Perhaps February will always be difficult for me as that is the time of commemoration of a personal tragedy. This year, even more so, marked the one-year war commemoration in Ukraine. It was a month to forget about the world, if only for a few weeks. So I read incessantly in the morning, evening, and during my breaks. But it is March now, and I am writing this article wearing a chimney sweeper Romanian martisor for good luck. As an anecdote, the French poet Jean Cocteau was once asked if he believed in luck.
“Of course,” he replied. “How else do you explain the success of those you don’t like?”
Here are some books I found most thoughtful in the last two months.
How to Survive a Plague: The Inside Story of How Citizens and Science Tamed AIDS by David France is a hauntingly devastating chronicle of the AIDS crisis in the 1980s and the 1990s. France weaves the personal stories of those affected by the pandemic, with activists’ efforts who fought for better treatment and care and the tireless work of scientists to develop effective treatments. Imagining the vivid picture of mass deaths, fear, discrimination, hopelessness, resilience and determination pouring out the pages, I made the evident parallel to the more recent pandemic we experienced. This book is a compelling account of public health, social justice and scientific innovation.
Microhistory sheds light on otherwise overlooked accounts as it studies small-scale social phenomena by thoroughly analyzing particular individuals, events or communities and the incredible complexity pulsating through everyday experiences. Two microhistory books I thoroughly enjoyed are those written by Don and Petie Kladstrup, Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times and Wine and War: The French, the Nazis, and the Battle for France’s Greatest Treasure. Both books are well-researched, with plenty of exciting anecdotes. Engagingly and clearly, the authors do an excellent job presenting the technical aspects of wine and champagne production.
Some quotes from Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times
It takes poor soil to make good champagne; black grapes are used to make white wine; a blind man saw stars; the man credited with putting bubbles in champagne actually worked most of his life to keep them out [a young monk named Dom Pierre Pérignon].
The greatest irony of all, however, is that Champagne, site of some of mankind’s bitterest battles, should be the birthplace of a wine the entire world equates with good times and friendship.
As one champagne-maker told us, “It is a law of nature that the best products always grow under somewhat unsuitable circumstances, because they are forced to surpass themselves.”
“I drink champagne when I am happy and when I am sad. Sometimes I drink it when alone. In company I consider it compulsory. I sip a little if I’m hungry. Otherwise I don’t touch it — unless I’m thirsty of course.”
Lily Bollinger, one of the grande dames of Champagne, the wine region for champagne
“Remember, gentlemen, it’s not just France we are fighting for, it’s Champagne!”
Winston Churchill rallying his colleagues during World War I
Dom Pérignon [the procureur, or business manager, of the Abbey of Hautvillers] has often been acclaimed as the person “who invented champagne.” In truth, no one invented champagne; it invented itself. All wines start to bubble the moment grapes are pressed. Yeasts on the skin come into contact with the sugar in the juice, converting it to alcohol and carbonic gas, a process known as fermentation. In colder winegrowing regions like Champagne, the yeasts go into hibernation during the winter before all the sugar has been converted.
In spring, they wake up and resume attacking the unconverted sugar, resulting in more alcohol and carbonic gas, the latter rising to the surface as bubbles. In Dom Pérignon’s time, no one knew about yeasts; they would remain a mystery for another two centuries until Louis Pasteur discovered them. Bubbles were considered a flaw, a vicious caprice of nature, and Dom Pérignon worked assiduously to eliminate them from his wines.
It was in blending, however, that Dom Pérignon showed his real genius. His ability to taste was legendary. He was blessed with a sensitive palate and a formidable wine memory.
During World War I, Reims, the capital of la Champagne region and “the city of Kings”, where France’s kings were crowned in the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Reims, endured horrific German attacks.
The shelling of the cathedral (Reims cathedral) provoked worldwide outrage, but the Germans had barely begun. For the next three and a half years, Reims would endure 1,051 consecutive days of unrelenting bombardment. Ninety-eight percent of the city would be destroyed; only forty houses out of forty thousand would be left standing. Reims would no longer be Reims. For people the world over, Reims would become known as “the martyred city.”
