Reading Civics in a Modern Novel and Trying to Solve a Whodunnit

 

 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
When not to be receives reproach of being
And the just pleasure lost which is so deemed
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?...

(Shakespeare's Sonnet 121)

Listening to various pundits on television and radio worry about the ability of Americans to hold their own in a global economy, I have to wonder. When and where did public education here begin its unhealthy decline? Whodunnit? And can anyone change its course this late in the game? A few weeks ago, I watched Richard Dreyfuss, the actor of Jaws and Mr. Holland's Opus fame, speak on Fox News about his dreams for America. They aren't farfetched or unrealistic. He has launched something he calls The Dreyfuss Initiative to get Americans interested in civics again. Civics? What's that? "The study or science of the privileges and obligations of citizens." Obligations. Hmm. That sounds like I gotta do somethin'. Somebody makin' me and my kids do it. Not sure I like it. Think I'll call a lawyer or my congress-person. Eureka! The trail of blood (money) is much easier to follow now.

Back when I was a freshman in high school--don't even think about asking how long ago that was--I opted for a sort-of civics class in lieu of U.S. History. (Note: by the time I was a senior we had moved to another school district, and guess what? I had to take that history class anyway.) At that time, I thought learning history was just a waste of time, memorizing a bunch of dates, famous names, and battles. Yawn! Apparently, some educators thought the same thing and came up with an alternative class. It was called "Contemporary World" or some such thing. We got to play board games like Guns or Butter and learned stuff like what Lieutenant Calley had done in Vietnam. Fun, huh? According to this PBS account of Calley's folly, his actions may have contributed a great deal to the notion that the draft (involuntary military service) wasn't such a neat idea.

The draft or military conscription actually ended in 1973 at the beginning of President Nixon's second term. He and his Republican backers pushed for it. Interesting. There was some talk last summer that the draft might be reinstated. Apparently, Rep. Charles Rangel (Democrat) from New York introduced a bill that would make military service mandatory once again. (It didn't pass, by the way). He considers that there is a disproportionate burden of military service falling on the backs of the poor people in this country. I tend to agree. Somewhat. With decent paying jobs so hard to find and the skyrocketing cost of higher education putting it out of reach for most people, there aren't many good alternatives anymore.

Military service guarantees food on the table, clothes on the back, a roof over the head, free healthcare, and a ticket (courtesy of the GI Bill) to earn a college degree. I should know. My family certainly received those goodies because of my dad's military service. Besides, the pay isn't so shabby anymore. The federal pay freeze being proposed does not apply to service members. And in December of 2010, the GI Bill education benefits were expanded. Remember the one side of the civics coin? Privileges. It's not often that we hear about the other side of the coin. Obligations. It's obviously a dirty word. No one wants to think about the cost of those privileges.

So what does all of that (above) have to do with a certain novel, pictured above? Whether I read nonfiction or fiction, I want to know what or who informs the characters and maybe even the author(s). What are they reading? Taking to heart? Immersing their thoughts in? Sharing ideals and dreams with? In the case of C. W. Gortner's The Confessions of Catherine de Medici, the MC and narrator of the novel takes her cues from a variety of philosophers, ancient as well as more recent. Plutarch and Machiavelli, for example.

Catherine de Medici, dispatched by her uncle, Pope Clement VII, to marry the heir to France's throne is still a child when she takes her wedding vows. Immature, yes, but not ignorant by any stretch of the imagination. The aunt who raises this orphan makes sure that the girl not only learns to keep her hands occupied with the art of embroidery but also engages her brain with academics. And what an education that was. It continued when Catherine was sent to become a royal French bride: "We spent six hours every day, adhering to a regimen of mathematics, history, languages, and music..." Private tutors, extensive gardens to walk in, lavish dinners to feed a growing body so the brain could do its work. Privileges.

What about obligations? In the MC's own words: "I realized being a princess of France was much like being a Medici; the king's daughters [her new sisters-in-law] dwelled always under the expectations of their rank. One day, they too would wed, leave for distant courts, where they would be strangers representing their nation..." A new world order was beginning to take shape even then in the sixteenth century, when alliances were being forged among nations. Wouldn't you know that women, as usual, bore the brunt of the burden for making it happen and the blame for when it didn't? Literally. The children born to those royal marriages of mixed heritage were expected to cement relationships between rulers and guarantee trade and understanding among their subjects. Sometimes that cement didn't hold, especially when differences of opinion respecting religion got in the way.

Strange, how that happens even now. And those conflicts don't always have to involve the major religions. Fascism, communism, radical environmentalism...You name it, there's a fanatic-"ism" ready to fly its banner over people who are ready and willing to listen. History and civics lessons fly out the window in those cases. Books get shoved aside and forgotten. Important ideas to be studied, remembered, and discussed are removed from curricula.

Take Machiavelli's The Prince, for example. It shows up in Gortner's novel not once but twice. The first time it appears, Catherine shows it off to a young man who will one day figure prominently in her struggle to maintain her family's control of France. He is Gaspard de Coligny, and when she shows it to him, proud of the fact that it was written for and dedicated to her great-grandfather, Lorenzo the Magnificent, he quotes from it. Takes it to heart, he does. Maybe. Sort of. 

The book's second appearance occurs many years later. She gives one of her grandsons his own copy, inscribed with his name:

I handed it to him. "The Prince by Machiavelli," I told him. "My favorite book. I think you are of age now to appreciate its wisdom."

He fingered the book as if it were a jewel. "Thank you," he breathed, his eyes glowing just as my own late son's, his namesake, had when given a new falcon or pet hound. Only this Charles was clearly a scholar; the veneration with which he retreated to the window to open the book demonstrated he would never find satisfaction in swords or armor.

Maybe not swords beaten into plowshares but certainly a hope for future peace. In books, of all places.

Before you sail away from this post, consider taking a look at one of those places where this writer informs herself. It's a blog called Cruising Altitude, and there's a golden opportunity in the air up there. Mr. Hammons has a contest going, and he's provided us with a mystery to be solved. Try your hand at it. I'm going to. In blogs, of all places. Clues abound.