The Cornett Connection

During my trip to America last month, I linked up with several descendants of my grandmother’s paternal grandparents, William and Sarah Hibbard. Of course, there is another half to her family. Her mother, born Rebecca Wickersham, was one of eleven children by three marriages of Samuel Morris Wickersham (1819-1894); one of her brothers was killed in the Johnstown Flood, and another became Attorney-General of the United States under President Taft.

The Wickershams were descended from one of the early Quaker immigrants to Pennsylvania, Thomas Wickersham, who came from Bolney, 20 km north of Brighton in Sussex, and was one of the first white settlers in Chester County (west of Philadelphia, bordering both Maryland and Delaware) around 1700. He is known to have had fifteen children by two wives, and therefore has a lot of descendants. I have identified 88 people on Ancestry.com who seem to share Wickersham ancestry with me. All 88 of us have a particular chunk of shared DNA, and there are about a dozen whose ancestry I can trace back to Thomas Wickersham (from both marriages).

There are a couple more among the 88 who have Pennsylvania ancestry, but who I haven’t managed to link with Thomas Wickersham directly, and this could be for one of several reasons: 1) I simply may not have tried hard enough to find a link to the Wickershams which is in fact lurking there in the records; or 2) perhaps there is what genealogists describe as an NPE, a non-paternity event, where a child was born to a descendant of Thomas Wickersham but not recorded as such (one does also get non-maternity events, such as the Douglas Cause, but obviously these are much rarer); or 3) alternatively I could be completely wrong about the Wickersham links, although I have more evidence pointing in that direction than not.

It’s fascinating that there is enough DNA in my own system surviving from Thomas Wickersham, my 6x-great-grandfather, to link with 88 other people alive today. The strength of the DNA links with the 88 Ancestry users is at least 0.1% in each case. By the law of averages, I should have 2-8 of Thomas’s genes, which is 0.39%; and any other relatives descended from him at the same distance as me through one of his other children should share 2-15 of our DNA if we have the same 6x great-grandmother, 2-16 if we are descended from different wives, 0.003% and 0.005% respectively.

But the law of averages is wrong. I have 50% of my mother’s DNA and 50% of my father’s; but I won’t have exactly 25% from any of my grandparents, or 12.5% from any of my great-grandparents – different amounts will make it down the generations. I am getting the impression also that some DNA is more “sticky”, more likely to be inherited – which of course is what you would expect from natural selection anyway. So something in Thomas Wickersham’s DNA has been powerful enough to survive in extra strength in a lot of his living descendants, eight or nine or ten generations on. (Of course, a lot of them will also have lost that from their family trees.)

Anyway, the really interesting bit is that there are about another dozen of the 88 Ancestry users with Wickersham DNA for whom I have been unable to find a Wickersham or even a Pennsylvania link, but who all appear to be descended from the Cornett family of Grayson County, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, way down in the southwest of the state and bordering both North Carolina and Tennessee. The origins of the Cornett family are somewhat murky. The first recorded family member, John Cornett, pops up near Richmond, VA, where he bought land in 1733; he was then one of the early white settlers of Grayson, which is 400 km away.

John Cornett’s origins are shrouded in mystery. There are completely undocumented assertions that “Cornett” derives from King Canute, or that his father was an earl; estimates of his birthdate vary from 1696 to 1712; he might have been one of four, or six, or seven brothers who all emigrated from England at the same time, or different times; there is a story that he worked as an indentured servant in Philadelphia and ran away to Virginia (Philadelphia is also 400 km from Richmond, in exactly the opposite direction). Tellingly, his mother Elizabeth’s maiden name is also recorded as “Cornett” or “Cornute”; she was supposedly born in Southampton in 1676, and possibly died there in 1720, but again the details are murky (and probably were supplied by John Cornett in his old age).

