User Profile

Despite its general title, Victorian Pubs is almost entirely about pubs in London, with only the epilogue being about pubs in other cities. With that caveat in mind, I found this book informative and useful for getting an idea of not only the obvious details of Victorian-era pubs, but also the easier-to-miss patterns like how their layouts and fittings evolved over the 19th century, and the context that drove those changes.

Although written with the assumption that the reader will have some familiarity with surviving pubs and some expectations for what they may have been like originally, it still provides enough information that a foreign ignoramus such as myself now feels decently confident in being able to depict one in a period story. Victorian Pubs doesn't get distracted by the glitter of its subject and goes beyond just describing their architecture and ornament. It talks about how they were run, who went to them, how various factions viewed them, and the companies and individuals responsible for designing and building them.

Victorian Pubs is illustrated throughout in black and white with some colour photos. As to be expected, the photos and text skew towards the end of the 19th century, but there's a decent amount of coverage about and some drawings of pre-1880 pubs. As always, I'd have liked to see more, but what's there is a good mix of period and modern images, overviews and detail shots, as well as plans and catalogue excerpts.

For a solid understanding of (mostly London) pubs in the Victorian era for your fiction-creating needs, Victorian Pubs is worth reading. One thing you'll want to research elsewhere is the changing terminology over the course of the 19th century - they weren't always called "pubs", after all.

London Hidden Interiors is massive. It covers 180 places in London in over 400 large, full-colour pages. The text is a mix of history, architectural review, and trivia. Unlike Davies's books of historical photographs where he is limited by the available images, the segments often an illustrated mini-tours of each place, with first-hand impressions on top of that. The photographs are often on the small side, but still look good, and there are many half- and full-page images.

As to be expected, most of the places are Georgian and Victorian and many are ecclesiastical, but there's a surprising amount of breadth nonetheless. There are shops, eateries, offices, manufactories, infrastructure, and places of worship for several religions, there are mediaeval, Tudor, interwar, and even 21st century structures, there are meticulously restored, cleverly adapted, and dilapidated buildings, private and public, listed and unlisted.

I was fortunate to read this while looking into potential places to visit in London, it gave me more than I have time for. The places are ordered in such a way that places near each other in the book are not far apart physically (at least until it gets into the suburbs), which made it convenient for this task. The interiors it covers are "hidden" mostly in that they're not well-known or often seen, though many are open to the public at least in part.

My primary hope for this book, however, was as art reference. It has a lot of overlap with Unseen London, but rather than being redundant, I think the two books complement each other well. If you have to pick one, get this one - though the photos are smaller, the coverage is better, with more images of each building. Similarly to my opinion on Unseen London: if you're looking for specific buildings or specific eras, skip this one, but if you're looking for ideas for different kinds of buildings to show in a story, London Hidden Interiors is good to have.

"What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew" is a collection of facts that would have been common knowledge to 19th century novel audiences, but which may elude modern readers. It covers common forms of transport, games, fox hunts and shooting, education, ranks of the nobility and gentry, the structure of the Church of England, food items, clothing, and many other topics that frequently come up in the well-known novels of that century.

I'd love to see a whole series of books like this, for readers of novels from different eras and countries. Even if you're the sort who picks things up well from context, it's nice to have the confirmation, and there are many opportunities for misunderstandings as words evolve in meaning that a book like this can clear up.

In terms of the topics covered, this book is great. It doesn't get into the nitty-gritty and thus remains easy to read even when covering subjects one may be less interested in, but it covers enough. Where it falls short, however, is in lacking clear citations and being vague with dates. The 19th century was a time of rapid change, and "early 19th century" or "mid-century" just doesn't cut it when talking about, for example, fashion or business structure. I imagine the author left out dates to avoid overwhelming readers, but it makes the facts presented less useful. "A mid-century observer" is also about as good as the citations get for quotes from non-fiction, and most information has no inline citations at all. There is a bibliography, but with so many disparate topics discussed, it's hard to use without some form of citations in the text.

I suspect that for its intended audience - modern readers of Regency and Victorian novels, particularly those who don't also read non-fiction from the time - this is a great companion, especially with how easy it is to look up notes on specific topics (though the lack of pointers from its glossary to the relevant discussion chapters is a little disappointing). For artists and writers working with the Victorian era, it is useful, but it could be much more so if it were just a touch more rigorous.

Working gradually through the 19th century from its late Georgian start to its end, The Invention of Murder covers several well-known and a few lesser-known murders, the social context in which they occurred, and the lasting effect they had on newspapers, theatre, and literature. Writers revelled in certain incidents and largely ignored others that at a glance seem no less interesting, and Judith Flanders examines the context and proposes plausible reasons for the differences.

