OAS

Lebanon (Official Trailer)

Serra Chapel (1782), Mission San Juan Capistrano

Note baroque-style 17th c. retablo from Barcelona

esprit de la guerre: l'énergie vitale

R.: Quel est pour vous la menace principale pour le monde européen ?

G. A.: Le monde européen lui-même. La vieillesse de l’Europe, son agonie spirituelle, psychologique et biologique, sa dénatalité mariée aux complexes de culpabilisation, à l’idôlatrie de la conception bourgeoise des « droits acquis », l’absence de volonté de puissance et d’esprit de conquête ; ce sont les éléments qui nous condamnent. Ensuite c’est le renoncement à notre production économique et à notre défense armée, le refus de l’esprit de guerre, qui nous condamnent.

Ces effets en partie ont été imposés par les vainqueurs de l’Europe, c’est-à-dire du géant multinational qui fonde son pouvoir mondial sur l’alliance entre finance et crime organisé et qui a pour capitale, encore aujourd’hui, New York et pour succursale Washington. Le reste, tout le reste, ne sont que conséquences. L’immigration massive, le multiculturalisme viennent de là et, souvent, s’en nourrissent.

Quoi qu’on en pense, on n’obtiendra aucune solution si l’on ne retrouve pas notre énergie vitale et si l’on ne s’éloigne pas du vainqueur de l’Europe. Ceux qui pensent résoudre nos problèmes à l’inverse, c’est-à-dire du bas vers le haut, s’égarent. L’idée de contrer l’immigration par une stricte « guerre de religion », soutenue par la chaîne CNN mais que ni le Vatican ni la plupart des musulmans ne désirent mener, est une véritable manipulation.

Essayer de se ressouder sur une « défense de l’Occident », d’un bien large Occident allant de Londres à New York, de Washington à Tel Aviv, est tout simplement grotesque.

Il suffit de regarder qui soutient les États narco-mafieux musulmans en Europe tels que la Bosnie et le Kossovo (Etats-Unis et Israël), qui a crée Al Qaida (Etats-Unis), qui a soutenu le Hamas et déstabilisé l’unité palestinienne (Israël), pour comprendre que ceux qui espèrent dans une “reconquête” WASP et “judéo-chrétienne”, selon un néologisme en vogue, font fausse route. Ou mieux encore, ont tout faux. Au demeurant ils sont dans une impasse.

-- Gabriele Adinolfi, Rivarol, 23 février 2011

http://www.medialibre.eu/5885/gabriele-adinolfi-le-fascisme-a-les-reponses-aux-problemes-actuels

Coutts & Co

1970: The smart interior of Coutts Bank on the Strand in London. The aristocratic bank
has an illustrious history and counts the Queen among its customers.

Where do you bank? I generally do not like to talk about money, for the very simple reason that I discuss it all day long. I have spent almost my entire working life in a bank of one kind or another, apart from a brief period as a London hack, including stint at Punch. Growing up, Coutts & Co was the bank. As you know, I went to school in England with the sons and daughters of English actresses, American diplomats, European bankers, Egyptian exiles, New York stockbrokers, Persian princesses, and the odd African tribal chieftan's son or two. A cosmopolitan group. For them, Coutts, established in 1692, was the financial institution of choice. A Coutts card or cheque book was a mark of status to be whipped out at the crucial moment at weekend haunts such as Hackett, Henry J Beans, The Australian, and Scalini. Mere mention of the Coutts name takes me back. Have things changed? I understand profit is down at Coutts, now the wealth management arm of Royal Bank of Scotland (RBS), due partly no doubt to the economic crisis. Fortunately I can not say the same thing about my own firm.

Caption Contest: La Chasse

[What do you think is happening in this photo?- LBF]

Beagling Meet

'Only the hunt staff wear uniform out beagling. The hounds are clustered round their huntsman. He talks to them in the mysterious language that huntsmen use, and occasionally one of them throws back his head and answers him in a light-voiced "yow--yow--yow" which clearly means "Let's get going: we're wasting time here: where's that hare?" Beagles are always more talkative than foxhounds; some might call it a fault (it should be checked) but it is part of the beagle's character, for all that.'

