The Victorian Book of the Dead Edited by Chris Woodyard Review

Chris Woodyard, author of the The Ghosts of the Past series, digs through long-buried newspapers and journals, for this fascinating look at the 19th-century obsession with the culture of death. The Victorian Book of the Dead unearths extraordinary tales of Victorian funeral fads and fancies, ghost stories, bizarre deaths, mourning novelties, gallows humor, premature burial, post-mortem photographs, death omens, and funeral disasters. Resurrected from original sources, these accounts reveal the oddities and eccentricities of Victorian mourning. Packed with macabre anecdotes, this diverting, yet gruesome collection presents tales ranging from the paranormal and shocking to the heartbreaking.

Happy Halloween! This is the first year I'm not doing anything for the holiday beyond rewatching the Halloween episodes of Bob's Burgers and How I Met Your Mother and listening to The Amphibious Man on Bandcamp since I have other things going on in the coming days that require my attention, but it's still my favorite holiday, something that's fairly obvious given my taste in humor and literature borders on the dark side. Like this book, which I was saving exclusively for Halloween.

This isn't a fine, serious work of nonfiction. Instead, it's more on par with the fun to read and vaguely trashy nonfiction like the book Weird New Jersey and its many spinoffs. It's made up of newspaper articles and commentary from the Victorian times detailing their quite morbid culture of death, something that the Victorians were notorious for. In this book, Woodyard discusses everything from death photography to being buried alive to the clothing mourners wore and the Victorian strive to do everything, including mourning, properly. 

My favorite chapter was probably the chapter Died of Lizards, about strange ways Victorians met their ends, including by a gas addicted bird, 2 women who lost everyone in their family within a span of a very short time (in one case, her child was struck by the hearse carrying her husband), and "the effects of 'skipping the rope'." whatever the hell that means. There's something very Gorey-esque about these stories, and it reminded me of two of his short stories in particular- The Gashlycrumb Tinies (obviously), and The Hapless Child. What really takes the cake about these stories is dry way the reporters comment on these strange demises. Needless to say, I found them hilarious.

The fashion historian in me also feels the need comment on how much I liked the chapter Crape too. It's got lots of fun details on the garments worn by mourners.

The Victorian Book of the Dead is a coffee table book that also happens to have some great information on Victorian death. And, of course, it's the perfect book to read on a chilly, October night. Recommended.

8 out of 10

The Romanov Sisters by Helen Rappaport Review

They were the Princess Dianas of their day—perhaps the most photographed and talked about young royals of the early twentieth century. The four captivating Russian Grand Duchesses—Olga, Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia Romanov—were much admired for their happy dispositions, their looks, the clothes they wore and their privileged lifestyle.

Over the years, the story of the four Romanov sisters and their tragic end in a basement at Ekaterinburg in 1918 has clouded our view of them, leading to a mass of sentimental and idealized hagiography. With this treasure trove of diaries and letters from the grand duchesses to their friends and family, we learn that they were intelligent, sensitive and perceptive witnesses to the dark turmoil within their immediate family and the ominous approach of the Russian Revolution, the nightmare that would sweep their world away, and them along with it.

The Romanov Sisters sets out to capture the joy as well as the insecurities and poignancy of those young lives against the backdrop of the dying days of late Imperial Russia, World War I and the Russian Revolution. Rapport aims to present a new and challenging take on the story, drawing extensively on previously unseen or unpublished letters, diaries and archival sources, as well as private collections. It is a book that will surprise people, even aficionados

It's a rite of passage for any history loving little girl to go through a go through a phrase in which she is obsessed with a royal family. And, apart from a brief phrase in 7th grade when I was super into Elizabeth I and the rest of the Tudors, my heart belonged to the Romanov family, more specifically the last Romanovs, the Imperial family of Tsar Nicholas II. And, like most girls getting into the Romanovs, my obsession lied with the youngest and arguably the most famous, Anastasia. I always liked the tragedy behind her story, how she was this happy young girl until the Soviets shot her a cold basement. As I've been getting older, my interest in her dwindled and turned towards her mother, because she's easily one of the most interesting females in all of history, and lately I've been getting more and more into the Soviets. But let it be known that the catalyst to my Russian obsession is the last Grand Duchess of all of Russia. 