With no more evidence than the DNA and my best guess at interpreting the myths, I reckon that John Cornett was born out of wedlock in Philadelphia in the first decade of the 1700s, and that his biological father was Thomas Wickersham. Wickersham moved to Pennsylvania from England in 1700, with his newly married second wife, Alice Hogge, and four children from his first marriage to Anne Grover (who had died in 1697). Alice seems to have spent most of the next few years having babies: she had a girl 1701, twins in 1703, a boy in 1705, another boy in 1706 and twins again in 1708 (and another four in the years between then and 1723; I’m descended from the second youngest, Isaac, born in 1721). Thomas Wickersham was in his early 30s in 1700; he would not have been the first or last man to seek amusement outside a home dominated by young children, in the big city up the road. It’s also interesting that John Cornett pops up in Virginia soon after Thomas’s death in 1730; where did he get his stake to buy property near Richmond? (Did someone pay him to leave Philadelphia?)

There are other possibilities, of course. John Cornett’s mother is recorded as having been born and died in Southampton, England. But I do not trust those records (though I suppose that John could have been born there in the 1690s, before Thomas emigrated, and then in turn emigrated himself as a young man). The Cornett records are murky enough that the connection could be be at a later date, but I have difficult placing any of John’s descendants in the same place as any of the Wickershams. Theoretically I could have it the wrong way round, and the Cornetts could secretly be the ancestors of the Wickershams – but I have found enough connections to Thomas Wickersham, and to John Cornett a generation later, that this seems unlikely.

So there we are. There is a big community of Cornett researchers, and many of them have confessed their frustration at the brick wall they run into in the early 18th century. I don’t think I’ve knocked down the wall, but I may have helped loosen one of the bricks.

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Saturday reading

Current
The Twinkling of an Eye, by Brian Aldiss
The Space Machine, by Christopher Priest
The Green Man’s Challenge, by Juliet McKenna
The Unofficial Doctor Who Annual 1972, ed. Mark Worgan

Last books finished
Lost in Translation, by Ella Frances Sanders

Next books
Nine Lives, by Aimen Dean
Air, by Geoff Ryman

The Departed

The Departed won the Oscar for Best Picture of 2006, and three others: Best Director (Martin Scorsese), Best Film Editing (Thelma Schoonmaker), and Best Adapted Screenplay Writing (William Monahan). The other Best Picture nominees were The Queen, which I have seen, and Babel, Letters from Iwo Jima and Little Miss Sunshine, which I haven’t. The Hugo and Nebula that year both went to Pan’s Labyrinth.

The Departed ranks 2nd and 4th on the IMDB lists of 2006 films, with The Prestige ahead of it in both cases (I really must try and see that). Others from that year that I have seen: Casino RoyaleHappy FeetThe Last King of ScotlandThe Queen, as mentioned;  Charlotte’s Web; the curiously genderflipped Barnyard; and Starter for 10, which is probably my favourite. Here’s a trailer.

A fair number of big names here, starting with Leonardo Di Caprio, who we last saw in Titanic (1997) as Jack; here again he is the top billed male actor, double agent Billy.

After a long interval, we get Jack Nicholson again, here crime lord Costello, three decades earlier the randy astronaut in Terms of Endearment (1983) and the hero McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest .

Martin Sheen is of course forever President Bartlett for me. But here he is police captain Queenan, a quarter century after his role as a reporter in Gandhi (1982).

There are a couple of others – David O’Hara was in Braveheart, Mark Rolston was in Aliens, I’m sure there are more – but I don’t have the energy to track them all down now.

This I think the first Oscar-winner to be set in Massachusetts, or even in New England. (The most popular location for Oscar-winning films is New York, though we haven’t had one there since Kramer vs Kramer). It’s a crime story (we’ve had more of those), in which the a police agent played by Leonardo di Caprio is planted by Sheen’s character inside the criminal organisation led by Nicholson’s character, while another character played by Matt Damon does the same in reverse, as Nicholson’s character’s mole within the police.

I admired this film without really liking it all that much. As usual, starting with the points against: it’s two and a half hours long, and I really have better things to do with my weekends. It’s very much a white men’s film – in the credits, the first woman credited is in seventh place (Vera Farmyga, whose character’s purpose is to get romantically engaged with both the leads); and the first non-white actor is in eighth place, Anthony Anderson, leading the alphabet of second-stringers.