- Beagling, Anthony Clarkson, published in Young Sportsman 2: Tells You All About Beagling and Otterhunting, British Field Sports Society Pamphlet, 1950s

Russia Calf Wallet

G.J. Cleverley Russia calf wallet and Brooks Brothers chalk stripe suit

My editor has asked me to scribble a few words on men's leather accessories ("keep it clean, LBF!"), so I have decided to oblige. The photo (at port) depicts a Russia calf wallet from G.J. Cleverley. Show me a man's wallet and I will tell you what sort of chap he is. In this case I am no doubt revealed as shallow, superficial, and unserious, with superfluous resources, which, I suppose, is more or less accurate under current circumstances. Are you surprised? You should not be. It could hardly be otherwise. Allow me to be embarrassingly candid for a moment. Approaching middle age, and as a quasi-orphan, I am bereft of family and obligations thereof; furthermore, I feel deeply the loss of traditional connection to God, nation, tribe, and woman. Everything worth fighting and dying for, it seems, has been obliterated. Our only purpose here apparently is to eat, shop, fuck, and die. Oblivion awaits. But enough of such gloom. Nature will prevail. It is our task in the meantime to remain patient. In this, the end stage of the Kali Yuga, seek out the red slayers of Kshatriya underground with renewed aim. Let us smile at one another and cut fine figures in the afternoon sun. Decision time is near.

Russia Leather

The New & Lingwood Story

In 1865 a Miss New and a Mr Lingwood founded the business which still bears their names, New & Lingwood. They subsequently married and laid the foundation on which the business still prides itself, unsurpassed quality of merchandise and truly personal service.

The company was formed in Eton to serve the scholars of Eton College, the most famous of English Public Schools, and soon gained official status as outfitters to the College, a great honour for the firm. For over 130 years New & Lingwood has served many thousands of Etonians, in many instances five or more generations of the same family, and this is a consequence of the high standards of quality and service that the firm has maintained. All details of size and fittings still go down on the records, and thousands of lasts are maintained for bespoke shoe customers.

In 1922 New & Lingwood opened a shop in Jermyn Street, and although these premises were destroyed in the blitz during the Second World War, we re-established our presence in the street shortly after the war, this time at number 53, on the corner of the Piccadilly Arcade. It is fair to say that today New & Lingwood is unique in London in being the most traditional of the small number of gentleman's outfitters supplying bespoke and ready-made shirts, hosiery and shoes of the highest quality.

In 1985 we opened a shop in the City at 155 Fenchurch Street, London EC3, to serve our many customers who find it more convenient to shop in the City than to visit The West End.

In the past few years New & Lingwood have acquired a number of companies with the aim of extending the range of goods offered by the firm, and of maintaining standards of excellence. In 1972 the old and famous shoe and boot making firm of Poulsen Skone joined the Company, extending the range of shoes we sold via J. Gane & Company, a firm we had already acquired; a few years later Haines & Bonner, probably the finest pyjama and nightshirt maker in the world joined us and, most recently, one of the longest established and most respected English bespoke shirtmakers, Bowring Arundel & Co., trading in Savile Row, joined the Company. In 1985 New & Lingwood acquired the prestigious cavalry and riding boot manufacturer, Pollards, established in 1885.

New & Lingwood is of international reputation, serving customers all over the world. The traditions that the firm stands for are particularly appreciated in the United States of America. The American menswear writer, Alan Flusser, says of New & Lingwood:

New & Lingwood is one of London's great traditional men's furnishing shops. This is the only shop in the world where salesman dress in shirts with separate white stiff collars.

Twice a year our representatives travel to the USA visiting customers by appointment and to Germany to visit British Army Officers since we are shirtmakers and bootmakers to a number of famous regiments.

The New & Lingwood shops are well supported by our workrooms where we make our own bespoke and ready made shirts, the finest quality piped pyjamas, and bespoke shoes and boots. These various elements together make what New & Lingwood is today, the most traditional of the English quality gentleman's outfitters, upholding long standing traditions and renowned quality standards.

Little Lover's So Polite (Silversun Pickups)

Jeffery West Infamous English Shoes

Bertie

There was a three-legged cat called Bertie
Who awoke every morning at five thirty
To eat a bowl of food
So as not to be rude
He groomed himself 'cause he was quite dirty.

