Cerebral Flatulence

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, photographed by Annie Liebovitz (who somehow managed to capture Vermeer’s light on film — mysterious wonder!) in the autumn of her long, remarkable reign.

Many great authors have flowered or continued to illuminate this Second Elizabethan Age. Coward, Maugham, Greene, Fleming, Pinter, Shaffer, Burgess, Brunner, Moorcock, Rice & Lloyd Webber, Merchant & Ivory, and, of course, Rowling have graced her nation, and the world, with British storytelling and notions for nearly as long as Dickens, Tennyson, Stevenson, Kipling and Conan Doyle graced Victoria’s.

Elizabeth II has had to reign over a painful and vexing era in British history, that of the dismantling of the British Empire and the rise of the Commonwealth. The Empire required a Sovereign; The Commonwealth and the monarchy are awkwardly exploring the role of Nobility in our times. On the whole the British footprint had as much cushioned sole as hobnails. Colonialism’s blighted legacy is nowhere good, and the Boer War, Amritsar, the Mau Mau, and Malaya were only the worst imperial terrors, but in general (in my opinion) the British sought to do well for their subjects after the shouting.

They still do a great deal to of good, as Oxfam and many other British humanitarian organizations demonstrate in their ongoing efforts. In a poetic way, rather as Gondor preserved of the best of Numenor, so the modern UK preserves the best of the Empire’s impulses.

Her Majesty’s style was recently remarked upon by Simon Doonan; he recounted an exchange with The Queen’s wardrobe designer. The gentleman sharply brushed aside suggestions for making Her Majesty’s style more chic, replying that Her Majesty must always appear kind and welcoming. Chic was unkind, he said, implying (I think) that high fashion emphasizes the competitive in women.

There is, in Liebovitz’s portrait, a sense of the Queen of the Hobbits in the picture; of the Matriarch, quietly determined to preserve all that is homely and good and nourishing about the Shire. The man who in times to come may be remembered as the greatest author of her reign, J.R.R. Tolkien, distilled so much that he loved about his country into that literary creation, which is why it still resonates so deeply in the public’s consciousness. I mean no disrespect to Her Majesty when I league her with Frodo and Bilbo, for Tolkien’s epic is truly about the virtue and value of those very British characters.

This entry was posted on Saturday, January 17th, 2009 at 7:58 am and is filed under Blather, Noise, Truth, Twistory, Wonder.
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