George Brown
By George Brown

When I retired three years ago one of the notions I had was to become a movie, restaurant, and book critic – yes all three, but not necessarily at the same time. I quickly learned these are difficult professions to break into, even one at a time, so I took up auctioneering, which, of course, is a much easier profession to master.

Luckily, the editor of this paper allows me to write about most anything that happens to come into my mind, so this week I am a book critic. Perhaps another time I’ll rate a movie I’ve seen or write about some of Clermont County’s diners and dives.

The book I wish to critique is, “At Home – A short History of Private Life,” by Bill Bryson. If you’ve ever read one of the dozen or so books Bryson has authored, you know his style is often humorously lighthearted yet soberly serious at the same time.. His serious side reflects countless hours of exhaustive research to discover anything and everything his readers could ever hope or want to know on the subject at hand. In this case the subject at hand is a descriptive walk through a circa 1850s former Church of England rectory that Bryson and his family called home from 2003 to 2011.

Bryson’s interest and compulsive need to thoroughly research the subject of each book he writes is evidenced by the exhaustive bibliography for “At Home.” The bibliography requires 25 pages to list the 525 books and historic documents Bryson cites in the book. The end product is a19 chapter, 452 page book about a house. Bryson tells us what the walls would reveal, if they could talk.

“At Home” begins and ends in the attic. The in between chapters use the various rooms of the house as a springboard to provide a “short history of private life” in Britain and the United States, from the Cro-Magnnon period to the present day. The chapters cover such topics as the history of cooking in the kitchen; the history of the fork and other aspects of diet and dining in the dining room; the history of bathing (or lack thereof), and of bile and bladder elimination in the bathroom – including a brief history of the diaper; the history of sleeping and of sex in the bedroom; and so on.

Bryson uses the nursery as a springboard to talk about the history of childhood. He notes that death during childbirth or infancy prevented many from ever getting to experience childhood, and he describes the horrors of child labor in coal mines and factories for those who had the good fortune of surviving infancy. He also talks at length about how difficult life was for children during the Victorian era, even for children of privilege.

The Victorian era, which lasted from about 1830 to 1900, was a time when children were “expected to be obedient, dutiful, honest, hardworking, stiff upper lipped, and emotionally self contained.” Poems of the day made sure “children understood what a foolish and unforgivable offense it was to disobey an adult.” To illustrate this point Bryson shares a poem about “The Dreadful Story of Pauline and the Matches.” (gratefully, the illustration that accompanied the poem is not provided.)

But Pauline would not take advice

So lit a match – it was so nice!

It crackled so, it burned so clear

Exactly like the picture here.

She jumped for joy and ran about

And was too pleased to put it out.

Now see! Oh see! What a dreadful thing

The fire has caught her apron string.

Her apron burns, her arms, her hair,

She burns all over, everywhere.

So she was burnt with all her clothes

And arms and hands, and eyes and nose;

Till she had nothing more to lose

Except her little scarlet shoes;

And nothing else but these was found

Among her ashes on the ground.

I have no doubt this poem deterred many a child from disobeying his or her parents by playing with matches.

Bryson shares an equally disturbing poem which, supposedly, served the purpose of discouraging young children from sucking their thumbs. The subject of this particular poem was a little boy named Conrad, whom his mother nicknamed “Suck-a-Thumb.” Bryson picks the story up mid-poem with Conrad having been caught yet again with his thumb in his mouth by a “ghoulish figure called the great tall tailor.”

The door flew open, in he ran,

The great red-legged scissor-man.

Oh children see! The tailors come

And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb.

Snip! Snap! Snip! The scissors go;

And Conrad cries out, Oh! Oh! Oh!

Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast;

That both his thumbs are off at last.

Mamma comes home; their Conrad stands;

And looks quite sad, and shows his hands.

“Ah”, said Mamma, “I knew he’d come

To naughty little Suck-a-thumb.”

Bryson notes that an illustration accompanied this gruesome poem showing poor little Conrad holding his hands up displaying two unsightly stubs where his thumbs once were. The thought of it is horrifying to us today (equally so the thought of a picture of Pauline covered in flames), but, amazingly, this was standard poetry for children less than 200 years ago.

If you enjoy the PBS series, “Downton Abbey,” you will enjoy “At Home – A Short History of Private Life.” The noted poems notwithstanding, I can comfortably recommend this book for your reading pleasure.

I’m now reading a collection of Mark Twain’s short stories, but when I’m finished I think I’ll return to Bryson. I’m curious to see what “Bryson’s Dictionary for Writers and Editors” is all about.

George Brown is a freelance writer. He lives in Jackson Township with his wife Yvonne.