The Compleat Angler

New & Lingwood

Gaziano & Girling Deco

J.Press on Madison

The Art of Parties

Cleverley Black Brogues

Paul Stuart DB suit and Cleverley brogues with side-gusset and faux lacing

Note Cleverley chisel toe and thick trouser cuffs

Spearfishing Bahamas

Do you kill fish? I do: on the water and under it. I prefer the latter. Last time I went spearfishing in the Bahamas was in 2006. My family owns a house at Harbour Island. We stayed in the centre of town. There were three of us in a boat, searching the coral heads off Man Island across the bay from Dunmore Town, exploring clear water about 20' deep. When we spotted a coral formation or pile of rocks, we stopped, put on our fins, and dropped in. At one location we watched a shark estimated at 10-12' glide languidly under our boat. We used Hawaiian slings, the most primitive of spearguns, to hunt grouper among the crevices and ledges. Sometimes a lone barracuda would suddenly arrive on the scene like a silver torpedo and then hang back to check us out. After a few hours we returned to town. The small harbour near Elle Macphersons's place and the J.Crew estate teemed with bull shark pups. Driving back to the house in a golf cart--for that is the main method of transportation on Harbour Island--we passed black schoolgirls walking along the road and occasionally they would lift their skirt to reveal for us an inviting bare bottom like a ripe plum. For dinner we went to one of the posh restaurants along the bay, downing too many cocktails in the red bar, and then afterwards settling in one of the small dance clubs where the grinning American women said "You clean up really nice!" as they rubbed against me on the dance floor. European tourists, American jet-setters, English public schoolboys, and hot girls mingled in a mesh of drunkenness and erotic play to island rhythms house-style. After midnight we stopped by a roadside shack for some chicken and smoked too much weed at the house of a prominent family from Wisconsin, ending up flat out on the front lawn staring up at the stars and wondering what the fuck am I doing here just put me to bed.

Simon Raven

“I've always written for a small audience consisting of people like myself who are well-educated, worldly, sceptical and snobbish (meaning that they rank good taste over bad). And who believe that nothing and nobody is special.”

- Simon Raven

Cufflink Style: Trust Me I'm Still A Banker



© Conrad Hasselbach



Any Human Heart (Official Trailer)

Bill Hornets (WSJ)

20 Odd Questions: The Distinguished Gentleman

The owner of the oh-so-British vintage shop, Hornets, gives a lesson in being dapper

Known in the vintage-clothes business as "Bill Hornets," William Hornets Wilde is one of those English gentlemen whom visitors to London imagine the city must be filled with. It isn't, of course, which is what makes Mr. Wilde and his shops so special.


He owns three stores in the Kensington area: two for vintage suits, hats and shoes, and a third for seasonal wear—whether that's tweeds for the shooting season, tails for Ascot or any other esoteric formal-outing requirements.

...

One should never follow fashion for fashion's sake. With classic style you stand out from the crowd, with fashion you become one of the crowd.

The best pair of shoes I own are brown brogues from George Cleverley.

The great figures of style are the Duke of Windsor, Cary Grant, the present Prince of Wales.

I prefer French cuffs and straight collars.

A bow tie can be worn in day time with a jacket or three-piece suit.

The lady on your arm can be extravagant and colorful. You have to be quietly masculine. At Ascot, a morning suit is very simple, but a llady can be fairly outrageous with her hat. A man has to be simple in his dress.

I wish men wouldn't tie a hangman's knot in their scarves, nor wear beanie hats, trainers or colorful silk waistcoats with morning suits. There are more offenses, but they are too terrible to mention.

My favorite suit was a three-piece chalk-stripe Huntsman. It fit me so beautifully, as if I were poured into it. The pants were cut very high, military style. The waistcoat had small lapels. As I am tall and was slim in those days, it looked fantastic.

My favorite style of men's dress is English country clothing: shooting jackets, tweed suits, moleskins and cords.

My favorite warm weather vacation is on the English Riviera: Dorset, Devon and Cornwall.

I prefer a dry martini shaken, not stirred, at the St. James Hotel in London.

The single piece of clothing I've had the longest is a '30s double- breasted tan-colored leather motoring coat.

My favorite album of all time is Billie Holiday "Lady in Satin."

I've just got into Agatha Christie's "Murder on the Orient Express."

In the morning I love half a cold game bird from the night before, black coffee and the Times. Then I read and send some emails.