Rappaport's The Romanov Sisters is, as you can imagine, perfect for anyone who wants information on just the Grand Duchesses and not necessarily Alexei's hemophilia or Rasputin or the Imperial Couple. Sure, they are mentioned but only in regards to how the sisters were impacted by them. In that respect I think this is the first. One of the reasons for my interest turning towards Alexandra in the first place was because of the abundance of books on her and lack of books on the Grand Duchesses. Hell, I think there are more books on Anna Anderson, who pretended to be Anastasia, than Anastasia herself. Of course, after reading this book, I can understand why not many people tackle the topic of the Grand Duchesses. There isn't really much information exclusively on the girls. The public at the time was captivated by Alexei, and now a days, most historians are more interested in their mother or Rasputin than anyone else. Especially Rasputin. Me, can't say I was ever that intrigued by him. 

One of the things Rappaport does well is capture the girls as individuals, not just OTMA or the Big Pair and Little Pair. Olga is the sensitive, melancholy one with a hot temper, Tatiana is the reserved beauty, her mother's favorite, Maria is the romantic middle child who often felt left out, Anastasia is the trickster youngest. Clearly, Rappaport made it her mission not to lump the girls into one, and I think she did it well. 

Nicholas and Alexandra are shown in a different light here than in most Romanov books. Nicholas is an excellent father, devoted to his girls despite them being, well, girls, Alexandra's hypochondriac qualities aren't smothered, but as a whole I think this is the most positive portrayal of her I've ever seen. Say what you will about her, but she was an excellent mother and a far more devoted one than many royal families had during the time. 

But, even before the Revolution, the Romanovs were a tragic family, and Rappaport doesn't shy away from showing that. There's the girls' sub-par education, their sheltered existence in perpetual fear of one of Alexei's attacks. It's depressing, really, that these girls never could have a normal life for someone of their class, despite having all the wealth and privilege in the world. The term "gilded cage" applies well here, I think.

As a whole, this is a wonderful book for someone interested in the Romanov girls, and it is remarkable what Rappaport can come up with despite having limited resources to work with. She has successfully renewed my interest in the Romanov family, and I am tempted now to pick up her other book, The Last Days of the Romanovs.

9 out of 10

City of Light, City of Poison by Holly Tucker Review

Appointed to conquer the “crime capital of the world,” the first police chief of Paris faces an epidemic of murder in the late 1600s. Assigned by Louis XIV, Nicolas de La Reynie begins by clearing the streets of filth and installing lanterns throughout Paris, turning it into the City of Light.

The fearless La Reynie pursues criminals through the labyrinthine neighborhoods of the city. He unearths a tightly knit cabal of poisoners, witches, and renegade priests. As he exposes their unholy work, he soon learns that no one is safe from black magic—not even the Sun King. In a world where a royal glance can turn success into disgrace, the distance between the quietly back-stabbing world of the king’s court and the criminal underground proves disturbingly short. Nobles settle scores by employing witches to craft poisons and by hiring priests to perform dark rituals in Paris’s most illustrious churches and cathedrals.

As La Reynie continues his investigations, he is haunted by a single question: Could Louis’s mistresses could be involved in such nefarious plots? The pragmatic and principled La Reynie must decide just how far he will go to protect his king.

From secret courtrooms to torture chambers, City of Light, City of Poison is a gripping true-crime tale of deception and murder. Based on thousands of pages of court transcripts and La Reynie’s compulsive note-taking, as well as on letters and diaries, Tucker’s riveting narrative makes the fascinating, real-life characters breathe on the page.

This has been the year of mediocre nonfiction. None of the books I read were real standouts, despite the fact I did like most of them. But this book. This is the book I wished The Poisoner's Handbook was. I mean, I was happy enough with The Poisoner's Handbook as is, but I loved this one. It reminded me of the way Erik Larsen (of The Devil in the White City fame) writes.

I admit, though, when I first started the parts about Louis XIV's mistresses, I was a bit skeptical. For one thing, this book was not advertised as being about that, and didn't know how well Holly Tucker was going to connect it with the main story. While the connection was, in fact, tenuous, I was still fascinated by the dramatic stories about Louis XIV's mistresses. I felt like I was watching some trashy reality TV show, but a 100 times better because it's about one of the most powerful rulers in French history. I get that some people might be bored by these parts, but I personally really loved them.

And besides, the actual poison stuff was extremely easy to read, as well as the bits about the reform of Paris and the Parisian prison system. It was especially interesting to read about how coroners, often just surgeons or doctors back then, no special training was required to become one, were able to tell how people died just by basic scientific intuition. There were no fancy tests done to tell whether someone died of arsenic or snake venom, instead, they had to compare the effects of that specific poison to an already deceased confirmed poisoned body and tell by that. I always liked reading how people make do with what they have, especially in the days before technology.

And I ended up really liking Nicolas de la Reynie as a main character. He was the kind of guy you'd want to root for in detective novels, someone whose relentless pursual of the truth is admirable. He was truly one of a kind for his time period, especially since he didn't let class stand in the way of justice. While it is true that many of the noblewomen involved in the poison cases he studied did have more cushy prison lives than the women in the Third Estate who were arrested for the same crimes, and some of them got off on lighter sentences, he didn't wave their cases under the rug, and it's entirely likely he was frustrated by the inability of the Arsenal judges to see that a noblewoman of high birth could have committed such heinous crimes. And the cushy prison existence these women led was a matter of necessity, he knew that if he treated them cruelly then he would get nowhere and even perhaps be forced out of his job. De la Reynie really was one of the first in believing that justice is blind.

And oddly, I did still really like certain parts I probably would have hated if they were in a fictional book. For instance, I thought Mary-Anne Mancini was freaking bad-ass, to say the least. Her responses to the judges and her showing up with her husband in one hand and her boy-toy nephew in the other cracked me up. I wouldn't mind reading a book on her, and perhaps the rest of the Mancinis as well.

While reading I couldn't help but think of The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue, probably because both books took place roughly around the same time and some of the subject matter reminded me of it. And frankly, this book is what The Gentleman's Guide should have been like. It didn't need any strange Marina-esque plot or pirates or highwaymen to be interesting. In fact, I was actually a lot more entertained by this work of pure nonfiction than I was by that work of what is advertised as YA fluff fiction. The juicy stuff in here- the sex, the torture (prison torture before execution, not sex torture), the poison- is all stuff that could have been included in The Gentleman's Guide- well, maybe not the torture, but the sex and poison could have been wonderful. Hell, maybe Lee should have dropped the odd alchemy plot and gone with one based on the Affaire des Poisons. I mean, sure, she would have had to push it up a few decades from the late 1670s, early 1680s to the 1720s, but I could have forgiven that if it was based in something as interesting and little known to the general public as this instead of her going with basic early 18th century pop history- alchemy, pirates, Scientific Revolution/Enlightenment, Spain vs France (well, really England by proxy vs France). 

After reading this book I feel the sudden craving to read nonfiction. It happens sometimes, usually after I've finished a really good one. This is my favorite type of nonfiction to read- true, historical crime. Think the stuff Erik Larsen usually writes. The best of both worlds to me, especially since lately I've been unenthused with regular true crime nonfiction. I mean, when the most popular true crime book out now is about a string of arsons that happened to abandoned places nobody cares about with the main message being roughly the same thing that's been said over and over again, you have to wonder about the future of the genre. That being said, I am waiting for my library to get a copy of Killers of the Flower Moon, since I've been vaguely interested in that ever since it came out in April. Still, I'm actually in the mood to read, something I honestly haven't felt at all this month.

9 out of 10