The Tyrannicide Brief (Geoffrey Robertson)

No doubt the fault lies with me, but I have never found a book about the English Civil War that has managed to hold my interest for very long . . . until now. Geoffrey Robertson's 2005 book, The Tyrannicide Brief, enables the reader to gain an understanding of the causes and complexities of those most turbulent of times. By telling the story of one man's personal and critical involvement in the trial of Charles I, Robertson has provided not only the detailed backdrop of the dramatic conflict between Parliament and King but also a disturbing insight into the darker aspects of human nature.

John Cooke was the lawyer who accepted the brief to prosecute Charles I at his trial in 1649. Cooke took on this huge responsibility when other men of his profession were literally hiding in their chambers in fear of the potential consequences of such an undertaking. Eleven years later, with Cromwell dead and and the members of the 'cause' left rudderless and badly divided, Charles II was put on the throne. England again became a monarchy, and John Cooke was to pay the ultimate price for his efforts. The new king ruthlessly and vindictively set about rounding up all those deemed responsible for the execution of his father. Those who were subsequently brought to their mock trials became known as The Regicides. Their fate was sealed, and the author rightly spares us none of the gruesome details of the manner of their deaths at the hands of the appointed executioner. If England thought it had stepped into a more enlightened age, the hanging, drawing and quartering of the Regicides reminded everyone that plumbing the depths of depravity is not peculiar to any given era.

Times and opinions may change, but much of what makes the world of politics what it is does not. In this book, which deals with events that took place three and a half centuries ago, we find examples of behaviour and attitudes that are common enough today: the lust for power and the abuse of power; dogmatic conviction and calamitous intransigence; machiavellian mendacity and downright brute force. Thanks to the likes of John Cooke, there is also a large chunk of decency and courage.

Now All Roads Lead To France The Last Years of Edward Thomas

Edward Thomas was a complex individual. He was unhappy, dissatisfied and a depressive. These personality traits caused great anxiety and difficulties for his wife and children, and it is for these reasons that any book about him must give as much information as possible to the reader about the development of its subject. This is a highly readable book, greeted in most quarters by great acclaim; however, accepting that Matthew Hollis sets out to tell the facts of Thomas' final years, we are deprived of a chance of getting to the essence of Thomas himself. To fully appreciate the tale of a gifted but tormented writer's duel with what was to be his own desperate end-game, we surely need insight into his formative years. We are given from the outset a man on the verge of suicide, a man pained by his own suspicions that he is fundamentally afraid of confrontation; yet we must travel with him through his brave enlistment into the armed forces and onto the killing fields of France without any real knowledge of what has stirred up his demons and virtually wrecked his life.

Thomas was no coward. We need to know why he thought he was, and how his self-esteem had been eroded in earlier times. The reader can only despair at the luckless twist of fate that ended his life on Easter Monday, 1917. Having courageously weathered the worst of the Battle of Arras, Thomas emerged from his dug-out and proceeded to light his pipe. A shell passed by him and killed him without contact: it was so close that the blast of air felled him and stopped his heart.

This is a good book; it would possibly have been a great one if a chapter or two could have at least led us to some clues about the marring of a poet's soul.