It's not Sherlock

I spent an overnight in the hospital the other day, then had unrelated appointments the day after they let me out. Lots of reading time is to be found in two days and a night in the hospital, especially when combined with a drive from Baltimore to Bethesda.

So I read Arthur Conan Doyle's The White Company. Coincidentally, I read Bernard Cornwell's 1356 recently as well, so I've been vicariously living in the 14th century off and on. I'd recommend either book, and, if you have the time, both of them back to back.

Neither book is perfect, both are very good, and it's interesting how both make the period come alive with different world views. The Conan Doyle book has what I think is a romanticized view of the period, where Cornwell's goes a bit, I think, in the other direction.

The White Company tells the story of part of Prince Edward's campaign to reinstall Pedro of Castile on his throne. The protagonist is squire to Sir Nigel Loring, whose daughter Maude provides the (minimal) love interest. The main characters are nicely drawn and sympathetically treated. Historical characters abound, so thickly that it's hard to keep track of them -- many are mere walk-ons, with no development.

The amount of chivalry depicted is slightly overwhelming. Clearly Froissart was a major source. Sir Nigel spends much of his time looking for someone to cross swords or break lances with him, a kind of romanticized bully boy who would be outlandish if he was the only one. You wonder: Can human nature be bent to that extent?

It's not bent in the Cornwell book, which is an account of the battle of Poitiers, eleven years before the battle of Najera, the climax of the Conan Doyle book. Thomas of Hookton leads a company of archers similar to the White Company. (Was Conan Doyle one of the inspirations?) The characters are more human to 21st century readers. The cities are stinky; at one point Thomas escapes hidden in a shit cart. The concept of chivalry is treated condescendingly -- one of the main characters is a virginal knight, because he was visited in a dream by the Virgin Mary. Naturally he's smitten by a beauty who ran away from her (disgusting) husband. 

I like Cornwell. I've read all his Sharpe stories, the Viking series, the Grail series, and a few stand-alones. His heroes are impervious to pain; in one book a character cuts off the protagonist's little finger. He's at work in the trenches a few days later. Thomas, prior to 1356, was tortured, his hand maimed by an evil Dominican. He's using the hand to pull his bow in 1356. Having once maimed my right hand with a table saw, I can tell Cornwell hasn't actually had a similar injury.