Wilder Love: Second Chance Standalone Romance (Love and Chaos)

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Savvy, self-possessed and talented, Blanch did what she wanted and earned a good living at a time when women were expected to stay at home and be subservient to the needs of husband and children. She was glamorous and stylish and, in her own unique way, distinctly powerful. Burton was a man "gone native" who disappeared for years on end into the empty quarter, Mecca and various parts of Africa and India only to re-emerge clutching fistfuls of what the Victorian public would swiftly label as pornographic literature. Isabel allegedly married him in the hope that she would be able to accompany him on some of his more outlandish excursions, instead she ended up as his copy editor, sitting behind a desk at home while hubby plunged off into another uncharted swamp or desert. El-Mezrab was a tribal leader who waged war, made love and engaged in local politiking from the comfort of his Bedouin tent with Lady Ellenborough (Digby) as consort. Aimee Du Becq de Rivery was captured by Barbary Corsairs, sold to the Sultan of Istanbul as a concubine and fought her way up the Seraglio ranks to become Sultana, mother of the heir to the Ottoman throne and one of the most under-rated but influential women in European politics at the time. Eberhardt met an untimely end in a flash flood in Algeria but not before she had married Slimane Ehnni, dabled in Sufi Mysticism and adopted Islam as her religion. Aimée du Buc de Rivéry: One of my favourite chapters in the book. We know that she disappeared at sea, but there is a prevailing legend that she was captured at sea, and that she supposedly spent the rest of her life in the harem of the Ottoman Empire. According to current historians, it's not been substantiated whether or not those two women are one and the same. Regardless, Lesley Blanch tells you this legendary story most engagingly. Her god-daughter calls her “ a Sheherezade figure”. Blanch romanticises in vivid detail her girlhood in the years leading up to World War One. She had a baby by an Italian soldier, gave it up for adoption and never mentions it again. I couldn’t decide whether she was heartbroken or heartless. Her first teenage impression of Florence was that it was “ forbidding”; Venice was “ draughty”.

Lesley Blanch, who died at the age of 103 in 2007, must be the very last of the great Bohemians. She wrote about fashion and interior design for Vogue and published books celebrating her passion for Russia and the Balkans. This new compilation has been put together by her god-daughter and includes some of Blanch’s travel writing, a retrospective memoir of her Edwardian childhood and (previously published only in French) the story of her marriage to the Russian-French soldier-diplomat and writer Romain Gary. I gave this book only three stars because the writing was overdone, especially on the first two biographies. Perhaps it is just my impatience with the subjects or my impatience with the writing, but at times I found the book tedious. But I must credit these four women for striking out and making their own way at a time when that was very difficult. Lesley Blanch takes for her subjects four well-bred European women who discovered that their “destiny” lay in the Middle East. First is Isabel Burton, a devout Catholic girl who fell madly in love with Richard Burton, the dashing explorer and Orientalist. Posterity has reviled Isabel because she burned Richard’s notes and manuscripts after he died, but Blanch shows that she was more than just a prudish Victorian wife.

She was obviously a strong character as she made a very good marriage in the end, all within the confines of the seraglio. But what fascinated me was the hierarchy in the luxury of the harem. The four favourite wives, and more so if they had a son, lived splendid rich lives with access outside their gilded cages.

This has become one of my favourite books and one I love to re-read. It's also made me want to read everything by Lesley Blanch - She was such an engaging storyteller. Richard and Isabel Burton: This was the chapter that I most looked forward to, having had a fascination with especially Richard Burton for a long while, because of his translation of One Thousand and One Nights. Their chapter lived up to my expectations. One of these days I'm going to read a full length biography on them both.I don’t write fiction because I can’t invent. For biography I have to remember, and then work round a character. In biography you don’t invent anything, but you interpret. However, that doesn’t mean that you don’t use your imagination." While it seemed this was the end of her troubles, Radner’s legs started shaking uncontrollably, with severe fevers and bloating plaguing the actress around her menstrual cycle. Oscar Wilde love quote “Men always want to be a woman’s first love – women like to be a man’s last romance.” We can agree about the “twentieth century disintegration”, that’s probably true enough. After about 1750, for some complicated reason, women’s choices as to how to live as individual humans in their own right became increasingly limited, so that by the later nineteenth they were down to about two – ministering angels or whores, for the most part an unbridgeable division. Twentieth century ‘feminism’ was mostly about breaking these stereotypes, never entirely successful and since arguably even less so. But in a way the geographical factor is incidental, unless it represents warmth and the need for less, or less restrictive, clothing, in itself suggestive to the Northern imagination of sensuality and ‘freedom’ though in fact as many or more social restrictions operate in the East as in the West and the Eastern countries have now become a target, accurately or otherwise, for those Western women worried about the ‘oppression’ of their oriental sisters. And as to the last sentence, that’s largely incomprehensible to the average man, for whom “love” is just another adventure amongst many other possibilities. To the male characters in this book it meant nothing much at all. Of course they loved the women they were involved with, but in a different way; it was not the be-all-end-all of their existences, it was not “a means of individual expression, liberation and fulfilment. That came from other wider and more diverse sources, and here we meet the eternal predicament known as the battle of the sexes, most strikingly represented in the first and longest in this collection of biographical essays.