There's so much information in this book that it can be overwhelming. Although it's interesting to read about how many fictional stories borrowed elements from the relatively small number of real murders of the time, it can get rather repetitive. I read this book a "case" at a time, that is, an incident (or series of incidents) followed by its influence, and even in smaller chunks like this, there was more than I could really process adequately. The author's knowledge of the surviving (and even non-surviving!) literature of the period is impressive, and I am glad that this book collates the real-life influences on it, but, perhaps inevitably, it doesn't make for the best reading experience. Fortunately, the footnotes provide some nice and occasionally humorous asides that helped keep my brain from frying.

Although The Invention of Murder focuses on the impact of each case it covers, there's still enough detail about the particular of each stabbing, suffocation, poisoning, etc, and the court cases that usually followed that your enjoyment of the book will likely depend on whether you enjoy (historical) true crime stories. The incompetence of the press, the police, and the legal profession is an undercurrent throughout the book, and adds some much-needed levity, at least if you're willing to set aside how much pain this incompetence likely caused at the time.

I found the "Panic" chapter particularly interesting. Though it starts off about the mid-century poison panic, but owing to the rarity of such murders in reality most of it is about incidents involving servants as victims or as perpetrators. Cutting across class lines as they did, these cases were particularly divisive and exposed class prejudices in the press and in subsequent fiction. It got my brain churning on my own stories, a rare treat.

The book was so full of interesting cases that by the time I got to the final chapter, which is about Jack the Ripper, I'd forgotten that that was even a relevant topic. Though it can be overwhelming, I do recommend this book to those writing about the Victorian period. If your story concerns murder, I think you'll find a lot of useful information here. If not, it's still be worth a read to fill out your knowledge of the time, as true and fictional tales of murder were hard to get away from in this period, even if murders themselves were rare.

Like its predecessors Lost London and Panoramas of Lost London, London: The Great Transformation is a collection of 19th to early 20th century photographs with some brief context for each image. Pulling from more sources than the prior books, this one is more varied, and includes more photos of the working people of the city. Some of these, like those from the 1877 Street Life in London, are commonly found online, but many were new to me.

Davies, as in his other photo books, often points out little details and mentions when they're common or uncommon, which I find very useful. Unfortunately, sometimes the photos are reproduced too small to really see those details. Most of them are of a decent size and some are quite large, and printed in great quality as always. The paper in this book is also just feels nice to touch.

The images span from the late 1850s into the 1940s, concentrated in the 1890s to 1900s, with addresses and dates given whenever possible, almost entirely exteriors. I found the older images particularly interesting, showing the Tudor-, Stuart-, and Georgian-era townhouses, pubs, cottages, and streets when they still made up the majority of the city rather than individual survivals after the many clearances and redevelopments of the 19th and 20th centuries. As the book's subtitle reminds us, this was a period of great change, and it's only through seeing what came before that we can appreciate that.

Like the other books in this series, this one stands alone and Davies is not afraid to repeat information from earlier books when it's good context for a photograph. So, if you're looking for a great photo book about London, this is a great choice, as are the others. As I wrote in my review about Panoramas of Lost London, that book is probably the best choice if you're looking for large images to get the details right. If you're less interested in details and want a broader picture, then get The Great Transformation and/or Lost London, which have many more photos, but at a smaller size.

"Lighthouse" is a brief history of lighthouses - from the earliest known examples, to how the golden age lighthouses were built, often in inaccessible places, how the lights in them evolved, how their keepers fared, to how they largely fell into disuse with the spread of radio and GPS. The text is interesting and very readable, but I'd have liked a bit more detail, particularly in the shortest chapter, the one on lights and lenses. For example, it mentions Fresnel lenses and the great amplifying effect they had on the weak light sources of the time, and mechanisms to rotate and change the colours of the lights, but it doesn't explain how either of these worked. This felt at odds with its focus elsewhere on how clever these structures and their designers could be.

Between the chapters is a timeline of lighthouses from 1685 (well, technically from 100!) to 1908 presented via architectural drawings. This will probably be what I'll go back to the book for repeatedly. The drawings are presented very well, most at full- or half-page size, and cover a range of designs: many of the classic tapering stone towers are represented, but so are stubby land-based lighthouses and iron skeletons. In addition to elevations, many have sections and plans, and keepers' cottages are included for some. Each lighthouse has a brief description. Unfortunately, those lighthouses for which a lot of material beyond elevations is available don't get much extra space, instead the drawings are crammed as many as ten to a page, making them unreadable. Some of the explanatory text is black on a dark grey background, making it difficult to read as well. Still, it's hard to rate this book poorly despite its flaws, because what it does show well is so good.

