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Leaving behind a miserable family life, Freya set out, at the age of thirty-four, to explore remote and dangerous regions of the Middle East. She was captured in 1927 by the French military police ...
Leaving behind a miserable family life, Freya set out, at the age of thirty-four, to explore remote and dangerous regions of the Middle East. She was captured in 1927 by the French military police after penetrating their cordon around the rebellious Druze. She explored the mountainous territory of the mysterious Assassins of Persia, became the first woman to explore Luristan in western Iran, and followed ancient frankincense routes to locate a lost city. Admired by British officialdom, her knowledge of Middle Eastern languages and culture aided the military and diplomatic corps, for whom she conceived an effective propaganda network during WWII.
But Stark’s indomitable spirit was forged by contradictions, her high-profile wanderings often masking deep insecurities. A child of privilege, she grew up in near poverty; she longed for love, but consistently focused on the wrong men. This is a brilliant and balanced biography—filled with sheikhs, diplomats, nomad warriors and chieftains, generals, would be lovers, and luminaries. Author Jane Geniesse digs beneath the mythology to uncover a complex, quixotic, and controversial woman.
What I am, and why learning Arabic, is a mystery. If I say I do it for pleasure, there is a look of such incredulity that I begin to feel as self-conscious about it as if I were telling the most blatant lie," wrote Freya Stark to her mother as she shivered through the winter of 1927-28 in French-controlled Lebanon.
Freya had arrived in the middle of December with a copy of Dante's Inferno, very little money, a revolver, and a fur coat. This last was to prove the most useful, for the weather was freezing. Immaculately polite and maintaining her good humor despite being wrapped from head to toe in woolens, she was just beginning to feel the throaty Arabic syllables slide more easily from her lips. She was thirty-four years old, stood scarcely five feet, one inch, in stocking feet, and was still extremely thin from a recent illness. Both the missionaries and the Arabs in the little mountain town where she had come to study agreed that she was perfectly charming. Few suspected that this appealing young person, so apparently unassuming, old-fashioned, even--they might have said--quaint, had a will of steel.
In November 1927, Freya had embarked on a cargo ship for Beirut, leaving behind what she had long concluded was an unacceptable life. "It is so wonderful to be away, really away; a new land opening out every morning," she exulted as the SS Abbazia tossed through the rough Mediterranean. It did not matter that a cargo ship was all she could afford. She watched pigs, sugar, even once a Marconi telegraph machine being off-loaded between stops that grew more picturesque and unfamiliar with every passing day.
"We are now among islands in the Ionian Sea. Is not the very name an enchantment? The sea is quiet, the twilight falling. I asked the name of an island on the right. 'Ithaca,' says the Captain, as if the name were mere geography."
She had sat in her deck chair, the cold sirocco whipping the pages of her writing tablet, and felt that, at last, all the years of lonely study on her own, her determined efforts to make up for the schooling she had begged to have, which had been interrupted by the terrible Great War, no longer needed to be regretted so bitterly. It had been wrenching to slip out from under the attachments of family and embark on this journey. But if she had not gone when she did, she feared that she would never have got away, just as her sister Vera never did. Both had been prisoners to responsibilities they abhorred, but unlike Vera, Freya had refused to succumb. Instead, Freya had consoled herself by reading dazzling accounts of European explorers in the lands of the Arabs. One day, she had resolved, the world would hear of her "in the deserts of Arabia discovering buried cities."
In 1920 Freya sensed a path quietly open. In April of that year everyone on the Italian Riviera was riveted by the events taking place at San Remo, only a few miles from Freya's home. The victorious Allies were gathering in that coastal town, and anyone who could tried to get a glimpse of the British prime minister, David Lloyd George, as he hurried back from and forth to meetings with Premier Georges Clemenceau of France. The purpose of the conference was to dispose of the sprawling territories of the defeated enemy, the Ottoman Empire. Because the United States refused to sign on to the League of Nations, the British and French were free to slice up the Middle East to their own imperial satisfaction. The Arab lands governed for over 467 years by the Grand Turk were to be "mandates" until such time as they "could stand on their own." Great Britain would supervise Mesopotamia, Transjordan, Palestine, and Egypt, while France would look after Greater Syria, including Lebanon. As for Persia, long the target of foreign influence, postwar turmoil would spark a coup against the old Qajar regime in 1921 and bring to prominence a Cossack Brigade commander, Reza Khan, who four years later would crown himself shah of a new Pahlavi dynasty.
Freya's heart had soared at the thought of visiting these regions. Like everyone else who had been revolted and depressed by the seemingly hopeless bloody trench warfare in Europe, she had raptly followed the successes of Colonel T. E. Lawrence in spearheading an Arab revolt against the Turks. It had been thrilling to imagine this young intelligence officer racing through the desert on camel-back in the company of hawk-eyed Bedouin warriors. But Lawrence was only the latest hero in the history of brilliant Eastern adventures, and Freya plunged avidly into its literature.