Although vignerons [vineyard labourers] and producers around Épernay were out of range of most of the German artillery, they had to endure a new kind of warfare. German airplanes could come out of the sky at any time — and did with frightening irregularity — swooping in and dropping their bombs on workers below.
People retreated into the crayères, the vast caves that sheltered the champagne bottle reserves of the champagne houses. Children were born or attended school underground.
Image Credit: MessyNessyChic
After World War I ended, Reims was rebuilt. The symbol for this resurrection was a rose, the most common flower in Champagne’s cemeteries, but with one delicate change. There would be no thorns on this symbol.
“We’ve had enough of thorns,” one resident said. “There have been too many in our history.”
Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times
Equally fascinating, the second microhistory book the Kladstrups’ authored is Wine and War: The French, the Nazis, and the Battle for France’s Greatest Treasure, which tells the story of how the French wine industry survived during Nazi occupation. Winemakers, merchants, and the French Resistance devised elaborate schemes to hide and protect their most valuable bottles, highlighting the importance of wine in French culture and the lengths people went to protect it.
Some quotes from Wine and War: The French, the Nazis, and the Battle for France’s Greatest Treasure
…The Resistance had picked up on the fact that champagne shipments were providing significant military intelligence. Through them, they could tell where the Germans were preparing a major military offensive. They first became aware of this when the Germans, in 1940, ordered tens of thousands of bottles to be sent to Romania, where, officially, there was only a small German mission. Within a few days, Romania was invaded by the German army. Afterward, bottles of bubbly were distributed to all the troops, a way of saying to the soldiers that “the Führer thinks of his men first.”
From that time on, the Resistance, with help from the major champagne houses, kept meticulous track of where large shipments of champagne were going. Alarm bells went off toward the end of 1941 when the Germans placed a huge order and asked that the bottles be specially corked and packed so that they could be sent to “a very hot country.” That country turned out to be Egypt, where Rommel was about to begin his North African campaign. The information was relayed to British intelligence in London.
The winemakers of Vouvray were worried when they learned a contingent of German troops was headed their way and planning to spend the night. But Mayor Charles Vavasseur, himself a winegrower, had an idea. He went to an artist friend and asked him to try his hand at forgery. Together, they produced some very official-looking papers, saying all the wine of Vouvray had been “reserved for the Wehrmacht.” When a representative of the Occupation Authority arrived to make the arrangements for the German soldiers, Vavasseur showed him the “official” documents and explained that the only places large enough to hold all the troops were the wine caves. “Of course you can put them there,” Vavasseur said, “but, well, I cannot guarantee that the soldiers will not touch the Wehrmacht’s wine. I can only hope they will emerge sober in the morning.” The German official decided it was best to find another place for the men to sleep.
Senard had hidden most of his better wines but purposely left a few in plain sight. “We couldn’t hide everything,” he said. “If we did, the Germans would have become suspicious. As it was, they probably would have taken more of my wine if they hadn’t discovered something else.” That “something else” was a cache of stoneware bottles filled with a clear liquid, which the soldiers thought was gin, bottled in the traditional Dutch manner. “They began consuming it with great enthusiasm,” Senard recalled with a chuckle, for it was not gin the Germans were drinking, but purgative water, eau-de-Santenay, a powerful laxative. “It was the sort of thing everyone’s grandmother kept on hand ‘to clear the system.’ ” That night, the courtyard was unusually full of soldiers coming and going, exchanging the goose step for the green-apple quick step.
In Alsace, when the Germans heard that the Hugels owned a pig named Adolf, they dispatched several soldiers to the family’s house. When the soldiers arrived, they found the gardener at work and the pig dozing nearby. The officer in charge approached. “You,” he said menacingly, “what were you thinking about when you named this pig Adolf?” The old gardener, however, was not intimidated and did not miss a beat. “Why do you ask?” he replied. “What are you thinking?” The officer, embarrassed, was at a loss for words. He turned and led his men away.
