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Executive Times |
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2008 Book Reviews |
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The Fall
of Troy by Peter Ackroyd |
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Rating: |
*** |
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(Recommended) |
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Click
on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Manipulations Peter Ackroyd’s skilled writing in The Fall
of Troy presents a fictionalized account of two 19th century
archeologists and the ways in which they manipulated their craft and each
other in a search for significance and in the thrill of adventure. Along the
way, they dig for loot in ancient Troy and become engulfed in old stories. Here’s
an excerpt, from the beginning of Chapter 2, pp. 11-13: The Obermanns left Piraeus on
the overnight steamer; the captain of the Zeus had assigned his own
valet to them for the short journey to the Dardanelles, but, by the time the
young man had brought them coffee, just before dawn, Obermann was already
pacing the deck and peering towards the east. "Where is my wife? She
must see the dawn." "I am already with you,
Heinrich." Her voice came out of the shadows. "I also wish to see
the dawn." "You have never known the
sea until now. There. Look there." The edge of the world was limned with
light, and a red glow seemed to spread along the horizon. "The light is
glorious. But when the circle of the sun appears, there is a wholly different
sensation. There is a revelation." He shielded his eyes from the wind.
"That is where our future lies, Sophia. We are sailing towards Troy." "We are sailing away from
home." "Home is here. With me. I
am your home. Look now. Have you ever seen such a colour before? The rising
sun will sit upon a throne of blood." He turned to the valet.
"Bring our breakfast on to the deck. We must feast on this. Such
majesty." Within a few minutes the boy
brought out a plate of cold boiled hens' eggs. To Sophia's
astonishment, Obermann took one and swallowed it whole. Then he took
another. "When I was a child in Mecklenburg," he said, drinking
down a cup of thick black coffee, "I dreamed of buried treasure. There
was a small hill in our village. It was surrounded by a ditch and was no
doubt a prehistoric burial place. You have no idea how many ancient tombs are
still to be found in Europe, but nobody bothers with them. What we call hunengrab." He
rarely used German in her company, but, three days earlier, he had addressed
a German couple in Syntagma Square; he seemed to her then to change his
identity: he somehow became older, and smaller. "But
in our legends it was known that in this hill a robber-knight had buried his
beloved child in a golden cradle. Oh, we were surrounded by treasures. There
was a pond beside our schoolhouse, out of which a maiden was believed to rise
each midnight, holding a silver bowl. Many times my father bitterly lamented
his poverty. And I would say to him, 'Papa, why do you not dig up the golden
cradle and the silver bowl? Then we will be rich.' He never replied. In our
poverty he wished us to keep our fairy stories." To Sophia it seemed
that his eyes were brimming with tears. But then he swallowed another egg.
"I have always believed that my father poisoned my mother. Does that
shock you? Yet I still loved him. I will tell you the story one day" Sophia
retreated to the cabin, on the excuse that she wished to find a handkerchief,
and she sat down upon the narrow bed. She saw the Aegean stretching ahead,
stirred now by a north-easterly wind, and knew that she had to begin her life
again in the company of a stranger. Obermann
came back into the cabin. "My dearest Sophia, I have upset you. I have
not been considerate. Forgive me." "What
is there to forgive, Heinrich?" "We
should not dwell upon the past." He burst out laughing. "But who am
I to say this? I am an archaeologist!" Then he took her up in his arms
and, in the tiny space, danced a waltz with her to imagined music. And she
thought, as she danced, "Well, at least I shall not be bored with
you." By
the middle of the morning they had passed the island of Khios, and Sophia
glimpsed the coast of Turkey lying eastwards. She could see small
settlements—fishing villages, no doubt—and she could hear the barking of
dogs. She did not mind the motion of the sea; if anything, it comforted her.
This ceaseless rocking was like a cradling. "Do you see there, Sophia,
that bay? That is where the princess Hesione was exposed to the attacks of
the sea-monster sent by Neptune. Do you see the promontory of black rock?
That is where Hercules saved her. There is the trench he built." There
was a ridge leading inland from the promontory. "You
believe these stories, Heinrich." "There
is truth to them. We live in a hard age. An age of iron. We need these
stories. We should give thanks that they survive." He went over to the
rail and watched the seagulls as they flew beside the boat. "This is the
path that Helle and Phryxus took when they flew on the ram with the golden
fleece. How I loved that story! They crossed the Aegean Sea, as we do,
north-eastwards. You did not know the region was so blessed? How could you
know such things? Half the stories of the world begin here. That is why I
came. See how the birds dip their wings in the current of the wind. Helle
grew frightened by the waves beneath her, and fell away from the golden
fleece. The water where she drowned became known as the Hellespont." "There
is no need to worry, Heinrich. I will never fall." "You have no
fear of great heights?" "I
have no fear of falling. That was the cause of her distress." "You
rewrite the myths of your own country! You are a splendid creature!" An
English clergyman, with a black ebony cane, was standing close to the rail of
the deck; he had been listening eagerly to their conversation. "Do I
have the great good fortune of addressing Herr Obermann?" "You
do." Fans
of historical fiction will find pleasure in reading The Fall
of Troy. Steve
Hopkins, June 20, 2008 |
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the July 2008 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The Fall of Troy.htm For Reprint Permission, Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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