As is often the case, if you're looking to write or illustrate a story about a lighthouse, you'll probably want a book that goes into more detail about a specific lighthouse or region, but I think this one is worth having as an overview and to put your more specific research into wider context. And if you just want to write about or draw lighthouses as a non-focal feature without making very silly mistakes and without having to dig for references every time, then I think "Lighthouse" would serve you well with its varied examples.

"Architectural Brickwork" is a large book full of colour plates of brick patterns and buildings, an abridged version of La Brique Ordinaire, originally published 1878. If you're looking to expand your visual vocabulary for brick buildings, this is a great book to inspire you. It explains the common bonds (brick patterns) and the contexts in which they're used, and demonstrates the ways they can be employed for decorative effect by varying the colour or depth of individual bricks.

If you learn nothing else about bricks, at least know that the generic brick pattern we often draw thoughtlessly on brick buildings is weak and only suitable for thin, small walls and infilling; it isn't generally seen on large load-bearing structures, which instead usually use patterns that alternate stretchers (bricks with their long side facing out) and headers (bricks with their smallest side facing out). The preferred patterns vary from place to place, but once you know to look at the brick patterns, you'll quickly spot them in your reference photos.

This book has little text. There is an introduction by David Jenkins which explains a bit of the context in which the original was created, and then goes on to discuss brick architecture in Victorian England - a little out of place perhaps, but informative. The appendix has abridged translations of explanations for some of the plates, discussing the features of different bonds, approaches to particular architectural features, and distinctive features of some of the structures shown. I'd have loved to see more of these explanations, and perhaps to have them alongside the plates (there's plenty of room on the opposite pages), but what little there is is still very interesting.

The original work, Lacroux's La Brique Ordinaire, is out of copyright and is available on archive.org, with two volumes containing over 150 plates, quite a bit more than Architectural Brickwork's 108. The original also contains a number of diagrams explaining how walls of different bonds and thicknesses are constructed, understandable even if you can't read the French text. It's worth looking up, even if you prefer paper editions and get this abridgement.

In addition to its value for brick architecture specifically, Architectural Brickwork (or La Brique Ordinaire, if you go that route) is also useful if you're interested in floor plans and sections of 19th century secular buildings, something that can be hard to find. There are villas, townhouses, stables, sheds, even dovecotes. The plans show ceiling decorations, fireplaces, and beds, and the sections show panelling. Although not all buildings have these extra drawings, those that do typically show multiple floors or sections.

The printing quality is very good, though there are blemishes and minor printing flaws in the copy of the original book that was scanned for this. The binding, at least in the hardcover edition I have, is also good, and no part of the art is hidden in the gutter. It is unfortunate that roughly 50 plates and a great deal of text are left out, but I feel the book well worth having despite this.

"The Ship" covers the development of ships, from rafts and dug-outs to the supertankers of the years right up to when the book was published. It is illustrated in a consistent and clear style. Some illustrations have labels for each important part. I cannot recommend it strongly enough, it's amazing to study if you intend to draw ships or write about them. Its coverage of vessels from outside Europe and North America is comparatively sparse, but it does include some.

Its reconstructions and descriptions of ancient to early modern ships are what make this book really shine, and where the author seems at his most excited. For mediaeval ships, for example, he shows period artwork alongside his reconstructions, and for Greek and Roman warships, he takes the time to explain how the rowers likely sat. In these sections, he talks about the specific changes from one period and ship type to another, weaving the story of seemingly natural, clear progression.

That narrative thread becomes lost with the steam era, and it feels like so does Landström's enthusiasm. The descriptions of later ships focus on numerical data such as tonnage, with much less about their distinctive features and the logic behind their designs. However, even these pages still manage to be informative and beautiful.

One final flaw is that there's no glossary. It feels like an introductory text and explains the meanings of some terms, but there is much that goes unexplained, and which cannot be adequately deduced from context, particularly in the context of rigging. The labelled illustrations help, but a glossary that explains the significance of the different kinds of sails and rigging bits would have been a fantastic companion. Maybe one of these days I'll make one of my own and stick it into my copy.

Despite its flaws, it's such an amazing resource that I have to rate it highly. Ships are an intimidating subject to write and draw if you're not into them, but this book makes them much more approachable through its clarity.

