Post by richardlpangburn on Jan 2, 2006 4:10:43 GMT -5
I used to be in favor of the publication of "documented" historical references only. My view has changed a lot, as it has become documented that many of the early documents were constructed to fit contemporary agendas and were at odds with other contemporary documents, the truth often being something of a toss-up. A lawyer's argument.
Recent research on the Delaware Wallam Olum, for example, made famous by Rafinesque, puts it on a dubious footing but does not yet discard it altogether. David McCutchen's annotated account of it, tying the legend and lore to other accounts, is not so easily to dismiss out-of-hand.
It is undoubtedly a work of art, whether accomplished by Rafinesque or some legion of Delaware story tellers. Author and art historian Simon Schama wrote an excellent book some years ago (Dead Certainties: Unwarranted Speculations, published by Knopf in 1991) in which he took close looks at Benjamin West's famous painting "The Death of General Wolfe" and the various accounts of the event, the subjective nature of truth and the value of such legends.
In art, as in novels, I agree with what Walter Edmunds said in his 1936 introduction to DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK, that the novelist can often get closer to the truth than the historian can. Fiction can soften the edges of hardcore documents. Novels can give the stick figures a more natural life that goes beyond 18th century stereotypes.
And so too with paintings. The dustjacket, on the first edition of DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK, is a watercolor painting showing a peaceful meeting between a dozen natives and a half dozen bluecoats under some trees. The painting takes up two-thirds of the page above the title and wraps around the spine to the back cover of the book. Nicely done all the way around.
The softness of the colors and the haze in the background suggest that this is a historical narrative which is not written in stone. And so, for this reader, it fits the book well.
Recent research on the Delaware Wallam Olum, for example, made famous by Rafinesque, puts it on a dubious footing but does not yet discard it altogether. David McCutchen's annotated account of it, tying the legend and lore to other accounts, is not so easily to dismiss out-of-hand.
It is undoubtedly a work of art, whether accomplished by Rafinesque or some legion of Delaware story tellers. Author and art historian Simon Schama wrote an excellent book some years ago (Dead Certainties: Unwarranted Speculations, published by Knopf in 1991) in which he took close looks at Benjamin West's famous painting "The Death of General Wolfe" and the various accounts of the event, the subjective nature of truth and the value of such legends.
In art, as in novels, I agree with what Walter Edmunds said in his 1936 introduction to DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK, that the novelist can often get closer to the truth than the historian can. Fiction can soften the edges of hardcore documents. Novels can give the stick figures a more natural life that goes beyond 18th century stereotypes.
And so too with paintings. The dustjacket, on the first edition of DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK, is a watercolor painting showing a peaceful meeting between a dozen natives and a half dozen bluecoats under some trees. The painting takes up two-thirds of the page above the title and wraps around the spine to the back cover of the book. Nicely done all the way around.
The softness of the colors and the haze in the background suggest that this is a historical narrative which is not written in stone. And so, for this reader, it fits the book well.