My favorite hotel is the Grande Bretagne in Athens. Many happy memories.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703439504576116772479870078.html

 ©2011 Dow Jones & Company

Lord Willy

In New York lived a British tailor called Lord Willy
Everybody thought his name a bit silly
So he opened a store
But it was a bore
Still it's better than street-hawking in Piccadilly

- Lines written in contemplation of the men's changing room during a particularly grueling indoor rowing contest, University Athletic Club, Newport Beach, 13 February 2011, 12.17PM

Seersucker Musings

The warm season is almost here and not a moment too soon. Bring it on! The creeping months before summer make me think of pretty lithe girls in light dresses and sparkling cocktails in the sunshine. As events coordinator for a non-profit I have already been tasked with organising a garden party or two this summer, and have been invited to a weekend in San Francisco to socialise with fellow bankers and international Tweedmen. What to wear? It is time to drag summer sport coats out of storage. Due to my sartorial house-cleaning over the last two years, however, I find I have just one lightweight sport coat left, a tan linen number from Kevin's in Georgia. So I am in the market for a couple of new ones. One of my first summer suits was a blue pincord combo from Darien Sport Shop that saw me through a few summers in NYC and Connecticut in the early 1990s. But I do not want to go back there. Seersucker suits, of course, are ludicrous and Southern, but a seersucker odd jacket in a more muted colour might be appropriate. Those old standbys J.Press and Brooks Brothers offer a variety of summer sport coats well worth consideration. Whether the objective is to flatter your way into a better job or flirt your way into a delicious pair of hot panties, the summer cocktail party circuit is a chance to try out more dashing ensembles. But keep the tone down. Wearing the wrong jacket to cocktail events is like attending a pool party on Viagra, so make sure you get it right.

Have A Cuppa Tea (The Kinks)

Monsignor Gilbey



Beaumont Lodge

On Childhood

"...My parents started their married life in London, then moved to what was to be my beloved home in Essex, called Mark Hall – now entirely destroyed. It was in the English countryside, eight miles from the nearest church, and this was in the days of carriages nearly a hundred years ago in 1894. My father went to see Cardinal Vaughan, Archbishop of Westminster, and asked if we might have a private chapel in the house. Cardinal Vaughan said, ‘You can certainly bare a chapel but I can’t give you a priest. You’ll have to make your own arrangements if you can.’ My mother then went to Farm Street to ask if they could spare a priest, and every Saturday a Jesuit would arrive and stay until Sunday evening, having given us Mass in the morning.

In this way our background could not have been more favourable. We were five brothers, but I was the only one who, from the very beginning, felt called to the priesthood. We were brought up in an entirely Catholic atmosphere, and then we were all sent to school, again with the Jesuits, at Beaumont. The school in those happy days was run entirely by Jesuits, something that applies to very few Catholic schools now – there simply aren’t enough Jesuits to go round.

Beaumont made a great impression on me, but however much I admired our teachers, I never felt at all attracted to the Jesuit way of life. It is one of their characteristics, a great source of their spirituality, to emphasise a detachment, but possibly because I was so wonderfully happy at home I felt drawn towards something slightly more rooted. It’s always a matter of interest and admiration to me to find how wonderfully the Catholic Church uses all sorts of natural dispositions and temperaments. The Benedictines put immense emphasis on the stability of a place and vow permanent residence at a particular monastery. The Jesuits emphasise detachment, almost depersonalisation, and that aspect didn’t appeal to me.

On Democracy and Equality

To say that everyone is equal in God’s sight is absolute nonsense. Everyone is unique in God’s sight, as every father of a family will understand. To say that a father loves all his children equally would not be according to human nature. He mustn’t express the difference or show favouritism, but each child has a unique relationship to his father. The same applies to the whole of creation, not only to man. Not only does star differ from star, but God calls them by name; every pebble on the beach is unlike any other; every leaf on a tree is a unique creation; and manifest at the heart of creation is man, not merely plainly but absolutely unique, as we all are unique in our material circumstances.

We and the parents from whom we sprang were chosen out of all eternity by Almighty God. It is this that conditions the language, the culture, the timing, the colour. Equality doesn’t exist. Each of us comes to the world with a box of tools containing advantages and disadvantages in our character, and that’s the equipment, not anyone else’s, with which we have to hammer out our sanctification. Mine is unique, yours is unique. No one has the same box of tools."

