Thursday, July 24, 2025

Stuff the British Stole


Marc Fennell: Stuff the British Stole (2022-24)


Stuff the British Stole, for those of you who haven't yet come across it, is a "television documentary series which premiered in 2022", but which has only just arrived on Netflix NZ:
A co-production of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, the series is hosted by Australian journalist Marc Fennell, and delves into various controversies around historically and culturally significant objects that were taken by the United Kingdom during its colonial era, and have been the subject of demands for their repatriation back to their homelands.
I guess the point of view it promulgates could be summed up more or less as follows:

Geographic Enigma: Europe According To Ireland (2025)


As one respondent on Facebook, where I found this gem, remarked: "A bit tough on the Welsh!"

In other words, everyone hates the English. I think I'm okay with that. In the second episode of the series, concentrating on the evil King Edward the First's brutal theft of the Stone of Destiny from Scotland, I found myself chanting "They can take my life, but they'll never take my freedom!", and even repeating (with tears in my eyes) Braveheart's celebrated account of the Battle of Bannockburn: "They fought like warrior poets; they fought like Scotsmen ..."

So you can see which side of these various controversies I'm likely to espouse. Which is odd, really, as the Australian side of my genealogy leads back to England and the Vale of the White Horse after a couple of generations. It's only the New Zealand side which is so proud of its descent from Gaelic-speaking Mackenzies, Macleans, and Macleods in the Scottish Highlands (as well, of course, as those penny-pinching Rosses of Dingwall).

Be that as it may, I'm happy to report that Marc Fennell embodies the finest traditions of iconoclastic Aussie journalism. He's brash, vulgar, and sniggers at all the wrong moments. If he's a little prone to over-simplify immensely complex issues, one would have to say in his defence that at least he's prepared to drag them out into the harsh light of day for scrutiny.


William Dalrymple & Anita Anand: Koh-i-noor (2017)


Take the first episode of his TV show, for instance. It deals with the vexed subject of the Koh-i-noor diamond, the "Mountain of Light." Should it still be sitting in the Tower of London, stuck in the Queen Mom's crown? Probably not. Certainly the circumstances of its acquisition - extorted from a 10 (or possibly 11: opinions differ on that)-year-old child, the Maharaja of the Sikh Empire, Duleep Singh, after the annexation of the Punjab by the British East India Company in 1849 - were a little less than edifying.


Franz Xaver Winterhalter: Duleep Singh (1838–1893)


Even at the time this was seen as pretty reprehensible, and Queen Victoria herself apparently felt uneasy about being presented with the jewel by the choleric Governor-General of India, Lord Dalhousie. Was it really his to give, she wondered? She didn't give it back, though. But neither did she wear it, at least until the young Duleep Singh, who'd become a favourite at her court, "regifted" it to her, moments after he was allowed to hold it one more time whilst posing for a portrait in 1854.

Among the many complicating aspects of this sorry saga - acknowledged in passing by Marc Fennell, but spelt out in detail in William Dalrymple & Anita Anand's excellent book on the subject - is the fact that the Sikh empire straddled modern-day India and Pakistan, giving both governments a pretext for demanding the jewel back. Then there are the many descendants of Duleep Singh and his relatives, each of whom has a claim.

And then there's the fact that Duleep's father, the so-called "Lion of the Punjab", Ranjit Singh, himself stole (or "acquired forceably", as he might have preferred to put it) the diamond from Shah Shujah, the erstwhile ruler of the Durrani Empire. The Durranis, in their turn, acquired it from the Afsharid dynasty of Iran, who looted it from the Mughal treasury in Delhi during their invasion of India in 1739. Troubled times.



After that it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish the Koh-i-noor from various other fabled gems in Indian history. It is, however, known to have formed part of the famous Peacock throne of the Mughal emperors.

"Quis?" - to whom? - as Lord Marchmain puts it in Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited, when trying to determine to which of his variously unsatisfactory children he should leave the family estate.

The Sikhs have a claim, the Afghans have a claim, the Iranians have a claim, the descendants of the Mughals have a claim, as do the ancient rulers of Hindustan. Even the God Krishna could be said to have a claim. It all makes for riveting TV, that's for sure.




George Healy: Abraham Lincoln (1867)
As a nation, we began by declaring that "all men are created equal." We now practically read it "all men are created equal, except negroes." When the Know-Nothings [= MAGAs] get control, it will read "all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics." When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty – to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.
As usual, Abe Lincoln hits the nail on the head. It's not the fact that British colonial officials were a pack of thieves which is surprising, it's the degree of hypocrisy with which they attempted to disguise their depredations.