Chevalier’s was a chic carpet firm that had been in business for generations. It bought and sold only the finest carpets, such as antique Aubussons and high-quality Persians. When a valuable carpet needed cleaning, even one from a museum, it usually went to Chevalier’s. Although no one seems to remember who came up with the idea, someone decided the dust was too good to throw away. Some of it came from carpets that were centuries old and had never been cleaned. Before long Chevalier’s was bundling up sacks of ancient dust and distributing it to some of Paris’s best restaurants. There, it would be sprinkled on bottles of cheap young wine to make them look old and rare. The bottles would then be presented to German clients who thought they were getting something extraordinary.
There was no food. By 6:05 A.M., whatever had been brought in that day from the country had already been picked over and was gone. More shocking, there was not a drop of wine. The space where the wine merchant usually set up his stand was as empty as the bottles in Gertrude’s basket. “Food was one thing, but a wine shortage? In France? That is something I never thought I would see,” Gertrude later recalled.
“In my meditations, I find that nothing in life counts more than the happiness we can give others, the good that we can do. This is what we must teach our children, to think of others more than they think of themselves, for it is in this way they will find the most noble satisfaction of all. – winemaker Maurice Drouhin writing to his wife from prison in 1941
In 1962, Parisians were surprised to discover German flags flying alongside French ones on the Champs-Elysées. For the first time since the war, a French President was welcoming a German head of state. That evening, Robert-Jean de Vogüé [the elegant royal count who had run the Moët & Chandon champagne house was imprisoned by Nazis, and he wasn’t supposed to survive as he had the letter NN against his name – Nacht und Nebel, Night and Fog – work him to death and dump him into an unmarked grave] sat down to watch the news on television with his son Ghislain. When the cameras switched to President Charles de Gaulle as he was about to shake hands with Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, Ghislain jumped up and said, “Here, let me turn this off. I’m sure you don’t want to watch this.” His father stretched out his arm to stop him. “No, stay where you are, leave it on,” he said. “This is what I have worked all my life to see.”
The Painted Drum is a novel by Louise Erdrich that tells the story of a Native American sacred drum. First, we follow Faye Travers, an estate valuator that discovers an Obijwe-painted drum while appraising an estate. She becomes determined to return the drum to its rightful owners. Then, we find out how the drum came to be. Shaawano had two children with his wife Anaquot, a boy and a girl. Anaquot left Shaawano and the boy for another man, Simon Jack, taking the girl and her newborn child with her. As they set off to the new camp, guided by Simon Jack’s uncle, the little boy ran after his mother and sister. During the journey, the wolves attacked, and Anaquot threw her older daughter to the wolves to save her and her baby.
Shaawano found the bones of his daughter, and driven mad by despair and guilt, he neglected his other child. He has a vision where his daughter instructs him how to build a ceremonial drum and string her bones inside the drum. The drum has magical powers, and it healed many. But one day, Jack Simon entered the drum circle, and the drum started releasing a dark song that went faster and faster. Simon Jack kept at it, not missing a beat until he fell dead. After this, Shaawano no longer used the drum for ceremonies.
The traumatic events marked Shaawano’s son, who became an alcoholic, beat his children, and sold the drum for alcohol, which is how the drum ended up in the estate Faye evaluated. But he has a cathartic realization during a sober moment and a conversation with his children.
Anaquot, his mother, threw his sister to the wolves. What had his sister felt? What had thrust through her heart? Had something broken in her, too, the way something broke like a stick inside of him?