- Monsignor Alfred Gilbey, interview with Naim Attallah, in Singular Encounters (1990)

Arming the New Aristocracy: Existential Guidelines for Members of an Operative Unit

In the Spirit of St. Barths (Assouline)

City Uniform

At The River (Groove Armada)

Famous Bengal Stripe

'Our famous Bengal Stripe harks back to early days in the nineteenth century. This wonderfully distinctive stripe was the “Civilian Shirt” worn by the English Officers of the Bengal Lancers, one of the most famous regiments in the Indian Army of those days. Some say it was chosen because of its likeness to the markings of the magnificent Bengal Tiger.'

W.H. Taylor Shirtmakers





Photo © Hilditch & Key

Beagling and Otterhunting

Hackett 1985

Year of the Double-Breasted Suit

I like my suits the same way I like my women: smart, attractive, and double-breasted. Why should you be surprised? Crazy people may claim 2011 is the year of the rabbit. Others might say it is the year of the diamond dogs. Well, I say 2011 is the year of the double-breasted suit. Can you feel it? I certainly do, as I recently took delivery of a Paul Stuart navy double-breasted (DB) suit picked up in the sales. To me the DB suit most closely resembles a true suit of armour, presenting a bold, united military front and a wraparound completeness absent in the SB suit. Of course a man must have the right physique to pull it off. Sometimes recommended for hollow-chested pipsqueaks, the DB looks best, I think, on a tall chap with strong chest and a confident, forthright manner. The DB suit's peak lapels lend height and make the wearer look like an avenging archangel come to take names and kick arse in reverse alphabetical order, like Mosley cracking commie skulls in the streets of London. There is widespread reluctance to take on the DB suit, and I confess I do not know why. Perhaps namby-pamby trads shun it because it projects masculine boldness, a role that makes them feel uncomfortable when all they want to do is hide out in the study and fondle their grosgrain. Or perhaps it is too formal at a time when so many chaps work out of the home in stained bathrobe and rotting slipper. Whatever the reason, I have increasingly noticed, there is certainly no lack of DB suits out there. Two chaps in my office are known to wear them on occasion. Several actors in the film Fantastic Mr. Fox sported a DB suit, as did Royal Tenenbaum. Both Paul Stuart and Brooks Brothers have included them in recent seasons. Ovadia & Sons offer two models for the S/S 2011 season and a beautiful DB chalk stripe number for the coming autumn. If you have not already done so, consider making 2011 the year you acquire a DB suit, a much neglected though essential component of a man's sartorial collection.

Foster & Son

Napier Pirate Club 1889

J.Press Spring/Summer 2011

Love Song (Simple Minds)

Chouannerie

On Professional Sports

This weekend they came fast and thick: telephone calls, emails, text messages, each one inviting me to a private football soirée. And by football I mean the game of American football, derived from English sports traditions, whose finale, or what I believe is popularly known as 'The Superb Bowl', is scheduled for tomorrow evening.

Will I be attending? Most definitely not. You must be joking. I have tea to drink and six hours' worth of Downton Abbey DVDs to watch. My official excuse is that I am recovering from a particularly stubborn cold and need to rest, which happens to be true. I might go for a walk along the beach and watch the sunset.

In my line of work professional sports is a common topic of conversation, not only amongst colleagues but also clients. I fake it but can only go so far. I would much rather talk about the economy, books, politics, philosophy, music, and scientific topics. In other words, subjects fit for civilised adult human beings. But society on both sides of the Atlantic has been dumbed-down and infantalised. When St. Paul said put away childish things surely he was referring to the mindless consumer-drones of modern liberal democracies.

Professional sports is for mind-fucked proles of all socio-economic strata. It is an industry and its motives are purely economic, which in itself might not be wrong, but its effect on adult men and women is. It is a massive distraction, a time-waster, a money pit, a foolish spectacle preventing people from addressing the real issues festering in the next room.

Moreover, most of the participants on the pro-sports plantation bear no biological or cultural relation to me. They are badly-behaved nobodies, spoiled sub-hominids with too much money and too much freedom. There is no basis for connection or common identity. I am more likely to wear t-shirts bearing the slogan of my local grocery store or petrol station. As political entities such as the US and the UK continue to fracture and fall apart, succumbing to the multi-cult virus, perhaps the pro-sports industry will represent the only thing moronic mixed populations have in common and assume even greater importance as a result? A question to ponder, I think.

