Essex Dogs by Dan Jones: A review

I should state right up front that Essex Dogs is really not my cup of tea. It is a war story and I generally try to avoid stories that take place in a war setting. But I have read and enjoyed books by Dan Jones in the past and so when the title came up I added it to my TBR list. And now I can cross it off that list!

The Essex Dogs of the title are a small group of men-at-arms and archers who fought in the Hundred Years War between England and France as a part of King Edward III's forces. This book, I understand, is the first in a trilogy about the war that is planned by Dan Jones.

The book follows the Essex Dogs during their involvement in the 1346 Crécy campaign. In addition to viewing the conflict through their eyes, we also get the perspectives of renegade priests, the ever-scheming aristocrats and merchants, and the ordinary people who are caught in the conflict mostly against their will. As always, it is these ordinary people caught in the middle who bear the brunt of the abuse resulting from the fighting.

The plot is very much character-driven. The Essex Dogs are a colorful group and probably the thing I enjoyed most about the novel was reading their conversations and banter as they attempt to rally and support each other and keep their spirits up. Although this is the fourteenth century, their interactions seem very modern. Perhaps those who are called on to fight their country's wars never quite change in their responses to the peril in which they find themselves.

Of course one of the ways humans defend themselves in such situations is through humor and that is very much a part of this narrative. We see it especially in the Dogs' dealings with the noblemen who lead them, particularly people like Warwick and Northampton. The humor is a blessed relief to the descriptions of the brutal everyday grind of their slog through the countryside as they endure shredded feet because of split boots and terrible digestive problems. There are some vivid descriptions of agonizing bowel movements as a result of the terrible food they had to eat.

No, being a soldier during a fourteenth-century war definitely was no bed of roses, except for the thorns. There were plenty of thorns. In that regard, I guess not much has changed in almost 700 years.

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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