Lots of people get killed. None of the characters is especially likeable. The Boston Catholic community is nicely depicted as a backdrop, though you would get the idea that all Irish-descended Bostonians are either cops or criminals (or both).

The central theme of identity, involving two double agents operating in opposite directions, is fascinating and well executed. John Le Carre developed a whole subgenre about spies with conflicted loyalties, well established by the time Scorsese transplanted it to Boston cops.

Eveyone who has seen the Hong Kong film this was based on, Infernal Affairs, tells me that the original is better. Unfortunately I have not been able to track it down, but I’ll keep looking.

Next up, Pan’s Labyrinth and No Country for Old Men.

Winners of the Oscar for Best Picture

1920s: Wings (1927-28) | The Broadway Melody (1928-29)
1930s: All Quiet on the Western Front (1929-30) | Cimarron (1930-31) | Grand Hotel (1931-32) | Cavalcade (1932-33) | It Happened One Night (1934) | Mutiny on the Bounty (1935, and books) | The Great Ziegfeld (1936) | The Life of Emile Zola (1937) | You Can’t Take It with You (1938) | Gone with the Wind (1939, and book)
1940s: Rebecca (1940) | How Green Was My Valley (1941) | Mrs. Miniver (1942) | Casablanca (1943) | Going My Way (1944) | The Lost Weekend (1945) | The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) | Gentleman’s Agreement (1947) | Hamlet (1948) | All the King’s Men (1949)
1950s: All About Eve (1950) | An American in Paris (1951) | The Greatest Show on Earth (1952) | From Here to Eternity (1953) | On The Waterfront (1954, and book) | Marty (1955) | Around the World in 80 Days (1956) | The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) | Gigi (1958) | Ben-Hur (1959)
1960s: The Apartment (1960) | West Side Story (1961) | Lawrence of Arabia (1962) | Tom Jones (1963) | My Fair Lady (1964) | The Sound of Music (1965) | A Man for All Seasons (1966) | In the Heat of the Night (1967) | Oliver! (1968) | Midnight Cowboy (1969)
1970s: Patton (1970) | The French Connection (1971) | The Godfather (1972) | The Sting (1973) | The Godfather, Part II (1974) | One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975) | Rocky (1976) | Annie Hall (1977) | The Deer Hunter (1978) | Kramer vs. Kramer (1979)
1980s: Ordinary People (1980) | Chariots of Fire (1981) | Gandhi (1982) | Terms of Endearment (1983) | Amadeus (1984) | Out of Africa (1985) | Platoon (1986) | The Last Emperor (1987) | Rain Man (1988) | Driving Miss Daisy (1989)
1990s: Dances With Wolves (1990) | The Silence of the Lambs (1991) | Unforgiven (1992) | Schindler’s List (1993) | Forrest Gump (1994) | Braveheart (1995) | The English Patient (1996) | Titanic (1997) | Shakespeare in Love (1998) | American Beauty (1999)
21st century: Gladiator (2000) | A Beautiful Mind (2001) | Chicago (2002) | The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003) | Million Dollar Baby (2004, and book) | Crash (2005) | The Departed (2006) | No Country for Old Men (2007) | Slumdog Millionaire (2008) | The Hurt Locker (2009)
2010s: The King’s Speech (2010) | The Artist (2011) | Argo (2012) | 12 Years a Slave (2013) | Birdman (2014) | Spotlight (2015) | Moonlight (2016) | The Shape of Water (2017) | Green Book (2018) | Parasite (2019)
2020s: Nomadland (2020) | CODA (2021) | Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) | Oppenheimer (2023)

June 2015 books

This is the latest post in a series I started in late 2019, anticipating the twentieth anniversary of my bookblogging which will fall in 2023. Every six-ish days, I’ve been revisiting a month from my recent past, noting work and family developments as well as the books I read in that month. I’ve found it a pleasantly cathartic process, especially in recent circumstances. If you want to look back at previous entries, they are all tagged under bookblog nostalgia.