She began to consume all she could find about the early-nineteenth-century travelers. There was Johann Burckhardt, who disguised himself as a holy man and found the great Nabataean city of Petra before dying of plague in Cairo. Ulrich Seetzen located the lost ruins of Roman Jerash, mapped the Dead Sea, and was murdered by the imam of Yemen for being a spy for the czar. She read what she could get of the works of the great Orientalist Sir Richard Burton, famed for his search for the Nile and secret ventures into Mecca and Medina. Recently Freya had finished the vast and ponderous Travels in Arabia Deserta by Charles Montagu Doughty, who had died just one year before she herself sailed East. The lives of these explorers and the many others were filled with bold and daring deeds, and Freya read them with shining eyes. Since she was a child she had loved Kipling's tales of British imperial grandeur, and the story of Kim and the Red Lama had been her favorite book. That many of these Europeans had doubled as intelligence agents in the "great game" between their rival governments only intrigued her more. To Freya, the East seemed the most exotic place left on earth.
From the Hardcover edition.
Posted April 10, 2002
I really loved this book, extremely factual, interesting and historic. It gave a real insight into what made Freya Stark wander off into the undiscovered lands of Arabia. I would recommend it to anyone who likes the nuts and bolts approach to travel writing.
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Posted December 5, 2013
Posted December 5, 2013
Before long, Do-good deed stood at the helm of the Salty Sea-Hag with Spinach Head at her side. They had convinced Sinbad's crew to help them find their lost captain, and after removing a hornets nest from the mast, had been sailing for a couple of hours.<p>"The route shouldn't be too hard." North Star, the navigator, had said. "We sailed up it and back on our last voyage, of course, and it was all smooth sailing. Our first landmark will be a narrow crevice we hav to sail through." They were nearing the crevice now.<p>But when they got to the pass, they saw that a great avalamche had blocked the entrance. "Oh butterbiscuts!" Exclaimed North Star. "That was the only way though these treacherous cliffs. We're sunk!"<p>"What do we do?" Asked Spinach. Do-good thought about that for a while. "North Star, are you sure that this pass is the only way?" North Star replied anxiously. "Well, there is one other way, but it's unthinkable!!" Do-good turned her head to the side. "Why's that?"<p>"Well, a terrible threat guards this pass: the Sirens! Many a good crew and captain have atempted to cross this way, but ended abandoning ship and swimming to their own demise. The few survivors have all returned deaf and mute. It's a terrible threat!"<p>Do-good thought about what to do. "Wait! I have an idea!! Bring up that hornet's nest!!"<p>***<p>A few hours later, the Salty Sea-Hag sailed up through the Siren's Pass. Everything on board was as quiet as a mouse. Nopony dared to speak. About midway through the pass, Do-good thought to herself "Well, I haven't seen any sort of terrible thing yet. I guess the Sirens were just a myth after all.<p>Suddenly, the noise began. All at once, a set of red and blue flashing lights began flickering rapidly. And oh! The noise! It was as if ten dozen bombs were all exploding at once!! The police sirens continued to go off, but nopony on board the ship was affected by the deafening din. They simply sailed right on.<p>Then, seemingly from out of the cliff, a great giant stone statue of a pony moved through the sea with life of it's own. It dwarfed the sizeable ship of Do-goods by a considerable amount. It was made completely from stone, except for a police hat on it's head. All the while, the sirens kept wailing.<p> The stone statue spoke in a deep rumbling tone. "Halt travelers!" It said menacingly. No pony moved at first, till Sea Salt, a pegasus with an attitude, flew up to the stone statue's face. She yelled loudly. "Hey stone pony!! Turn down those sirens, will ya!?" The stone statue, shocked tat anyone had spoken to him at all, obliged. He gave the cliffside a sharp kick and the blinking lights and police sirens stopped.<p>As soon as this happened, every pony on board the ship took a wad of goo from each of their own ears. Spinach whispered to Do-good "That was a great idea, to stuff everypony's ears with beeswax. I could barely hear the stone statue talk!" Do-good smiled. "Even with the earplugs, the sirens were really loud!"<p>After conversing with the stone statue, Do-good discovered that he was a magical police officer, made from enchanted stone, who was placed there to warn people about the dangerous isles of Polyfemur ahead. But he had always been confused by the ponies reaction to him: they always jumped ship and tried to swim away! Do-good laughed. "Well officer, I think that ponies would listen to your warning more if you turned down your sirens. It hurts our ears! They aren't made of stone like yours!"Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted June 6, 2013
Posted July 4, 2012
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Posted March 2, 2013
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