The Last Kingdom by Bernard Cornwell: A review

In the middle of the ninth century, the prayers of the English routinely contained the line, "From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us." It was a time when the fierce Danes came down on British soil like the wolf on the fold. They were hungry for spoils and conquest. They raped and killed and took everything that wasn't nailed down and some things that were, leaving a wasteland and a destitute people in their path. It's a period of history that seems made for the story-telling talents of Bernard Cornwell and he doesn't disappoint. He has created a rousing epic adventure, as told by a young warrior who had intimate familiarity with both sides in the struggle.

As a young lad in 866, our narrator was the second son of a lord of Northumbria named Uhtred. When the older son of the lord, who was also named Uhtred, was killed, beheaded by the Danes, the family name was passed on to the second son. He became Uhtred son of Uhtred. Still a child, he went with his father and his army to fight against the Danes who were ravaging the countryside. His father was killed and Uhtred the son threw himself in fury against the leader of the Danes, ~~Ragmar~~ Ragnar. Instead of killing the boy as would have been expected and accepted, Ragnar honored his courage and took him as a prisoner. He was raised in Ragnar's household where he found more love and acceptance than he ever had in his own family. He learned to be a warrior and he was happy.

One by one, the various kingdoms of England fell to the Danes and Uhtred was witness to it all. Finally, only one kingdom remained - that of Alfred in West Saxon. Alfred was an unprepossessing man, often sick with some kind of intestinal ailment. (Medical historians believe it may have been Crohn's Disease.) He was extremely pious and could often be found on his knees, praying. He was also extremely intelligent, a thinker and planner, and he was stubborn.

In time, fate took Uhtred from the life he loved with Ragnar and deposited him in the household of Alfred. He found little to like about this pious king, but he gave him the chance to be a warrior and that is all that Uhtred ever really wanted. He also insisted that Uhtred learn to read and write, which seemed a waste of time to him, but the king demanded that the leaders of his army be literate and so Uhtred learned.

The king also arranged a marriage for Uhtred - a completely unwanted marriage and yet as sometimes happened, that arranged marriage turned out to be a blessing for him.

This is the first in Cornwell's series "The Saxon Stories" and it is a rousing tale of blood and guts and incredible cruelty. It is a tale in which women are almost entirely absent except as helpless victims of rape or sour, pinch-faced wives of lords and kings. One exception is Brida, who, like Uhtred, grew up with the Danes, learned to be a warrior and was his companion and lover as he was growing up. Another exception may be Mildrith, the wife in Uhtred's arranged marriage. We don't get to know her very well here, but she may prove an interesting character in later books.

Primarily though, this is a book that is focused on the masculine and the hard life of ninth century England is seen almost entirely through masculine eyes. Teenage boys would probably love this book if they could be coaxed from their video games to read it. If they imbibe a bit of history along with the action - and it is well-researched - then so much the better.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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