This was the month I started Instagram, which I don’t spend a lot of time on, but I do enjoy it. My first post:

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I went to London and from there to Montenegro:

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And also to Zürich:

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And Berlin.

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Pleased with this pic of my then colleague C and Captain Europe at an EU Tweetup. Captain Europe has mostly retired from being a superhero now, and C has moved to San Francisco and just had a baby.

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With the massive kerfuffle over the puppies, I read and blogged much less than usual, but still ot through 15 books.

Non-fiction: 4 (YTD 23)
Oak, by William Bryant Logan
Martial Power and Elizabethan Political Culture: Military Men in England and Ireland, 1558-1594, by Rory Rapple
Self-Portrait, by Anneke Wills
Naked by Anneke Wills

Oak Martial Power Self Portrait Naked

Fiction (non-sf): 5 (YTD 18)
The Charterhouse of Parma, by Stendhal
An Infamous Army, by Georgette Heyer
The seven-per-cent solution, by Nicholas Meyer
Sculptor’s Daughter, by Tove Jansson
The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, by Luo Guanzhong

The Charterhouse of Parma An Infamous Army The Seven Per Cent Solution Sculptors Daughter Three Kingdoms

SF (non-Who): 3 (YTD 74)
The Complete Robot, by Isaac Asimov
True History/Ἀληθῆ διηγήματα, by Lucian of Samosata
Yesterday’s Kin, by Nancy Kress

The Complete Robot True History Yesterdays Kin

Doctor Who, etc: 3 (YTD 22)
Palace of the Red Sun, by Christopher Bulis
Sometime Never…, by Justin Richards
Deadfall, by Gary Russell

Palace of the Red Sun Sometime Never... Deadfall

Comics : 0 (YTD 10)

~4,700 pages (YTD 37,450)
5/15 by women (YTD 38/144) – Wills x2, Heyer, Jansson, Kress
1/15 by PoC (YTD 11/144) – Luo

The best of these were Rory Rapple’s gripping treatment of sixteenth century Irish political violence, which you can get here, and Tove Jansson’s semi-autobiographical short story collection, which you can get here.

I was unexcited and somewhat bored by The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, which you can get here (in what may be a better translation).

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  • Fri, 16:25: RT @BrusselsTimes: Just six weeks after the Consultative Committee launched the coronavirus barometer, Belgium is already moving into ‘code…
  • Fri, 16:52: RT @AmIRightSir: Paulette Hamilton’s election in Birmingham Erdington means that 12 of the last 13 Commons by-election winners have been wo…
  • Fri, 18:51: Chaos on CatNet, by Naomi Kritzer https://t.co/oqfZmrVmEo
  • Sat, 01:57: RT @chicagoworldcon: (1/5) Don’t forget that nominations for the 2022 Hugo Awards, Lodestar Award for Best Young Adult Book, and Astounding…

Chaos on CatNet, by Naomi Kritzer

Second paragraph of third chapter:

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

Sequel to the very entertaining Catfishing on CatNet, which won the 2020 Lodestar Award. Takes the story and most of the same characters in quite a new direction with a second rather less cute AI, a riff on Pokemon Go, and a slightly divergent timeline where Minneapolis and St Paul have successfully reformed their police as demanded by Black Lives Matter. Lots of good stuff, plenty for YA readers, and older readers, to chew on. You can get it here.

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Roger Zelazny, by F. Brett Cox

Second paragraph of third chapter:

The novel-length version of Damnation Alley, which Zelazny expanded from the original novella at the suggestion of his agent, provides more explanation of how its protagonist Hell Tanner became the outlaw he is.2 On the whole, the additional material nonetheless slows the momentum of the original story, particularly when Zelazny allows himself lyrical interludes, typical of his earlier work and often quite striking in themselves, which are significantly different in tone from the rest of the narrative. There is little reason to disagree with Krulik’s conclusion that the additional material does not “really satisfy the simple requirements of an action-adventure tale” or with Zelazny’s stated preference for the novella version.3 The other three novels of the 1969–1970 period are significant achievements that, collectively, mark the conclusion of the first period of Zelazny’s career while also looking ahead to the work that would follow in the 1970s.
2 Zelazny, introduction to “Damnation Alley,” Last Defender of Camelot, 125; Lindskold, Roger Zelazny, 111.
3 Krulik, Roger Zelazny, 61; Zelazny, introduction to “Damnation Alley,” Last Defender of Camelot, 125. Compare “He Who Shapes,” which Zelazny also preferred to its novel version, The Dream Master.