All conquerors are light-fingered by nature. I think we can take that as read. How else are you supposed to demonstrate how victorious you've been except with a pile of swag? The whole concept of the Roman Triumph is based around it. The idea of the "spoils of war" has even been carefully legislated in international law.

But just think for a moment how many indignant denunciations you've read of Napoleon's art thefts in Italy and Germany, and how blatantly they served to swell the holdings of the Louvre.


George Clooney, dir.: The Monuments Men (2014)


And then there are those wicked Nazis. There's a whole movie about Goering and the other "collectors" in the Third Reich who did their best to get down on the best of Europe's paintings and sculptures. How vulgar of them! How nouveau riche ...

The contrast with the thieving British colonial proconsuls and administrators, who had to arrange things to make it seem as if they'd somehow stumbled on the valuable artefacts they accumulated with such assiduity, is quite telling. Take, for instance, the notorious remark made by the founder of British India, Robert Clive, about his own restraint after defeating the Nawab of Bengal and his French allies in 1757:
Consider the situation in which the victory at Plassey had placed me. A great prince was dependent on my pleasure; an opulent city lay at my mercy, its richest bankers bid against each other for my smiles; I walked through vaults which were thrown open to me alone, piled on either hand with gold and jewels! Mr. Chairman, at this moment I stand astonished at my own moderation!
Rather than being chided for what he took, he expected to be congratulated for what he didn't take (not a lot, by all accounts).



No wonder Charles Dickens was inspired to create the character Pecksniff to satirise this curious trait in the British character, in possibly the most scathing - and, interestingly, worst-selling - of all his novels, Martin Chuzzlewit (1844).

Steal by all means, but don't pretend you're doing anything but that. The principle was perhaps best summed up in the words of another great British hypocrite, David Cameron (or, if you prefer, Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton - though he's probably better known as the unwitting architect of Brexit), when he was asked to return the Koh-i-noor to India:
During a 2010 visit to India, the British prime minister, David Cameron, told local media that the diamond would stay in Britain. “If you say yes to one [request], you suddenly find the British Museum would be empty,” Cameron said. “I’m afraid it’s going to have to stay put.”
The circular nature of this reasoning appears to have eluded him.

In any case, here are the various episodes of this thought-provoking series available to us so far:



The British Empire stole a lot of stuff. Those objects are housed in museums and galleries across the world. We peel back the true histories behind those objects - and meet those who want them back.
    Series 1 (2022):

  1. Jewel of Denial
    At the heart of the Crown Jewels is the tragedy of a 10-year-old Sikh boy ripped from his mother and kingdom.

  2. Stoned
    Underneath the late Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation throne was a sacred stone that was stolen from Scottish kings. One Christmas night, a group of Glasgow students decided to steal it back.

  3. Chipped
    Scattered across Australia are fragments of a mysterious ancient mosaic found in Palestine. Putting the pieces together, reveals how the British Empire shaped the modern Middle East.

  4. Shadow Boxer
    In the wake of an epic rebellion by Chinese martial artists against foreign military forces a golden warrior statue is looted by British colonial forces. But how on earth did it end up in Australia?

  5. The Crow Flies
    Sign a deal with Queen Victoria or face disease and devastation? That was a choice facing one of Canada’s proudest leaders. But did the British forces then literally steal the shirt from his back?

  6. The Return
    In an unmarked grave in Liverpool lies the mystery of one of Western Australia’s greatest resistance fighters. This is the story of a courageous and inventive team that found a way to bring him home.


    Series 2 (2024):

  1. Australia's Mummy?
    Marc Fennell travels to the Pyramids of Giza, down the Nile and to the very heart of the British Empire to uncover the truth of how the ancient Egyptian mummified remains of a child ended up in Australia's oldest university.

  2. Parthenon Sculptures
    Stephen Fry joins Marc Fennell on a gripping adventure, from the pinnacle of the Acropolis to a secluded robotics lab high in the Tuscan mountains, to a shipwreck under the Aegean Sea.

  3. Operation Legacy
    From the bustling streets of Nairobi to a secluded royal retreat in the Kenyan mountains, Marc Fennell is on the hunt for secret documents that reveal a brutal history of war and a crumbling empire.

  4. World's Largest Diamond
    Marc Fennell delves into South Africa's first diamond mine and the opulent realms of London to uncover the intriguing tale of how the largest gem-quality diamond ultimately reached the hands of the British royal family.