Indeed the demographic transformation of professional sports in the last few decades might help explain declining viewer numbers among certain groups in the US. In the UK professional football clubs such as Chelsea are increasingly composed of imported Africans and Arabs. In last year’s World Cup the French squad was heavily infested with non-French players, which probably contributed to its humiliating exit from the tournament. In sports as in politics and war: diversity is weakness, unity is strength.

Allow me to be candid for a moment. The occasionally intense nature of my articles is due not to wine and codeine, as is widely supposed, but to scarcely suppressed hot rage that I shape and compress into brief lines of prose as best as I can. In this regard I should tell you it angers me to no end to see grown men, whose ancestors conquered continents, trecked to the Poles, built machines, invented computers, and landed on the Moon, submit in this manner. And yet there they are, sitting in front of the television: hands held in prayer, voices raised in worship, assuming a posture of adoration, veneration, and total subjugation. Truly, we live in the era of the Last Man. It is for my benefit as well as theirs, you will understand, that I pretend tomorrow is just another preposterous illusion.

Laguna Beach Lawn Bowling Club

Fox & Hounds

British Empire Exhibition Flag (1924-1925)

The vintage Dominions flag (in photo at left) originates from the British Empire Exhibition, a colonial exhibition held at Wembley, Middlesex in 1924 and 1925. It was opened by King George V on St George's Day, 23 April 1924 and was the largest exhibition ever staged anywhere in the world, attracting 27 million visitors. Its official aim was "to stimulate trade, strengthen bonds that bind mother Country to her Sister States and Daughters, to bring into closer contact the one with each other, to enable all who owe allegiance to the British flag to meet on common ground and learn to know each other".

Unity is Strength

Rubinacci and the Story of Neapolitan Tailoring (Nick Foulkes)

Caraceni

Street Fighting Ensemble

There is no shortage of events to interrupt my evening tea-taking ceremony. Not that I am complaining. Frankly I am rather chuffed this time. As revolution is in the air, I have decided to consult the works of the celebrated Major von Dach and don my fogey street-fighting uniform to help kick things off. The outfit includes an armoured Barbour jacket, Brooks Brothers OCBD in pink, and a pair of Crockett & Jones steel-toed kickers featured last week. To the line-up I have added a classic black-and-white keffiyeh straight out of souk al-Haraj, with extra long tassels of course, in solidarity with those brave Arab chaps fighting the system in the Near East. The voluminous Barbour is handy for concealing personal effects useful in close quarters situations--and I am not referring to hipflask and packet of pipe tobacco. I know, I know: if only! Sure, perhaps a double-breasted chalk stripe suit, steel-reinforced bowler hat, and umbrella-cum-duelling sabre would be more suitable in spontaneous urban combat scenarios. But this will have to do for now. Rather than turn the other cheek, it is time to gird one's Tweed and kick some establishment arse. Careful not to scuff your brogues. Stand firm and you will prosper in the tea gardens of eternal light.

Chaos and Night (Montherlant)

"One nation that manages to lower intelligence, morality, human quality on nearly all the surface of the earth, such a thing has never been seen before in the existence of the planet. I accuse the United States of being in a permanent state of crime against humankind."

Henry de Montherlant, Chaos and Night (1964)

The Peshawar Lancers (S.M. Stirling)

Aimed at readers who thrill to King, Empire and the fluttering Union Jack, as well as to brave white heroes, their faithful dusky-skinned servants and sneering villains, this alternative history supposes that in 1878 "a series of high-velocity heavenly bodies struck the earth," wreaking havoc throughout Europe and North America. Because much of the British merchant fleet survived the "Fall," the English upper classes were able to escape to the Asian subcontinent. As a result, the British raj, extending from Delhi through India, Afghanistan and the Kashmir, still exists in the 21st century, though the technology consists of 19th-century vintage railways, hydrogen airships and a turbine-powered building-sized "Engine," the equivalent of a computer. It's a nifty premise, but in trying to continue in the grand tradition of such adventure writers as Kipling, Lamb and Mundy, whom Stirling acknowledges as influences, the author fails to inject much life into his stock characters, from the heroic Captain Athelstane King of the Lancers and the captain's memsahib sister, Cassandra, to King's Sikh companion, his trusty Muslim servant and the inevitable wise and helpful Jew. Not without humour, appendices survey the worldwide consequences of the Fall, complete with the succession of British monarchs from Victoria on.

Publishers Weekly