Missing Fencing

I have a severe case of the grumps. Today I’m missing a second fencing tournament in as many weeks due to a respiratory infection. I’m now on an antibiotic and am starting to respond but the antibiotic does nothing for the grumps which is particularly dangerous since I’ve suffered from chronic curmudgeonery for some time. I also was unable to ski this week. My sophisticated, wise, witty comment about this? “Grump, grumpity grump, grump, grump.” Feel free to quote me.

So what does one do when one isn’t up to fencing?

One reads. In particular, I’ve returned to Czajkowski’s Understanding Fencing. I first started it six months ago but quickly discovered that my fencing lexicon was not what it needed to be. To my surprise that state of affairs has greatly improved. The language of fencing, a little like Russian, which can be particularly challenging due to the large number of irregular verbs and constructions (thanks to Old Church Slavonic, the Greek Orthodox Church’s attempt to create a rational, literary version of the language in the 9th century), is an amalgam of several traditions each of which both modified existing diction and introduced new words. My lexicon is now sufficiently complete and nuanced that I’m finding the book both interesting and enjoyable. My fencing may even improve as a result.

One of Czajkowski’s several, useful points is that feints are not practiced nor attended to nearly as much as attacks or counter attacks but that they should be.

Of course, they should: a feint is the means for setting up a successfully attack. If your feints are weak and predictable the success of your attacks will be random at best and probably much worse as your opponent will easily guess what you’re up to. Also, as I read that I realized that it both characterized one of the most important strengths of a fencer in the club who’s style I particularly admire and that the paired drills our coach has us practice almost always include feints as a key element.

At the same time I’ve also been re-reading George R. R. Martin’s “Fire and Ice” books, inspired by HBO’s decision to create a series from the first one which will be broadcast in April. The first time through, I found the books overly fragmented. Martin jumped between characters so often that I found it difficult to ignite the necessary imaginary engagement which is essential for enjoying that kind of fiction. This time, no doubt due in part to familiarity, that is much less of a problem and I’m finding the dramatic arcs much more satisfying. They are more successful as individual novels.

So, I’m looking forward to the series and from what I’ve seen on the web it’s received the budget and attention to detail that could make it very good indeed. Having said that, however, it makes me long for someone to undertake a more ambitious project, one of Martin’s obvious inspirations: the century of conflict in English history known as the War of the Roses. The period is rife with the stuff from which good drama is made, from the relentless ambition of the Duke of York to the cruelty of Margaret, Queen of England, the “She-Wolf of France.” And it’s already been scripted into 8 amazing episodes by a reputable writer.

I refer, of course, to Shakespeare’s 8 English history plays. The first four, which are later works, are widely recognized as the masterpieces they are, but the three Henry VI plays, which were among Shakespeare’s first, are better than many people know. As with Martin, the number of characters and complexity of events sometimes obscures the strength of the drama. Nevertheless, a coherent, historically accurate production of all eight, even possibly augmented by dramatization of events in the Pastons’ letters, could be amazing. If only someone had the requisite courage and imagination.