#historical memoir

[leonardoeatscarrots]

Love reading about Rasputin's death and seeing shit like "We have nooooo idea what hit Rasputin on the head" or some other detail like that that was absolutely mentioned in Felix’s memoirs.

Like I get that Felix’s memoirs aren't entirely reliable. Shit just happens that way. But you can't honestly tell me you have NO clue when the guy who did it says, "Oh yeah, it was a rubber bat, lmao." And doesn't have a reason to lie about it.

It's not definitive proof in any way, but that's still better than nothing.

I also love when folks give me the whole "I think the reason he talks about himself so much before the murder is to make you trust him even though hes a murderer" as if he's some kind of big-brained mastermind manipulator. This is Mr Felix "Purishkevich shot my dog" Yusupov. He has the persuasion of a kindergartener.

""That's exactly what he wants you to think.""

Honestly, idgaf if Lost Splendor is exaggerated or inaccurate. In my opinion, the accounts from there are pretty reasonable if you take out the rich layer of devoutly religious. Far better than any other adaptation I've seen.

But besides that it's funny. It's actually entertaining. It's well constructed.

It's biased, but there's something distinctly human about that.

It is a. Good. Book.

[cockroachesunite]

In honour of this maniac’s birthday, here’s one of my favorite anecdotes, via Passages From The Life Of A Naval Officer, Etc by Edward Philips Charlewood

(Illustration inspired by this)

[roses-of-the-romanovs]

Alice and Alix

Alice on her daughter:

“She is a sweet, merry little person, always laughing, with a deep dimple in one cheek just like Ernie.”

“She is quite the personification of her nickname “Sunny”—much like Ella, but a smaller head, and livelier, with Ernie’s dimple and expression.”

“‘Sunny’ in pink, was immensely admired. She is still improving in looks since you saw her.”

“Aliky is very handsome and dear.”

Alexandra Feodorovna on her mother:

“I cried when I thought of my mother; this [the wedding of her brother Ernst] was the first festival since her death. I seemed to see her everywhere.”

“Darmstadt is only a little spot in the garden of my memories, but my mother died there, so I can’t really be blamed for liking Darmstadt.”

And one final tribute:

“The Empress’s boudoir, known as ‘Le Cabinet Mauve de l’Imperatrice,’ was a lovely room … Lovely pictures adorned the walls—and one of the Annunciation, and another of St. Cecilia, faced a portrait of the Empress’s mother, the late Princess Alice of England, Grand Duchess of Hesse-Darmstadt.”

“The mauve boudoir was flooded with moonlight, which fell directly on the portrait of the Empress’s mother, and on the picture of the Annunciation. Both seemed alive.... The sad eyes of the dead woman watched the gradually unfolding tragedy of her daughter’s life, whilst the radiant Virgin, overcome with divine condescension, welcomed the angel who hailed her as blessed among women.”

[ciderbird]

ok so while compiling the masterpost for the tournament I finally found an English version of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier memoirs so I wanted to share my favorite exchange from it between her and emperor Alexander

he’s like yeah Napoleon didn’t impress me at all. Did you notice his eyes, though? His clear piercing grey eyes?

And she’s like your majesty what the HELL are you talking about?

They talk a lot about Napoleon but I find these passages particularly interesting:

“to make one’s self feared, or to make one’s self loved”

I mean I already knew they were narrative foils in real life but to see it come out of Alexander’s mouth so blatantly is something else…

And yet another curious observation

seems not so immune to Napoleon’s charms as he would later have people believe. To put things in perspective this conversation takes place in Vilna after Napoleon’s retreat from Russia

[danidrawsstuff]

playin with the rake brush and using the dysfunctional brothers as my test subjects

🌟[ Commission Sheet | Commission Terms / Form ] 🌟

[historicity-was-already-taken]

In the past I have been highly critical of the fact that so much Holocaust memory is constructed through the autobiographical/memoiric writings of men, like Elie Wiesel and Primo Levi. And I remain critical, because that male canon obscures the experiences for women.

I've understood for a while that women write for their families while men write for history, but I've finally figured out how to put words to another piece of it. Because women perceive their individual experiences to have been unimportant, or as a tiny part of a whole, their writings are much harder for laypeople to understand.

One of the most moving Warsaw Ghetto resistance memoirs I've read so far has been I Remember Nothing More: The Warsaw Children's Hospital and the Jewish Resistance by Adina Blady-Szwajger. Towards what I'm going to call the first ending of this memoir (pg. 153), she writes:

When I finished the last page of my memoirs, I went back to the beginning. I read them through-and suddenly realized that something was wrong. I had wanted to bear witness to the true events of those times, but I had done it very awkwardly. Over the last forty-five years, the world has changed, new generations have grown up, and everything that happened has faded in the mists of history ... Everything has changed - even the streets I wrote about are no longer on the map of contemporary Warsaw. So much of what I wrote has ceased to be clear and comprehensible ... We have crossed the barrier of shadows, and one by one we are leaving. The young are left behind. And it would be a good thing if something of those years remained for them. And so we need to explain, not just to reminisce. I don’t know whether I am able to. I am not a professional writer, or a chronicler. But I must try ...

This type of ambivalence towards one's right to record their memories over such a traumatic past is a typical presence in women's Holocaust memoirs, but so is the issue Blady-Szwajger so eloquently points out above: the memories recorded are niche, interpersonal; recording events and landscapes and individuals which have not penetrated collective memory, and remain obscure to laypersons. At the time, the massacre of a Ukrainian shtetl was the most memorable moment in a writer's life, but from the lens of us, as students of history, it may be a blip in the larger history of Einsatzgruppen actions at the beginnings of Operation Barbarossa.

Because male writers are much more likely to understand themselves as purveyors of history, and not simply as small, modest pieces of a collective, many of their writers include attempts to contextualize events they personally experienced within the larger history of World War II and the Holocaust. Whereas women, simply remember.

[promises-of-paradise]

So I'm currently reading the memoir of Felix Yusupov (the guy who killed Rasputin) and I cannot put into words the emotional whiplash this sentence gave me-

[judgeitbyitscover]

The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan

Cover illustrations by Todd Lockwood

A Natural History of Dragons (2013)

You, dear reader, continue at your own risk. It is not for the faint of heart—no more so than the study of dragons itself. But such study offers rewards beyond compare: to stand in a dragon's presence, even for the briefest of moments—even at the risk of one's life—is a delight that, once experienced, can never be forgotten. . . . All the world, from Scirland to the farthest reaches of Eriga, know Isabella, Lady Trent, to be the world's preeminent dragon naturalist. She is the remarkable woman who brought the study of dragons out of the misty shadows of myth and misunderstanding into the clear light of modern science. But before she became the illustrious figure we know today, there was a bookish young woman whose passion for learning, natural history, and, yes, dragons defied the stifling conventions of her day. Here at last, in her own words, is the true story of a pioneering spirit who risked her reputation, her prospects, and her fragile flesh and bone to satisfy her scientific curiosity; of how she sought true love and happiness despite her lamentable eccentricities; and of her thrilling expedition to the perilous mountains of Vystrana, where she made the first of many historic discoveries that would change the world forever.

A Tropic of Serpents (2014)

Attentive readers of Lady Trent’s earlier memoir, A Natural History of Dragons, are already familiar with how a bookish and determined young woman named Isabella first set out on the historic course that would one day lead her to becoming the world’s premier dragon naturalist. Now, in this remarkably candid second volume, Lady Trent looks back at the next stage of her illustrious (and occasionally scandalous) career. Three years after her fateful journeys through the forbidding mountains of Vystrana, Mrs. Camherst defies family and convention to embark on an expedition to the war-torn continent of Eriga, home of such exotic draconian species as the grass-dwelling snakes of the savannah, arboreal tree snakes, and, most elusive of all, the legendary swamp-wyrms of the tropics. The expedition is not an easy one. Accompanied by both an old associate and a runaway heiress, Isabella must brave oppressive heat, merciless fevers, palace intrigues, gossip, and other hazards in order to satisfy her boundless fascination with all things draconian, even if it means venturing deep into the forbidden jungle known as the Green Hell . . . where her courage, resourcefulness, and scientific curiosity will be tested as never before.

The Voyage of the Basilisk (2015)

Devoted readers of Lady Trent’s earlier memoirs, A Natural History of Dragons and The Tropic of Serpents, may believe themselves already acquainted with the particulars of her historic voyage aboard the Royal Survey Ship Basilisk, but the true story of that illuminating, harrowing, and scandalous journey has never been revealed—until now. Six years after her perilous exploits in Eriga, Isabella embarks on her most ambitious expedition yet: a two-year trip around the world to study all manner of dragons in every place they might be found. From feathered serpents sunning themselves in the ruins of a fallen civilization to the mighty sea serpents of the tropics, these creatures are a source of both endless fascination and frequent peril. Accompanying her is not only her young son, Jake, but a chivalrous foreign archaeologist whose interests converge with Isabella’s in ways both professional and personal. Science is, of course, the primary objective of the voyage, but Isabella’s life is rarely so simple. She must cope with storms, shipwrecks, intrigue, and warfare, even as she makes a discovery that offers a revolutionary new insight into the ancient history of dragons.

In the Labyrinth of Drakes (2016)

Even those who take no interest in the field of dragon naturalism have heard of Lady Trent's expedition to the inhospitable deserts of Akhia. Her discoveries there are the stuff of romantic legend, catapulting her from scholarly obscurity to worldwide fame. The details of her personal life during that time are hardly less private, having provided fodder for gossips in several countries. As is so often the case in the career of this illustrious woman, the public story is far from complete. In this, the fourth volume of her memoirs, Lady Trent relates how she acquired her position with the Royal Scirling Army; how foreign saboteurs imperiled both her work and her well-being; and how her determined pursuit of knowledge took her into the deepest reaches of the Labyrinth of Drakes, where the chance action of a dragon set the stage for her greatest achievement yet.

Within the Sanctuary of Wings (2017)

After her adventure in the mountains of Vystrana, and her exploits in the depths of Eriga, to the high seas aboard The Basilisk, and then to the deserts of Akhia, the Lady Trent has captivated hearts along with fierce minds. This concluding volume will finally reveal the truths behind her most notorious adventure - scaling the tallest peak in the world, behind the territory of Scirland's enemies - and what she discovered there, within the Sanctuary of Wings.

[vixlenxe]

It's okay, the people in their 30s are safe here.

[hoppityhopster23]

Marbot the Cat (and His Near Death Experience)

"I was a strong constitution, and never had an illness save the smallpox; but my life was nearly cut short by an accident which happened when I was three years old. By reason of my snub nose and round face my father called me ‘the kitten.’ That was quite inducement enough to set me imitating a kitten, and I used to delight in going about on all-fours mewing. Every day I used to go upstairs in this way to the second floor, to be with my father in his library, where he used to pass the hottest part of the day. When he heard his ‘kitten’ mew  he would open the door and give me a volume of Buffon, that I might look at the pictures while he was reading.  This I thought excellent fun;  but one day I was not received with the usual welcome.  My father, probably intent on more serious matters,  did not open to his ‘kitten.’  vainly I mewed more and more, in my most insinuating tones; the door remained closed.  Then I noticed, on a level with the floor, a hole, which in all the country-houses in the South of France is made at the bottom of the door to allow the cat to get into the rooms,  known as the ‘cat-hole.’ This was obviously my way,  and I gently slipped my head through. but my body would not follow, nor could I draw my head back: it was caught. Though I was beginning to be strangled, I had so completely identified myself with my part of kitten, that, instead of speaking to let my father know of my unpleasant situation, I mewed with all my might, Like a cat undergoing strangulation. It seems I did it so well that my father, thinking it  part of the joke, was seized with a fit of helpless laughter. Suddenly, however, the mewing grew faint; my face turned blue; I swooned away. I imagine my father's alarm when he perceived the truth. with some difficulty he lifted the door from its hinges, released me, and carried me, still unconscious, to my mother. She, thinking me dead, was seized with violent hysterics. When I came to, a doctor was in the act of bleeding me. The sight of my own blood, and the anxiety of the whole household crowding round my mother and myself, made so vivid an impression on my childish imagination that the whole affair has remained deeply graven on my  memory." - The memoirs of Baron de Marbot, Translated by Arthur John Butler, pages 3-4

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[leonardoeatscarrots]

GUYS I FINALLY FOUND A LISTING OF FELIX’S OTHER MEMOIR THAT ISN'T AS EXPENSIVE AS THE AMAZON COPY

The shipping rates, though!!! Yikesss

Me after getting this book ⤵️

(There are other listings as well, I will be sure to link the others after I make my purchase)

[papillon-de-mai]

“You come to this place, mid-life. You don’t know how you got here, but suddenly you’re staring fifty in the face. When you turn and look back down the years, you glimpse the ghosts of other lives you might have led; all houses are haunted. The wraiths and phantoms creep under your carpets and between the warp and weft of fabric, they lurk in wardrobes and lie flat under drawer-liners. You think of the children you might have had but didn’t. When the midwife says, ‘It’s a boy,’ where does the girl go? When you think you’re pregnant, and you’re not, what happens to the child that has already formed in your mind? You keep it filed in a drawer of your consciousness, like a short story that never worked after the opening lines.” 

― Hilary Mantel, Giving Up the Ghost

[roses-of-the-romanovs]

"Where Princess Ella was, no angry disputes could exist. She was so sweet and just that the other children always gave in to her arbitration. Looking back on her short life I often wonder why we did not see that she was quite too good for this world, her fit companions were the angels. She was a regular little mother, and was never so happy as with the 'tiny cousin,' as she called Anastasie." – Margaretta Eagar, Six Years at the Russian Court

[benisasoftboi]

Truly, nothing has ever sounded more like it was written specifically for me than this

[haveyoureadthispoll]

A literary sensation and runaway bestseller, this brilliant novel presents with seamless authenticity and exquisite lyricism the true confessions of one of Japan's most celebrated geisha. In "Memoirs of a Geisha," we enter a world where appearances are paramount; where a girl's virginity is auctioned to the highest bidder; where women are trained to beguile the most powerful men; and where love is scorned as illusion. It is a unique and triumphant work of fiction - at once romantic, erotic, suspenseful - and completely unforgettable.