A worthy witchy read

Alys is a young woman in 16th century England who is at the centre of Philippa Gregory's The Wise Woman. The story opens with Alys awakening in the abbey where she has been living in comfort since her childhood. When the abbey becomes the nocturnal target of arson by supporters of Henry VIII, Alys flees back to Morach, the wise woman who helped raise her. Because of her training with Morach, Alys is called to the castle of the elderly Lord Hugh, who has been ill and presumed dying by his physicians. When Alys heals him, he insists she stay as one of the ladies to his daughter-in-law, Catherine. While in residence, Alys begins an affair with Catherine's husband, the young Hugh, which starts a tale of obsession, magic, and betrayal.

Actually, lots of betrayal. Alys is a master at it. She is quick to alter her allegiances if it means comfort, warmth, food and attention. She first betrays Morach, who gave her a home. Okay, a hovel, but she was fed by Morach, and taught herb-lore and midwifery, which helped Alys get to Lord Hugh. She quickly left Morach for the abbey, and Mother Hildebrande, for whom Alys appeared to have a deep and genuine love, but who she left to burn in her bed in order to quicken her own escape. She then betrays Morach again when she lets her take the blame for certain events that happen to Lady Catherine, who, after years of barrenness, finally appears pregnant, with Alys's help. She waffles with her affection for the young Hugh, sometimes believing herself in love with him, sometimes that she is using him for her own advancements. And when she has a chance to redeem herself regarding her faith and her abbey, she turns away from that too.

Alys is one of the most conniving, hideous and morally deprived characters I have ever come across in literature. She definitely earns the book's title, as her wisdom comes in two forms: herb-wisdom and the knowledge to think quickly on her feet to save her own skin. There were times I had pity for her; I'm not sure I wouldn't try to do the same things (well, not all of the same things) if I were filthy and cold and had had a taste of the good life. But deep down, I was revolted by Alys and her actions. Does this make for a bad book? No. And, when she has a chance to clean her conscience, I was interested in how Gregory would end the book. Was it an ending I found satisfying? I know my opinion, but try it out for yourself.

Knowledge is but a clicker box away

Ah, winter. Darkness, warm clothes and cuddly blanket, hot chocolate. All things that make me feel cozy, and physically lazy (especially after a few hours of cross country skiing or walks in the snow). Ironically, it is the time I feel most intellectually stimulated, and I seek out non-fiction as much as 'deep' fiction.

However, when life deems that reading time is allotted but in small chunks, non-fiction, full of dates, facts and figures, is not the optimum choice. What's a reader to do?

Turn on the TV!

I don't do it often, but now and then I rise early in the morning, taking my cuddly paraphernalia in the basement where my TV is, and indulge in some great documentaries. I just finished discs 1-4 of the BBC's The Private Life of a Masterpiece. They contain thirteen 'biographies' of some of history's most celebrated works of art. Starting with magnificent La Primavera by Sandro Botticelli, the series examines works from Italian Renaissance, Dutch and Spanish Baroque, and early Romanticism, a classic Japanese print, and ending with the birth of modern art.

Despite having studied art history pretty much all my adult life, I have yet to see most of these works, so it adds some dimension to seeing the works' settings, rather than just the image head on. There is a greater impact seeing Leonardo's Last Supper as it is meant to be, as part of a monastery's refectory, and imagine the impact of sitting and dining under this powerful painting! Also, some of the musings from the interviewees makes me stop and realise "hey, I never thought about it that way." My particular favorite episodes thus far are Edvard Munch's The Scream and James McNeill Whistler's Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 - Portrait of the Artist's Mother, oddly enough, since I've never been much of a modernist. Perhaps now I'm ready to learn about that which used to turn me off.

Ah, the power of television.