him laying out the foundations.  Seti caused a change in the style of art, and in this temple, the gods are seen to display human expressions and emotions.
The artwork inside the temple was stunning.  Once my eyes had adjusted to the meagre light, it was as though I had stepped into a kaleidoscope.  Vast walls were completely covered in plasterwork of red, blue and green, brown, white and rose, black for effect, light blue and yellow.  Each of the rooms in the temple told a part of the legend of the god and goddess, Osiris and Isis.
The story goes that Osiris was a good and just king, but his brother Seti was jealous of his success and popularity and conspired against him.  At a banquet, Seti tricked his brother into entering a large chest, and then the chest was closed and cast into the Nile.  Isis was brokenhearted, and she set out to search for her husband.  With the help of the goddess of protection, Nepthys, she found the body of her husband in the Nile Delta.  Isis carefully hid the body, but this was not enough.  Jealous Seti discovered it and cut it into fourteen pieces, and scattered them far and wide.  Isis again set out to search for the remains of Osiris.  Having found the pieces of his body, she enlisted the help of the jackal god, Anubis.  Whilst Anubis prepared the remains for burial, Osiris was revived sufficiently to give Isis his seed, and she subsequently bore a son, Horus.  Isis raised her son in the marshes of the delta until he was old enough to avenge his father's death.  Horus found his uncle Seti and killed him, and then raised his father from the dead.  However, Osiris could no longer reign on earth and became the king of the underworld.  Horus then reigned over Egypt in the name of his father.  The legend is beautifully retold in the reliefs of the temple.

Restored reliefs at the entrance to the temple

On one wall, Osiris is pictured, standing tall and proud, wearing the double crown of Egypt.  I noticed a shaft of sunlight playing on the scene in front of me.  As visitors to the temple moved about so they disturbed the dust and the air.  In turn, the shaft of light flickered, and Osiris appeared to stride across the temple wall.  I stood there for some minutes, mesmerised.

All four rooms were almost completely intact.  The paintwork looked as fresh and as clean as it would have done 3000 years ago.  I found myself looking around for the artist - it seemed to me he must have just finished his work.

The wonder was that the eyes of a dead civilisation had read and understood the story on these walls. 

There are times when I think that we modern humans have lost the ability to see.  We have microchips, computers and photoelectric cells, and we seem to live from one tangible reminder to another rather than enjoying what we see and carrying the memory with us. 

My fellow travellers were solely concerned with their shots and their videos.  I was in awe of the talents of ancient people and the illusion of Osiris striding across the wall.  There are some things you can only witness, and having done so, the memory is all that is needed...

There will be more from my Egypt Journal in the coming weeks.  So, keep watching this space!
 

I'm very pleased to be able to reveal...

 ... the cover for the next book in the Paths series of anthologies.  Read on for more details ...

I hope you have been following the posts on my website and on my pages on Twitter - or is that X now? - Insta and Facebook.  If you have, then you might have worked out that a new book is on its way.  Spring Paths, the third in the series of multi-genre anthologies, is almost ready for publication.  And the gorgeous new cover is on the right.  What do you think?

The two previous books, Authumn Paths and Winter Paths are still available on Amazon, and soon Spring Paths will be joining them.

The author line-up for the new book is slightly different, too.  This time around, we have two new faces, Eden Monroe and Gianetta Murray.  You will fInd out more about these writers in the next few months as I invite each of them onto my blog.

At the moment, all the stories are collated, and the book is being prepped for uploading.  All of which is completely beyond my comprehension.  I'm expecting that I will be able to let you know fairly soon when the book will be available for purchase.  I'll also be able to let you see the blurb at that point, too.

In the meantime, just gaze at the fabulous cover and look out for my next post some time in September.   I will have loads more details then.

Still not read Autumn Paths or Winter Paths yet?  Then check them both out here Here

I’m celebrating the life and work of…

M R James today. Read on…

On this day in 1862, Montague Rhodes James was born into the household of Herbert and Mary James.  He was the youngest of four children and had a sister and two brothers as siblings.  His father was an Anglican clergyman and his mother was the daughter of a naval officer.  His famly lived in Goodnestone, a small village about seven miles south east of Canterbuy at the time he joined the household.  But from an early age Montague spent at lot of his time in Suffolk – but more of that location later.

