Jd66 writes:
This is a book review of William Sheehan's 'A hard local War' - an account of the War of Independence in Cork from the British Army perspective.
Stimulating review, John. I look forward to reading
A Hard Local War (eventually: “so many books; so little time”).
Its author’s frank acknowledgement of an agenda seems a curious admission; for by making it one would think he was sabotaging his very agenda. Your own overall evaluation of the book,
a good piece of research but let down by 'revisionist' bias against the IRA
seems fair, but others, who favour a different “frame”, will use Mr Sheehan’s very admission to discount his work in total—as “revisionist”.
It’s a pity we’re stuck with this term—or rather, it’s a pity we’re stuck with a pejorative connotation of the word “revisionist”. Your observations in your preamble to your review strike a chord with my own reflections on this problem.
I can’t think of any instance where revisionism has failed to improve our understanding of the past. The turn taken by British historians on the Great War in the 1930s is the nearest to an exception that I can come up with; and even though the general consensus that emerged out of that was simplistic—that the war had been “futile”; “unnecessary”; an “imperialist conflict” fought by “lions led by donkeys”—at least it focused criticism that more recent scholarship has been able to better place in a complex context thanks to further revisionism.
The more recent (still ongoing) revisionism in that particular field is producing exciting discoveries and has revitalised Great War studies—
and stimulated comparative work in other fields. Likewise the
historikerstreit. All to the very great good of history.
“New Western History” similarly has served well. Up until the 1970s historians of the American West were rather sniggered at as big boys playing at cowboys and Indians. In more recent decades New Western History has become a vibrant field of study, and scholars like Patricia Limerick, John Mack Faragher and Elliott West command well-deserved respect.
Getting back from all that to our own thread and your preamble: it strikes me that the “jostling of rival ‘frames’” may account for both the ready acceptance of New Western History and the contrasting hostility to revisionism in both Great War history and Irish history.
New Western History emerged out of Women’s Studies and was eagerly embraced by Hispanic, Black and other “studies” and it became so successful because it fitted in with the increasingly popular “studies” approach to scholarship
and because it stridently challenged Carlyle’s “great man” theory of history.
Obviously there were other reasons for its ready acceptance—most important of all the value and absorbing interest of what emerged from the revitalised field of study—yet it seems to take the ascendancy of the left in American academe to explain the easy birth of New Western History. Apart, perhaps, from Klansmen and John Birchers, I don’t believe there was any anti-revisionist opposition to it.
But the same politics that fostered New Western History militates against anything that could be construed as
not anti-imperialist, anti-bourgeois, anti-establishment or anything else incongruent with fashionable faux-liberalism. As in our own case.
Both the Irish revolutionary years and the Great War are among the most exciting fields of historical study in recent years, thanks to revisionists. The anti-revisionists seem a pretty poor lot by comparison. John Laffin rather gives the game away in the very title of one of his books,
British Butchers and Bunglers of World War One, which implies the tiresome, jaded polemic that indeed is delivered. (To my enduring embarrassment, I once wrote a favourable review of that awful book.) Denis Winter sabotaged his own career with
Haig’s Command, the “manufactured fraudulence” of which goes far beyond polemicism.
I seldom read such stuff nowadays, but it once was the staple of my reading diet. And it seems that the tone of such writers was one of petulance and righteous anger. (Though in fairness, not all; and though I’ve been onto the old rogue for years, I still read AJP Taylor with pleasure.) Such emotionalism cannot but rub off on readers, and emotionalism gets in the way of critical evaluation.
Even the more plausible anti-revisionists seem to lack credibility. They rebut rather than engage; at best they seem (to me, at any rate), to nitpick on details; and, to the very best of my evaluation, they don’t make a convincing case. Julian Putkowski, for instance, complains at how revisionists object to the BBC’s series
The Monocled Mutineer—yet
he had been historical advisor to that and had resigned in protest at what he himself had admitted back then was “riddled with error”! Now he takes issue with those who object to the ahistorical abomination that he himself had walked away from.
Elsewhere Mr Putkowski dismisses revisionists apparently “because [of] their accommodation of barbarism and the brutality of war”. It’s unclear quite what he’s saying here, but it seems to be that high moral dudgeon is preferable to exploring the physical, intellectual, psychological and emotional realities and conundrums with which the actors of history and its horrors had to engage.
Being as honest as I can, I cannot see how revisionism can fail to improve our understanding of the past. By its very nature, it challenges assumptions—and by issuing challenges, it can hardly fail to accept counter-challenges. Out of the subsequent fermentation of ideas comes deeper understanding.
Yet the disturbing fact is that, for all the impressive work that revisionists have accomplished in Great War studies, they meet with cynicism and downright hostility in public fora. Verbal abuse is sometimes offered—though more often flat rejection of the revisionist’s thesis, with varying degrees of politeness, always coming back to a variation on the expression, “I simply cannot accept what you say about…” And to hell with your evidence.
Never let truth stand in the way of a good story—like
The Monocled Mutineer, which, indeed, is not a bad
story. To quote journalist-historian Sam Gwynne: “There is history that is based on hard, documented fact; there is history that is coloured with rumour, speculation, or falsehood; and history that exists in what might be termed the hinterlands of the imagination”. The imagination is where all the best stories come from—but hardly the best history.
Moving from Great War studies to our own thread, can we discern similarity or continuity?
Putkowski seems to make the typical, rather feeble case for anti-revisionism; one based more on emotion and moral pressure than anything else—indeed, less on emotion than on sentiment.
Now, we Irish have long since made ourselves all but a by-word for sentimentality and story telling. Factor into the potential explosiveness of sentimentality the way “advanced nationalists” long ago took on to (a) define what it means to be “truly” Irish, (b) dismiss any who fail or refuse to conform with their definition as West Brit,
seanin, etc, and (c) portray constitutional nationalists as not merely West Brit but bourgeois too. Now fast-forward a few decades dominated by the “official” diktat—one frequently hammered home by strap and cane (and, occasionally, the tearing out of pages from insufficiently-partial school texts)—introduce false dilemmas or other logical fallacies whenever the diktat is challenged, and it all simplifies the job of rubbishing anything that “lackeys” and “lickspittles” come up with in tales out of school.
Never let truth stand in the way of a good story.
Your approach to Mr Sheehan’s book, John, seems a fair and intelligent way to approach all accounts of the past: identify the “frame” only in order to infer as best we can the author’s stance, in order, in turn, to help evaluate the validity of his thesis, the strength of his arguments and the worth of his supportive evidence—whatever the politics his frame may imply.
It’s a pity that all too often identification of the frame serves rather to colour the reader’s view of what that frame contains: revisionist “heresy” or the “truth”.