  5. The Mystery Sphinx
    For years, visitors to the British Museum have been puzzled by an exhibit: a sphinx that looks almost identical to those from Egypt. Marc Fennell discovers the wild story of theft and the secrets of a breathtaking island.

  6. Irish Giant
    Marc Fennell unpicks the twisting history of Charles Byrne, the Irish Giant. It is a story of betrayal, exploitation, and the brutal reality of the medical industry.

  7. Great Rubber Heist
    Rubber is everywhere now, but it wasn't always this way. Marc Fennell explores the Amazon jungle to help unravel an elaborate botanical heist that changed the world.

  8. The Girl & The Doll
    In 2022, a tattered black doll was sent from Britain to the First Nations people of Lutruwita (Tasmania), carrying with it a devastating story of a stolen child. Marc Fennell unravels a story of heartbreak and injustice.



Marc Fennell: Stuff the British Stole (2020-23)


Before the TV series, Stuff the British Stole started as a podcast in 2020. A very few - Tipu's Tiger, the Elgin Marbles - of the recordings listed below overlap with the TV documentaries, but not many. I suppose it goes to show how many such stolen objects there are to choose from!
Throughout its reign, the British Empire stole a lot of stuff. Today those objects are housed in genteel institutions across the UK and the world. They usually come with polite plaques. This is a series about the not-so-polite history behind those objects.
    Series 1 (2020):

  1. 22/11/2020: A Tiger and a Scream
    How a toy tiger became the symbol of a struggle between India and its former British colonisers.
  2. 29/11/2020: Blood Art
    What if your doorstop was evidence of brutal mass murder and wholesale theft?
  3. 6/12/2020: Best.Named.Dog.Ever
    Don’t let their fluffy hair and judging eyes fool you, Pekingese dogs are hiding a secret. Their history encompasses torture, hubris, war, and some very long sleeves. Most importantly these dogs — well, one in particular — may hold the key to understanding the sometimes vexed relationship China has with the West.
  4. 13/12/2020: The Headhunters
    The arrival of Europeans in NZ kicked off a trade in Mokomokai — tattooed heads but these colonial souvenirs have their own complex history.
  5. 20/12/2020: Shots Fired
    The Gweagal shield is just one of the things James Cook and his shipmates took from the local people when they landed in Botany Bay. Why has it become the most contentious?



Have you ever wandered around a museum and thought “How on Earth did all of this stuff get here?” You’re not alone.
Throughout its reign, the British Empire stole a lot of stuff. Today those objects are housed in genteel institutions across the UK and the world. They usually come with polite plaques.
This podcast tells the stories about the not-so-polite history behind those looted objects.
In Season Two, Walkley award-winning host Marc Fennell will take you to a temple, a tree, a lab, a paradise island, a crime scene and a stage. You’ll uncover abductions, scandals and a murder investigation.
Season two of Stuff the British Stole is co-produced with CBC Podcasts.
    Series 2 (2021):

  1. 20/10/2021: The Abductions
    A war. A ransom. And a stunning recovery mission.
    Five elaborately carved panels were buried in a New Zealand swamp to protect it from a war.
    Then 150 years later, they’re acquired by a British collector before being sold to a Swiss-Bolivian collector in Geneva.
    And their long journey home began when a kidnap ransom payment had to be made.
    This is the remarkable story of the Motunui Epa.
  2. 27/10/2021: Losing Your Marbles
    They’ve seen wars, the bottom of the ocean and even - bizarrely - been part of a boxing match.
    The story of how the Parthenon Marbles actually ended up in London’s British Museum is a wild tale featuring bribes, court cases and some extremely dodgy deals.
    There’s been a centuries-long campaign to get them back to their homeland. Now, a team of Greek-Australians have decided that the time for diplomacy is over and a new tactic is required.
  3. 3/11/2021: Cup Runneth
    In County Cork, Ireland, there’s a tree that locals call the Chalice Tree. Local lore says it’s where British Redcoats disrupted a secret Catholic mass, killed two priests and took a sacred chalice.
    Now that chalice sits in London’s Victoria & Albert Museum.
    But what happened in the intervening 200 years is now being pieced together by two Irish families: the O’Keeffes and the McAulliffe’s.
  4. 10/11/2021: Not Your Venus
    Sarah 'Saartjie' Baartman was taken to the UK by a British doctor. But did she know what she was signing up for?
    Stage-named 'The Hottentot Venus', Sarah was paraded around freak shows in London and Paris.
    During her life and even after her death, she was objectified, mistreated and abused.
    More than 200 years after her death, her life story reveals confronting truths about the treatment of black female bodies and how much has, and hasn’t, changed.
  5. 17/11/2021: Strange Fowle
    It’s become a symbol for extinction; the dodo is a semi-mythical creature which most of us know only through Alice in Wonderland.
    But one particular dodo was the victim of a crime – murder.
    Its skull now sits in the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. And it holds the clues to a thrilling mystery which illustrates a little-known colonial legacy.