He grew up to become an author and eminent medievalist scholar.  He was provost at King’s College, Cambridge and Eton College and he was appointed Vice-Chancellor of the university in 1913.  His work as a medievalist remains highly respected and he produced a significant body of scholarly texts.  It was James’ discovery of a tiny piece of manuscript that led to archeological excavations in the ruins of the abbey at Bury St. Edmunds in 1902 and the discovery of several twelfth century burials that had remained untouched since the dissolution of the monastries.  It was James who translated the latin hagiography of Æthelbehrt II of East Anglia and this book is still referenced and quoted even today.

During his time in academia, James catalogued a great many of the manuscripts held in the various college libraries of Cambridge University.  He also wrote The Apocalypse in Art, translated The New Testament apochrypha, and contributed to the Encyclopaedia Biblica.

Between 1893 and 1908 he held a directorship at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. During those fifteen years he managed to secure numerous valuable manuscripts and paintings, including some portraits by Titian.  He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1930 and died in 1936 at the age of 73.  He is buried in Eton.

And what does any of this have to do with Suffolk or me?  I’m afraid my interest in M R James is of a very lowly nature.  He wasn’t only a great scholar.  He was a marvellous ghost story writer, too.  And I have some of his stories on my bookshelves.  I suspect the ghost stories provided him with moments of fantasy and fun inbetween his much more high brow and taxing spells of research and writing.  Well, we all a need to take break from time to time!  But I'm also very much aware that his time in Suffolk must have influenced some of those stories - Whistle and I'll Come to Thee My Lad, and A Warning to the Curious come immediately to my mind.

His short stories were published in a series of collections, the first one, Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, was published in 1904.  The second, More Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, followed in 1911 and a third book, A Thin Ghost and Others, was published in 1919.  My battered copy is in the pic above.  A Warning to the Curious and Other Ghost Stories was released in 1925.  These tales were mostly written for the benefit of friends and, it is said, some were read on Christmas Eve as entertainment.  Perhaps that is what inspired the idea for the dramatisation of M R James' stories for TV at Christmas.  And I never miss those stories.  Ever!

But in true James style, he couldn’t just write good old ghost stories, could he?  He perfected his own style of story-telling which has become known as ‘Jamesian.’  The key elements of which are :

1. a small but characterful setting

2. a gentleman scholar/protagonist with a reserved nature

3. the discovery of an antiquarian object that brings the unwelcome attention of some menace from beyond the grave. 

And if that doesn’t make you want to go out and read his stuff, then I’ve failed in my mission. So, the best I can do is exort you to look out for the dramatisation of an M R James story in a few months time.  December 24th is the usual date for these to appear on our TV screens.  And be prepared to be afraid … very afraid!

If you enjoyed this post you may wish to read about Virginia Woolf  or Rumer Godden

Please welcome friend and author ...

...  Alistair Liddle to the blog today.  Hi Alistair, thanks so much for making time to be here today.  So, tell me, what is your current release?

AJL     No Rules Apply is the third book in the Lieutenant Ramaz Donadze series.

AW     Sounds interesting.  What first got you into writing and why?

AJL   I retired from working in the Oil and Gas sector in 2019.  I knew I needed a new “mission” and decided to write a novel.  I think of writing as a job now – albeit a job I thoroughly enjoy.

AW     You write crime fiction set abroad.  Is it all imagination or do you do research?

AJL     My books are set in the Republic of Georgia where I lived and worked for fifteen years.  All the places I “visit” in the books are real and I’ve been to most of them so I can write from memory.  I also have a good handle on Georgian culture and get that right most of the time, although I have a couple of Georgian friends who I check in with.  It’s important to me to make my books authentically Georgian.  I still have to research other information, e.g. which weapons can be fitted with silencers.

AW     Last month you took part in the Shetland Noir Crime Festival – how did that feel?  Was it a good event?