This song continues the conflict placed in the first song, but this time in a more personal way, representing the great problem of the human being, which can not feel love freely, or in this case, wildly. Doctors believed the symptoms were partly connected to her depression as they could not find anything wrong with her stomach. Jane Digby's story is her succession of husbands, before she married Sheikh Abdul Medjuel El Mezrab is Syria. He was twenty years her junior, but she remained married to him for thirty years. She lived part of the year in Bedouin tents, the other in the city of Homs. 1807 - 1881.

So secondly we learn a little more about Jane Digby El Mezrab, who was reasonably well-known to the Burton’s having married her last husband in Syria before the couple arrived together in Damascus. This life is a series of closely-linked monogamous relationships, some involving marriage, and children, but not necessarily all having either characteristic. This was a highly intelligent and educated woman who challenged herself beyond any perceived restrictions, and earned great respect among the people she eventually resided with in the desert. That the French odalisque was “the inspiration and guiding force behind various political intrigues stretching far beyond the Seraglio’s walls or even the Turkish frontiers” is, as the writer freely concords, conjecture. Nonetheless, a letter from Selim to Louis XVI, contemptuously ignored at Versailles, could only have had one author and Mahmud once established as the Shadow of Allah on Earth was, still is, known as The Reformer, even if all the barbarous colour of the Ottoman Empire disappeared for ever. That she ‘loved’ the father of her child, a rigidly conservative and sometimes brutal old man whom she could rarely have seen, is extremely unlikely though perhaps in a way he did her. Perhaps she was grateful, which will do well enough; as the Sultan’s mother she wielded almost complete power from within, demonstrating a Creole ruthlessness of her own. In her magnificent suite, knowing nothing until Napoleon’s intervention in Turkish affairs of the Revolution or her cousin’s rise to Empress, she recreated the salons of the French eighteenth century and by example and influence dragged Turkey into a sort of Westernisation for better or for worse. Wilder was reportedly told soon after Radner’s diagnosis that she only had a small chance of surviving, but he never shared the news with his beloved. This book is several decades old now, so it has some real baggage to it. There's the racial and cultural baggage of being an orientialist book about orientalists orientaliziing the orient. For one. Also, especially in the first section, there's a heavy emphasis in old school notions of love and marriage and well plenty of it feels from a certain time and place. The book itself though is an incredibly interesting personal history of four otherwise not well known women who tore off for the near East for a differing set of reasons. At 15, I was enthralled by the dashing adventures of these four Victorian women who defied the boredom of their culturally prescribed lives to escape to the Middle East. The book is exciting and conversational enough to entice a surly teenager into loving it, even one who would rather have been dancing in discos than digging in deserts. Isabelle even cross-dressed in England and in the Sahara, a fact which moved me.

About the Harem, the innermost women’s quarters of the Seraglio, Mme Blanch can say little since few if any Westerners ever entered one. Apparently, though, contrary to the image in torrid imaginations, strict discipline and formality prevailed, almost like a nunnery, because it was the women who actually held the power behind the throne, vied for their lord’s notice with fierce rivalry between them to place an heir on the throne. With native shrewdness Mlle de Rivery (now known as Naksh, The Beautiful One), learned fast, cultivating those she judged to be influential. Sultan Abd ul Hamid’s nephew Selim, a rather delicate young man with ‘progressive’ ideas, was his recognised heir; his First Wife, not progressive at all and relying on the support of the terrifying Janisseries, had every intention of advancing her own son at any price, and two ferocious factions had developed within the palace. The Beautiful One, having been expertly trained in the “arts of love”, and to the other’s fury, rapidly usurped her and had a son of her own who was the apple of his father’s eye. Half French and carefully and continuously watched over and guarded by his mother and with an education that was only half Turkish, the boy – having murdered his rival - survived to adulthood to become until 1839 Sultan Mahmud II of Turkey. In her memoir, Radner declared: “Now I had Epstein-Barr virus and mittelschmerz. Fitting diseases for the Queen of Neurosis.” Admittedly, Arabian nights and Turkish delights have never held much excitement for my fancy, so the setting of Lesley Blanch’s four-woman, biographical vignettes, THE WILDER SHORES OF LOVE, combined with her stilted, formal, presentation, may have been a part of the reasons I found it rather uninteresting.As her symptoms worsened she was diagnosed with Epstein-Barr virus, a common illness that causes fatigue. He wrote: “In June we went to Paris, and I took her to my favourite bistro. After we ate, she started feeling uncomfortable, and the discomfort grew when we went outside walking on the street.