Throughout its reign, the British Empire stole a lot of stuff. Today the Empire's loot sits in museums, galleries, private collections and burial sites with polite plaques. But its history is often messier than the plaques suggest.
In each episode of this global smash hit podcast, Walkley award-winning journalist, author and genetic potluck, Marc Fennell, takes you on the wild, evocative, sometimes funny, often tragic adventure of how these stolen treasures got to where they live today. These objects will ultimately help us see the modern world — and ourselves — in a different light.
This is a co-production of the ABC and CBC Podcasts.
    Series 3 (2023):

  1. 28/06/2023: The Head in the Library
    In an old country town high school library there is a glass case that displays something highly unusual and, for some, confronting.
    Inside that glass case is a mummified head and according to its plaque, it was donated to Grafton High School in 1915.
    Now, over 100 years later, questions are being raised about where it really came from and whether it really belongs there.
  2. 5/07/2023: Bottles in the Basement
    Deep in the cellars of one of England’s grandest country homes, covered in dirt and cobwebs, lay dozens of bottles of ancient rum.
    Their discovery set off a frenzy among collectors vying to own the oldest rum in the world.
    But where did they come from and who produced them? Sealed inside was the story of an enslaved people in one of the first overseas colonies of the British Empire - Barbados.
  3. 12/07/2023: The Unfinished Prince
    There's a body buried in the grounds of Windsor Castle whose real home is thousands of miles away. Since 2007, there have been calls for Prince Alamayu’s remains to be returned to Ethiopia.
    But how exactly did this young royal end up alone in England, and buried at Windsor Castle? To answer that we have to go back to 1868 to hear the message the British wanted to send that still reverberates to this day.
    If this episode has raised any issues for you, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
  4. 19/07/2023: Zero Marks The Spot
    It’s round. It has a hole in it. It symbolises nothing and yet it is the possibility of something... meet zero.
    The zero we know and love today is the foundation of our modern world. And we have India to thank for it; in particular one special Indian birch bark book — the Bakhshali manuscript.
    This is the story of how these fragile pages travelled to Oxford University and what their future looks like.
  5. 26/7/2023: The Fever Tree Hunt
    Most heists target gold, jewels or cash. This one targeted illegal seeds.
    As the British established their sprawling empire across the subcontinent and beyond, they encountered a formidable adversary — malaria.
    There was a cure — the bark of the Andean cinchona tree. The only problem? The Dutch and the French were also looking to corner the market in cinchona. And the trees themselves were under threat.
    Grab a gin and tonic and come with us to hear how a botanical empire took off — and gave birth to a quintessential cocktail.
  6. 2/8/2023: The Girl Called Pocahontas
    How do you uncover the true life of a woman whose existence is wrapped in myth, propaganda and a famous animated children’s movie?
    This is the true story of Matoaka - a young Powhatan girl who you probably know as Pocahontas. This is the mystery of a child, a hidden history and a stolen story.
    Audio courtesy of Missing Matoaka.



Marc Fennell: No One Saw it Coming (2025)


Sunday, July 13, 2025

Favourite Children's Authors: William Mayne


William Mayne: Low Tide (1993)


William Mayne's Low Tide interested me a lot when I first read it in the 1990s. It's set in New Zealand - which always tends to pique the interest of locals such as myself, and while I'm not sure that he does a great job of reproducing our manners and mores, the story itself is an arresting one. This is how Google Books describes it:
Set in New Zealand at the turn of the century, this exhilarating story of survival and adventure finds Charlie Snelling, his sister, and his Māori best friend swept up in a giant green tidal wave that carries them up high in the mountains to the old wild man called Koroua. What must they do to survive and find the way home?
Spoiler alert: They do eventually make their way down to the shore, only to find their town completely deserted and filled with sand and silt. But there's something just a little bit ... off about it. It looks similar, but not exactly the same.

To make a long story short, it turns out that there are two virtually identical towns set on different inlets. The one they live in was built after the other one was abandoned for various safety reasons. The new town was constructed on precisely the same model as the old one, though, which explains that strange moment of déjà vu when they stumbled into the latter by mistake, and found all their friends gone and the buildings half-buried by the tsunami.