Alistair on Shetland

AJL     I thought Shetland Noir was truly excellent.  It felt friendly and informal and there was a lot of interest and support from Shetlanders, judging by the numbers who turned up for the panels, readings etc.  It was lovely to meet fellow authors. By coincidence, I worked and lived in Shetland for five years during my career in Oil and Gas.  Shetland holds many fond memories for me and my family and was great to return.  And – as a bonus – the weather was so good that I managed a dip in the sea!

AW     Shetland is a lovely place and the festival was my first visit to the island.  So, next question, Alistair.  Famous authors Roald Dahl and Dylan Thomas had a special space for writing.  Do you have a writing shed of your own?

AJL     Not so much a shed but a scruffy corner in a room in our house.  I can write anywhere but that seems to be my most productive space!

AW     And finally, what would your eight-year-old self think, and say about you and your achievements today?

AJL     I’m sixty-six and I think my eight-year-old self would say, ‘Why did you leave it so late?’ But I don’t think I’d be so surprised because, even at that early age and later, I’ve always enjoyed writing and telling stories.

about the author …Alistair is a Scottish novelist, former ships’ captain and operations manager in the oil and gas industry.  He drew on his fifteen years of living and working in the Republic of Georgia to write three novels featuring Georgian detective, Lieutenant Ramaz Donadze.  His first novel, No Harm Done was shortlisted for the 2021 Bloody Scotland Debut Prize.  Alistair is married with two grown children, a granddaughter and a grandson.  His interests, when not writing, include travel, walking, cooking, supporting Heart of Midlothian FC, swimming in Scotland’s beautiful lochs, playing guitar (badly) and writing occasional songs for his old-guys band, The Grumps.  Born in Edinburgh, he has travelled extensively but is now settled in Stirling, Scotland.

about the book … A bank is robbed, cash stolen, two people brutally murdered. Cruel and vicious criminality in Georgia’s capital city.

The work of professional killers, their actions appear senseless: pointless murder and a small sum of money taken.  And what of the bank itself?  Georgia’s most important financial institution, guardian of the nation’s prosperity and a major employer.  Protected, powerful and too big to provoke?

Lieutenant Ramaz Donadze doesn’t think so.  For him, all murder is personal. With a growing reputation for getting the job done, his tragic past continues to haunt and drive him; his actions compulsive, reckless and ultimately damaging to himself and the people he holds most dear.

As the Georgian nation nervously watches war play out in a neighbouring country, the memories of its own war with the same aggressor still raw, Donadze must deliver his enduring promise regardless of the cost—justice for the dead and punishment of the guilty.

You can get Alistair's book Here

You can follow Alistair on Amazon where you can find all of his books.  You can also follow him on his Website on Facebook  Twitter and on Linkedin

Come stroll with me...

... through the quaint and ancient heart of Pontivy...

The town of Pontivy sits on the river Blavet, which feeds the Canaux de Bretagne. The river rises in central Brittany and flows some 150 Kilometers to the Atlantic Ocean on the south coast of the peninsula near Lorient. At Pontivy, the river and the canal system join within the heart of the town. The canal links the two major seaports of Nantes and Brest and runs through the centre of Brittany for 385 kilometres. Along the length, there are 238 locks. I regret to say that on my visit to Brittany, I didn’t bring my bike, so there will be no notes about which locks I have or haven’t navigated!

Brittany began developing its network of waterways in the early 1500s in order to improve the navigation on the river Vilaine. But, it wasn’t until Brest was blockaded by the English fleet that Napoleon Bonaparte decided that a navigable inland routeway was required to provide a safe inland link and access to the Atlantic ports. Building eventually began in 1811, and it was Napoleon 3 – the nephew of Bonaparte – who had the duty of officially opening the canal in 1858. At that time, the canal was the most ambitious building project undertaken in France.

In 1920, the canal was dammed at Guerlédan and the safe route across country was lost.  The entire section of the canal west of the dam was closed in 1957 and the fall in commercial traffic (26m barges carrying 140 tonnes) resulted in massive silting along the length of the canal.  But there are and have been plans for dredging and opening up sections of the canal for pleasure boats since the 1980s/1990s.

The town of Pontivy has a population of around 15,000 inhabitants. It sprawls along the river and canal, and the ancient heart of the town is charming. The name Pontivy has its roots in the 7th century. A monk called Ivy visited the town and built a bridge across the river Blavet. Hence the name, which in translation means Ivy’s bridge.