"The Wooden Architecture of Russia" is exactly what I want from an architecture book: just the right balance of scope and depth, historical context for the stylistic developments, and most of the discussed buildings are illustrated with many photographs (colour and greyscale), plans, elevations, and sections, and there are images of individual details.

As is often the case, churches make up about half the book because they tend to be better preserved. But, the sections on secular buildings are still brimming with information, and I found them much more interesting. The churches are beautiful, but the houses, forts, hunting lodges, watchtowers, windmills, and barns are so much more varied, with their uses dictating their construction. They are given the same detailed treatment in the text and illustrations as the grandest cathedral.

The drawings are worthy of note for their quality. They're painted to show the texture of the materials and the play of the light on the surfaces, but still retail their clarity as diagrams. The author understands exactly how these buildings are put together - no wonder he was in charge of restoring places like Kizhi - and doesn't need to hide anything.

Northern Russian wooden architecture is a rather specific topic that is probably not relevant to most writers' and artists' projects, but if it's of interest at all, this is the book to get. It's great, and I doubt you'll find better in English. Even if you can read Russian, you'll probably still end up reading Opolovnikov. Though the exact styles here aren't relevant to me and I already had a basic understanding of wooden construction, I still found myself thinking more about the details of construction in my stories, and how different styles might have developed.

At once a celebration and a lament, "London's Historic Railway Stations" discusses London's railway termini, their Victorian origins, and their state in the hands of British Rail around 1970 or so, when the book was written. A long-time explorer of those parts of London most take for granted, John Betjeman has a personal story or trivia to share about each station, and manages to pack a surprising amount of information into this short book, and somehow finds room to point out the original and modern elements in many of the images. John Gay's photographs don't cover the locations extensively, but are evocative and full of detail, and I wish the smaller ones could be larger.

I really enjoyed this book, both for the images and for the familiar and witty text. As reference material for artists and writers, it's probably not enough, as the image coverage is very limited. It would make a great companion to more substantial books on its subjects. Still, if you come across it and have any interest in Victorian-era transport, I think it's worth picking up - if not for reference, then for inspiration.

Like its prequel, this 1865-1897 volume collects engravings and articles from illustrated newspapers (the Illustrated London News and the Graphic this time), covering a broad range of subjects, such as the French Commune, social trends and fashions, the British expedition to Ethiopia, the installations of the Statue of Liberty and Cleopatra's Needle, the sinkings of the SS Irex and HMS Victoria, and, of course, many inventions.

I found this volume less interesting overall than the 1842-1864 one. Perhaps this was a less eventful era, or perhaps the sorts of events that most interest me were no longer deemed worthy of articles and illustrations like they had been earlier in the century. But, as a first-hand-ish look at the second half of the 19th century, this is as good as the first book had been. The articles and illustrations are well-chosen and reproduced in high quality, text added by the editor provides context on lesser-known political events, and it's all beautiful to look at. Unfortunately, some images do not have articles to go with them (but do have captions), and some of them are not listed/sourced in the table of contents.

One aspect of both volumes I didn't mention in my review of the first one is just how much the Victorians' pride in their country and scientific progress shows through in the articles. The way these articles are written is unlike modern news articles; there's so much more opinionated excitement in them, they're delightful to read. This is true for the press of the era in general (even in industry journals, which you'd expect to be dry), but History as Hot News offers a good taste of that.

Highgate Cemetery: Victorian Valhalla is a collection of black and white photographs by John Gay, accompanied by notes on the cemetery's history and some of its more interesting residents (and Julius Beer, who was apparently only interesting for his mausoleum). Many of the photos are moody, mysterious, and inspiring. Some of them are the usual cemetery photography fare - bland portraits of angel statues - but the decades of overgrowth makes even these look unlike most other representatives of this "genre".

In the back is a map of the cemetery, and many of the photos have their locations marked on it, alongside many un-photographed locations mentioned in the commentary. Unfortunately, the 70+ locations are numbered in the order they were mentioned in the text, which makes actually finding them on the map rather annoying. The photos are undated and show all seasons, and the text implies they could be from anywhere between 1936 to 1984.

As reference for artists and writers, I'm not sure I recommend it. If you're looking specifically of images of Highgate Cemetery during the period it was largely neglected between World War II and the 1970s, this is probably one of the better sources. If you're looking to get a feel for the atmosphere that inspired tales of the Highgate Vampire and the devotion of the Friends of Highgate Cemetery, I think you'll find some of it here. But if you're looking for a detailed history of the cemetery or to learn about Victorian cemetery architecture or customs more generally, then this isn't it.