It's great to see more academic attention to one of my favourite authors, with Cox strongly defending Zelazny against the allegation that after his meteoric rise in the mid-1960s, he started pumping out potboilers for money, and going through each of his novels and also his best known short stories. There are some pretty convincing biographical readings of some of Zelazny's earlier works, especially looking at the roots of "A Rose for Ecclesiastes" in his relationship with the singer Hedy West, and some good defences of the later novels (though I think it's a tough case to make for some of them).

But I'm sorry to say that I didn't get as much out of this as I did from the books on Zelazny by Carl Yoke and Jane Lindskold. There are some irritating lapses of detail. Zelazny's first wife's maiden name was Steberl, not Stebrel. The underwater version of Amber is Rebma not Remba. "All Men are Mortal" is by Simone de Beauvoir, not Jean-Paul Sartre (a particularly ironic mistake to make). A lot is made of the literary roots of Zelazny's novel Isle of the Dead, but the actual painting by Böcklin, which is explicitly referred to by the narrator, is not mentioned by Barr.

And the missing bit for me is Zelazny's own attitude to religion. His father was born in Poland; his mother was Irish-American. An only child, was he brought up with pre-Vatican II bells and smells every Sunday? Or did his fascination with mythology arise from high school and home education?

This is the latest in the University of illinois' series on Masters of Modern Science Fiction; I've read three others, of which I liked two and wasn't as impressed by the third. You can get this one here. (Amazon lists it as Volume 1, but it's at least the fifteenth in this series.)

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The War in the Air, by H. G. Wells

Second paragraph of third chapter:

To be alone in a balloon at a height of fourteen or fifteen thousand feet — and to that height Bert Smallways presently rose — is like nothing else in human experience. It is one of the supreme things possible to man. No flying machine can ever better it. It is to pass extraordinarily out of human things. It is to be still and alone to an unprecedented degree. It is solitude without the suggestion of intervention; it is calm without a single irrelevant murmur. It is to see the sky. No sound reaches one of all the roar and jar of humanity, the air is clear and sweet beyond the thought of defilement. No bird, no insect comes so high. No wind blows ever in a balloon, no breeze rustles, for it moves with the wind and is itself a part of the atmosphere. Once started, it does not rock nor sway; you cannot feel whether it rises or falls. Bert felt acutely cold, but he wasn’t mountain-sick; he put on the coat and overcoat and gloves Butteridge had discarded — put them over the “Desert Dervish” sheet that covered his cheap best suit — and sat very still for a long, time, overawed by the new-found quiet of the world. Above him was the light, translucent, billowing globe of shining brown oiled silk and the blazing sunlight and the great deep blue dome of the sky.

Next in my sequence of novels by H.G. Wells, this is one I really knew nothing about. It was written in 1907 and set in the very near future, maybe the late 1910s. Global society is suddenly and swiftly transformed by technology: the invention of a super-efficient monorail changes the dynamic of industry and commerce, and advances in aeronautic engineering make old military concepts and procedures irrelevant. Our hero, Bert Smallways, gets comically mistaken for the great British inventor Butteridge by the German war fleet, and accompanies them on their surprise attack on America. As a result of the outbreak of war, civilisation collapses.

To get the bad bits out of the way first: I don't like Wells' consistently patronising attitude to people of the social class of his protagonist. Having now read Claire Tomalin, I realise that it's overcompensation because he came from that background himself. But I still don't like it. Also, while mocking the Western fear of the Yellow Peril, he ends up there himself, including depicting a unified jihad from the Gobi Desert to Morocco. Though perhaps that can be excused as a corrective to imperial determinism, which was certainly the dominant take of his day.