As this is the region of Bretagne, you might think it would not be unusual to hear the Breton language being spoken. Especially as the municipality launched a special linguistic project way back in 2004. Part of that plan saw all the street signs in the town replaced with new dual-language ones. So, as I meander among the streets, I can see the Breton names juxtaposed with the modern French. But the ancient language? I didn’t hear a single word. Back at the campsite and I take the opportunity to politely ask about the popularity of the old language. My query is met with a very gallic shrug and just the admission that Breton is not spoken that much. I nod and take my leave.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like to read some of my other jottings about my trips along the Nivernais and Bourgogne canals.  Just click the links.

I'm reviewing Cursed Bread...

 ... by Sophie Mackintosh.  Read on...

Told from the point of view of a baker’s wife in Pont St Esprit, this is a fiction based on a series of events that took place in the late summer of 1951. As the author’s notes stipulate at the end of the story, there are many theories about what might have really happened. This book being a form of dramatisation of the author’s own thoughts.  Of course, I couldn't let that go.  I had to undertake the research.

Pont St Esprit is a small town in the département of Gard in southern France.  Noted for its religious connections and its place on the route to Rome, it is an ancient crossing point for the Rhône and the bridge is mentioned in texts as early as the 14th century.

In August 1951 the town was struck with a sudden form of poisoning.  The local surgeries were flooded with people that presented similar symptoms - nausea, vomiting and dramatic variations in body temperature.  The symptoms worsened quite quickly and patients began experiencing convulsions, hallucinations and psychotic episodes.

Two local doctors investigated the cause of the problem and within a few days conclude that it must be the bread that was to blame from a particular bakery in Pont St Esprit.  The local police became involved and undertook an investigation.  A judge was appointed and arrests on the charge of involuntary manslaughter were made.

The conclusions reached were that the flour used for the bread had become contaminated with ergot - a fungal poison that can occur naturally in cereals, in particular rye.  Under the Vichy government, the supply of flour was strictly controlled and rationed, which mean that a baker had no control over the quality of the flour he received or the amount.  It was not unheard of to add other cereal grains to the flour.  In addition, there were outbreaks of the same symptoms in neighbouring villages who were also supplied from the same source as Pont St Esprit.  Although there have been other theories espoused since and some discredited, it seems likely that the cause of the mass poisoning was connected with the flour supply.  The most interesting question for me relates to whether the infection in the flour was really naturally occurring or deliberately introduced.  A further rider to that is, were there other hands at work maliciously?  My research left me with no definitive answer but the impact on the populous was tragic as ergot has the same psychotic effect as LSD.  A trawl of the newspapers from the 1960s in the UK and the USA will provide many examples of premature deaths caused by the fake beliefs induced by what is now a stringently controlled Class A drug.

With that as the backdrop, the novel reads uncomfortably.  Told in retrospect, the narrator Elodie shows herself to be unreliable from the outset.  Within the first two opening sentences, she poses the question ‘...why not tell it differently?’  She considers this possibility and finally declares that ‘perhaps it’s best to be honest, now.’  And there you have it, the one word that can undermine even the very best of intentions, ‘perhaps’.

As I was reading the text that one word kept popping back into my head.  Is this the real story from Elodie's point of view?  Could it be her imagined and preferred version of the history of the events or something more sinister from her poison-addled memory?  Those three strands kept me glued to the page from the beginning to the end.  I read the book virtually in one sitting.

I really enjoyed the presentation of the small rural community – and in 1951, with a population of just over 4,000 people, Pont St Esprit was a typical small, southern town that sat on the west bank of the Rhône.  The petty rivalries between the ladies of the town and the dynamics between the various bakeries are all keenly observed.  The relationship between Violet – the Ambassador’s wife and new to the town – and Elodie is especially well-drawn and at times painful to see being played out on the page.

Despite that, I found it difficult to be empathetic to any of the characters.  But, the story was so interesting, the dynamics between the individuals so cleverly interwoven that my distance from them didn’t seem to matter.  It was a fascinating read and an equally absorbing piece of research once I had finished the book.