…
Have you ever considered… given how your sister was so tenderhearted and brave, that she looked at the whole situation? She saw the wolves were only hungry, she saw their need was only need. She knew you were back there, alone in the snow. She saw the baby she loved would not live without a mother, and only the uncle knew the way. She saw clearly that one person on the wagon had to offer themself, or they all would die. And in that moment of knowledge, don’t you think being who she was, of the old sort of Anishinaabeg who thinks of the good of the people first, she jumped, my father, n’deydey, brother to that little girl, don’t you think she lifted her shawl and flew?
Foster is a novella by Irish author Claire Keegan that tells the story of a young girl in rural Ireland in the 1980s. As the girl’s parents are struggling financially and expect another child, they send her to live with the Kinsellas, a childless couple living on a farm in the countryside. The Kinsellas’s warm style and the idyllic summer setting make the girl feel at ease as all three characters begin to form a real family. As soon as I finished this book, I reread it as it is so short but packs so much life.
In January 2023, the Irish movie The Quiet Girl, based on Foster, was nominated for the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film. The trailer can be watched here.
Razorblade Tears is a novel by S.A. Cosby that tells the story of two fathers, Ike and Buddy Lee, both ex-convicts, who set out to avenge the murder of their sons, who were happily married. When the police investigation stalls, Ike and Buddy Lee, devastated and desperate for justice, decide to take matters into their own hands.
His empty hands. Hands that had held his boy when he was barely ten minutes old. The hands that had shown him how to tie his shoes. The hands that had rubbed salve on his chest when he’d had the flu. That had waved goodbye to him in court with shackles tight around his wrists. Rough callused hands that he hid in his pockets when Isiah’s husband had offered to shake them.
Fathers will develop an unlikely friendship as they set off on the avenge journey and they atone for their prejudice against their boys’ choices.
Another incredible piece of storytelling is The Bone Shard Daughter, the first part of the fantasy trilogy The Drowning Empire written by Andrea Stewart. The story is set in an archipelago of islands ruled by an Emperor who uses magic to control the population.
Lin is the Emperor’s daughter, but she has been kept in isolation for most of her life. Her mysterious illness causes her to forget her memories. Jovis is a smuggler who is searching for his missing wife. Phalue is the daughter of a governor who is starting to question the morality of her family’s rule. The characters’ paths intersect as the story progresses, and their individual stories intertwine. They begin to uncover secrets about the magic that controls the islands and the true nature of the Emperor’s rule. This book is a masterpiece on how to deal with 21st-century concepts enveloped in a fantasy setting.
And lastly, I tremendously enjoyed the Thursday Murder Club series by Richard Osman — perfect mystery reading with delightful twists. In the peaceful retirement community Copper Chase in England, four retirees, Joyce, Elizabeth, Ibrahim, and Ron, meet weekly to discuss unsolved murders and try to solve them.
In the first book, The Thursday Murder Club, the group becomes involved in a real-life murder investigation when an estate developer is found dead. The four members of the club use their knowledge and skills to help the police solve the case. In the second book, The Man Who Died Twice, the group is involved in stolen diamonds, violence, and of course, murders. Plural. In the last book published, The Bullet That Missed, the gang is dealing with kidnapping, new friends (TV stars and ex-KGB colonels) and another few murders. Unputdownable books.
You are simply a little lost, Donna. And if one is never lost in life, then clearly one has never travelled anywhere interesting.
“Jealousy? I don’t think jealousy is the right word, says Pauline. They were both strong women and in those days people liked to make strong women compete with each other, like you couldn’t have two strong women in the same room at the same time. The world would explode.”
It was a community, and in Ibrahim’s opinion, that was how human beings were designed to live. At Coopers Chase, anytime you wanted to be alone, you would simply close your front door, and anytime you wanted to be with people, you would open it up again. If there was a better recipe for happiness than that, then Ibrahim was yet to hear it.
The sun is up, the skies are blue, and murder is in the air.
In life you have to learn to count the good days. You have to tuck them in your pocket and carry them around with you. So I’m putting today in my pocket and I’m off to bed.
And it is the same with good books. We tuck them in our mind, carry them around and off to a new day.