Skip to main content

“One young boy, asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, a fireman or pilot or such, answered: "Alive.”

 

Jen on the beach. Ellis Beach, Far North Queensland. April 2021.

The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family and Defiance During the Blitz by Erik Larson 

There has with no doubt been a great deal of work and fine scholarship put into this book, and to that, I will credit Larson. Yet too often, I find that anything that touches upon Churchill drifts too easily into the hagiographic, which I do not understand.

There is plenty here that showcases the flaws of the man and his temperament - consider the impetuous way with which he pursued the frankly ridiculous idea of air landmines (at who knows what opportunity costs) or the taste for luxury in a time of extreme deprivation. In total, are we really supposed to overlook these flaws because of... why exactly? That he was prone to cry?

I confess that I don't get it. I found the boorish tales of his family living it up while men were dying in huge numbers; the British public was going without, and the Empire's colonial subjects (of whom Churchill's views are decidedly suspect) were starving to death in the millions yet more evidence of his obnoxiousness.

I note that we didn't get to see whether the family were quite as concerned with the Bengali Famine - in which up to four million Bengalis starved to death as a direct result of a decision made by dear Winston - as they were with what dress, brooch or fob watch one was to wear at the next party.

Bitter, Moi? Indeed I am. If you're going to do warts and all, one shouldn't flinch. The drunkenness, arrogance, misogyny, racism, bullying, self-centredness and dictatorial manner are presented here more as amusing deviations from greatness, whereas they seem to be the measure of the man to my mind. A fondness for aggression and risk-taking is all very well when it is someone else doing the dying for you.

Forgive me; I'm just not that interested in the gifts that he gave to his wife or who his son (or his wife) happened to be fucking at this or that party at the time.

⭐ ⭐ 1/2

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut