by Paul Braterman

The Vikings started out as raiders, but then, in the way of these things, ended up as rulers, and their influence stretched from Greenland to what is now Russia. They first enter English history in 793, with the sacking of the Monastery of Lindisfarne. By the late 9^th century, they were colonising Iceland, and serving as mercenaries to the Emperor of Byzantium. In 862, Vikings under Rurik established themselves in Novgorod, forming the nucleus of what would become Kyivan Rus. In 885, Vikings besieged Paris, and although they were beaten back settled in what is now Normandy (Norman, Northmen). In 865, the Viking Great Heathen Army arrived in England, and a year later, under Ivar the Boneless, captured York, which would remain their capital in England until the defeat of Eric Bloodaxe in at 954.

The Vikings’ goal was to establish themselves as rulers over Anglo-Saxon England, divided at that time into the four kingdoms of Northumbria, East Anglia, Mercia, and Wessex, and in this they were almost successful. After establishing their kingdom in York, they swept south, taking control of East Anglia and killing its king, who had earlier provided them with horses. They then spend the next five years consolidating their hold over what had been the most powerful of the Saxon kingdoms, Mercia, stretching from the Thames to the Humber, whose king took refuge in Paris. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us that in 873-44, a date that will prove significant for us, the army spend the winter in Repton, then a town of some importance. It then divided, one part going north to consolidate control over York, while the other swept south through Mercia into Wessex, which they effectively overran over the next two years. Read more »

Misha Japanwala. Breastplate, ca. 2018.

More here, here and here.

by David J. Lobina

For someone who grew up in the South of Europe but has lived in the UK for the last 20 or so years, and who, moreover, is a sort-of linguist, the recent proliferation of the word “fascism” to refer to certain political events and tendencies in the English-speaking world, especially in the US, is not a little surprising. After all, the people we used to refer to as fascists when I was growing up in Italy and Spain certainly bore a resemblance to classical fascism – some were the descendants of actual fascists, in fact – whereas the guys who get called fascist all the time these days, especially in the US, are nothing like them. And in any case, it was the 1990s then and it is 2023 now, is the term “fascism” still relevant today?[i]

Who were these fascists from my youth, then? If you lived in Italy or Spain in the 1990s and were politically active, you would most certainly run into them sooner or later and there were a couple of dates in the calendar that you needed to look out for, as neo-fascists, to employ a perhaps more appropriate nomenclature, tended to come out to commemorate events such as the so-called March on Rome, on the 27^th of October, in Italy, and Francisco Franco’s death, on the 20^th of November, in Spain.[ii]

As mentioned, some of these people were the descendants of real fascists, and this is perhaps clearest in the case of the Movimento Sociale Italiano, or MSI (The Italian Social Movement), a political party founded in 1946 by veterans from the so-called Republic of Salò – more properly, the Repubblica Sociale Italiana (The Italian Social Republic), a Nazi puppet state nominally led by Benito Mussolini in his nadir days – and which, in 1994, and under the name of Alleanza Nazionale (The National Alliance), entered the government of Silvio Berlusconi, the business magnate turned politician.[iii] This is to some extent also true of the many offshoots of the original Falange Española (The Spanish Falange), a party that was founded in the 1930s on the model of Mussolini’s Partito Nazionale Fascista (the National Fascist Party), the latter created in 1921. In its latest iteration, the Falange goes by the name of the Falange Española de las JONS.[iv]

The modern versions of these organisations, however, differ greatly from classical fascism, by which I mean Italian fascism from 1922 to 1943 (roughly), as well as from each other, and these differences become a chasm when it comes to US politics. And yet seemingly every other week there is an article out there about how the Republican Party is becoming a fascist party, or about how Donald Trump, Tucker Carlson, or Ron DeSantis are all fascists. Read more »

by Brooks Riley

by Mark Harvey

Censorship is the strongest drive in human nature; sex is a weak second. –Phil Kerby

Here’s a book that could really harm your child: A Big Mooncake for Little Star. The title itself promises dark political theories of socialism, sexual deviance, and a character-corroding leitmotif. Thank goodness some astute parents saw the danger of the book and got it on a banned-books list.

Here’s the summary of the book’s plot: Little Star, who is a cute little girl, has a mother who likes to bake. She bakes a big moon cake and puts it into the night sky to cool. She asks Little Star not to eat the cake while it cools. The cake looks like the moon and Little Star can’t resist its deliciousness. So night after night, despite her best intentions to leave the cake alone, she tiptoes into the night sky and nibbles away at the cake. The cake shrinks like a waning moon—from full circle to thin crescent–until there are only crumbs left. The mother discovers that her daughter ate the big mooncake and gently admonishes her. Then the two decide to make another cake together.

That’s the entirety of the book. It’s beautifully illustrated and won the Caldecott Medal, one of the most prestigious awards for children’s books. Full disclosure, I had to know what happened to the mooncake and couldn’t put the book down. But it’s definitely something children should not be exposed to. I’m not exactly sure why but if the book was banned, it was banned for a good reason and would surely set children on a dangerous life course. Mooncake is probably shorthand for moonbeam and moonbeam has a vague reference to hippy culture so maybe that’s it. Read the book to your five-year-old and the next thing you know she’s out on the road selling marijuana! Read more »

Wooden sculpture of eagle fairly well-camouflaged against a rock wall background in Franzensfeste, South Tyrol.

by Mike Bendzela

[Part One of this essay can be found here.]

Alexia, Redux

Throughout the winter of 2017, as he recovered from the stroke, Don went through a battery of therapies, including walking on a treadmill with and without handrails; navigating the winding corridors of the rehab center and having to find his way back to where he started; taking apart and putting back together block puzzles; scanning a large computer screen for numbered sequences.

I was invited to accompany him to his reading therapy sessions because his gay therapist got such a kick out of us. He would spend the first few minutes asking us about life on the farm. He wanted to know about milking cows and slopping pigs, shoveling shit, wringing the necks of unwanted roosters. Two husbands husbanding, har, har. He even devised a few bucolic reading exercises for Don.

Once the reading therapy began, it was painful to watch. Don would stare at the page upon which the therapist had printed a sentence in block letters:

IT WAS ON THE PIG.

The forefinger of Don’s left hand worked furiously as he struggled to recognize the words, like how I used to count on my fingers in math class. He had discovered he could bypass the damaged areas of his brain by transferring the task of letter recognition to his finger. Air writing, as it were. He eventually got around to naming letters without using his finger as a crutch. Read more »

by Carol A Westbrook

It was the last straw.  “We’re transferring you, Dr. Westbrook,” my Medical Director said to me.

“One of our offices in another town is desperately in need of a Hematologist, ever since Dr. Paul died,” he continued, “and you are the best hematologist on our staff,” he said, trying to cajole me with flattery.

“But I don’t want to be transferred. I really like working here,” I said. “I have a nice practice, which I built up over the last three years since I started here. I really like my patients and have a good rapport with them. Furthermore, I feel I am part of the community now.”

“Don’t worry. We will assign your patients to one of our other doctors, “he said, in a rather cold-blooded tone. It was no consolation at all.

“Do I have a choice? “I asked bluntly.

“No, not if you want to get paid. You can either transfer, or lose your job,” he said. The Director knew that I could be fired without cause, at the discretion of any of my superiors.

I gave it some thought and reviewed my options. The opportunity to practice full-time Hematology was actually appealing; it’s a difficult specialty, and I enjoy the challenge. And there would be no hospital call, either. But on the downside, it  would mean a long commute—it’s thirty miles away from home, traveling on a crowded interstate, US81 with a lot of speeding truck traffic and three mountain ranges to cross. Most importantly, I would have to leave a practice that I’d built up over three years, with many dear patients I hated to leave behind. If I refused the transfer, I would lose my job, and I doubted if I would be able to find another position at age 64. It would still be a year until I would qualify for Medicare and for full Social Security benefits. I would have to stick it out. Read more »