The first use of aeroplanes in combat was not until 1911. (Italian planes versus Turkish troops in Libya, since you ask.) Wells depicts a world of rapidly developing technologies, with fixed-wing tactics vying with dirigible airships for usefulness. Of course in real life the airships turned out to be less useful, and military investment went into planes, but it wasn't a bad guess. He also spots the important point that air domination is not enough without a strong ground follow-up.

I think he was also unusual for his time in describing just how devastating an air-led total war would be on the global economy. His chain reaction didn't quite happen in 1939-45, but since then we've been very alert to the prospects of atomic warfare.

And I must say that a real chill went down my spine as he described a successful assault by air on New York. 2001 is not that long ago…

Still, it's a book of its time, and I couldn't really recommend it to anyone who was not, like I have become, a Wells completist. You can get it here.

My next Wells novel is A Modern Utopia, of which I know nothing.

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What’s this all about, then?

This is my blog on Livejournal, which I have been running since the spring of 2003.

With Russia's unprovoked murderous assault on Ukraine, I am actively looking at alternative hosts for this journal, preferably those which will retain as much content as possible. No criticism of the owners of Livejournal, who have provided a space for dissent as well, but I am very uncomfortable with being part of the Russian economic system at present, in however small a way.

Since late 2003, I've been using this blog as a record of (almost) every book that I have read; I read a lot (in non-plague times, I have a long commute) and wanted to keep a good note of what I read. At 200-300 books a year, that's over 4000 books that I have written up here. (These are the most recent.)

As the twentieth anniversary of my bookblogging comes closer, I've also been revisiting each month of reviews every six days or so, so you'll see some less recent reviews mentioned.

As well as books, I have been going through the films that won the Oscar for Best Picture in sequence and the films that won the Hugo or Nebula for Best Dramatic Presentation or equivalent.

And during the COVID-19 pandemic, I've been trying to keep discipline and write something about it every ten days.

Also used for occasional commentary on other stuff, but you'll find my Facebook and Twitter are more live.

Comments welcome, though sometimes quicker to email me at nicholas dot whyte at gmail dot com.

Indigo, by Clemens J. Setz

Second paragraph of third chapter:

Danach wurden der Frau fünf Kinder vorgeführt, unter denen sie tatsächlich eines mit bläulicher Aurafärbung zu erkennen meinte. Da natürlich niemand sonst im Studio diese Farbe sehen konnte, wurde ein zweiter Test gemacht: Der Frau wurden die Augen verbunden und dieselben Kinder noch einmal an ihr vorbeigeführt. Diesmal meinte die Frau, sie habe bei Nr. 3 einen stechenden Kopfschmerz empfunden. Obwohl Kind Nr. 3 nicht mit dem ursprünglich identifizierten identisch war, wurde dieses Experiment als irgendwie gelungen bewertet, zumindest klatschten die Zuschauer lange und begeistert, auch ein paar Zeitschriften brachten Artikel über die seltsame Fledermausfrau. Then five children were presented to the woman, among whom she actually claimed to pick out one with a bluish tinge to his aura. Since no one else in the studio could see this color, of course, a second test was done: The woman was blindfolded, and the same children were presented to her again. This time the woman said that with no. 3 she felt a stabbing headache. Even though child no. 3 was not the same one she had originally identified, this experiment was somehow judged a success, at least the audience clapped enthusiastically for a long time, and a few magazines published articles on the strange bat woman.

Indigo syndrome is a condition that makes people feel seriously ill if they are near you. Clemens Setz (a fictional character in the novel by the writer of the same name) used to teach at an institute for children with Indigo syndrome, but got fired. Apart from that I found it really difficult to follow what was going on, though it did remind me of The Capital by Robert Menasse, the other Austrian novel I read recently. You can get it here.

This was the sf book that had lingered longest unread on my shelves, and also the top unread book that I acquired in 2015. Next on those oiles are Hive Monkey, by Gareth Powell, and Valley of Lights, by Steve Gallagher.

0356502589.01._SX99_SY142_SCLZZZZZZZ_[1].jpg

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