It's a typically tricksy and laconically narrated William Mayne story: quite demanding even for its intended audience of older children, but also satisfactory in that he doesn't talk down to his readers.


William Mayne (1928-2010)


He looks harmless enough in the picture above, doesn't he? Almost like an old basset hound, with those two white sidelocks for ears. However:
In 2004, Mayne was charged with eleven counts of indecent assaults of "young girl fans" aged between eight and sixteen. At trial one victim gave evidence of events some forty years in the past. According to The Guardian, the prosecutor said Mayne had "treated young visitors as adults". He was described in the courtroom as "the greatest living writer of children's books in English". Mayne had pleaded guilty to the charges, but his solicitor said he had done so while under huge stress and would try to clear his name. On conviction, Mayne was imprisoned for two and a half years and was placed on the sex offenders register for life. According to The Guardian, "Mayne's books were largely deliberately removed from shelves from 2004 onwards", as a result of his conviction.
- Wikipedia: William Mayne
It's rather like Low Tide: two towns, side by side on almost identical inlets, one full of bustle and life, the other completely deserted and left to the mercy of wind and weather. The first is his stellar reputation before the scandal; the second his status as a cancelled individual afterwards.

Trying to reread William Mayne now forces you to shift from that lively village of swift empathetic insights and strange, sometimes supernatural, fun, to the other town: the one where you have to hang your head in shame and watch armfuls of books being plucked from the shelves before being sent off to the nearest landfill for composting.

As for Mayne himself, he was "found dead at his home in Thornton Rust, North Yorkshire, on the morning of 24 March 2010." There were, we're informed, no suspicious circumstances; in other words, no reason to suspect suicide or foul play.




William Mayne: All the King's Men (1982)


I think that the first book I ever read by William Mayne was All the King's Men. It's a very odd book indeed, a collection of three longish short stories. The first, title story concerns the doings of a group of dwarfs who feel more and more oppressed by the lack of respect they're shown at court, despite being known as the "King's Men." When they're shifted to a nearby hunting lodge, they're not even fed and housed properly, but are forced to fend for themselves.

Unlike the hero of Edgar Allan Poe's grand guignol classic "Hop-Frog," Mayne's protagonists are eventually helped out by the kindly Archbishop, who makes time to listen to their grievances and share them with the king.

The mockery and neglect they suffer is certainly very real, but there seems some slight prospect of betterment by the end of the story. The story gripped me at the time because of Mayne's obvious empathy with his characters and sympathy for their dilemma. Like Jack London's equally moving "Told in the Drooling Ward," it's never really left my mind since.

It convinced me, among other things, that Mayne was a man of strange understandings and considerable delicacy of mind: another reason that the news of his conviction for indecent assault hit me and his other readers so hard.

About a year ago I wrote a piece, "Must We Burn Alice Munro?", about this same dilemma of whether or not we can continue in good conscience to read authors who've been outed in such a way. Can I, for instance, keep on enjoying Neil Gaiman's work after all the allegations of sexual misconduct which have surfaced recently?




Neil Gaiman: The Sandman (2025)


Clearly no simple, off-the-cuff answer to so loaded a question can be expected to apply to every situation. I was forced instead to conclude my piece with a series of further questions:
Did Dickens lose any readers over the revelation of his cruel, public rejection of his wife in order to pursue an affair with the young actress Nelly Ternan? Nelly, it seems, had little choice in the matter - neither did Mrs. Dickens. His saccharine morality showed its pinchbeck quality once and for all in his later life. And yet we continue to pore over the complexities of his last fictions, full of young heroines sacrificing themselves for self-pitying older men.
In other words, while "there may be a few temporary blips in sales ... more readers are drawn to turbulent, demon-ridden souls such as Dostoyevsky and Dickens than they are to the sanity and order of better-balanced authors."

Maybe it shouldn't be so - but it is. Whatever (for instance) your opinion of J. K. Rowling's views on tne inviolability of gender roles, Harry Potter remains a fixture on our shelves and our streaming services.


Neil Gaiman (2013)


The interesting thing about Gaiman, in particular, is that these details about his private life have given me a number of new insights into his work. He sounds like a pretty sick bastard to me - in particular, if the accusations about his conduct with a young New Zealand nanny are accurate: "Call me Master" indeed! But then so is Dream, the protagonist of his Sandman stories, both as he appears in the the late 80s / early 90s comics and in the more recent 2022-25 TV series.

Dream (or Morpheus, as I suppose we should call him) sends a woman who rejects him to hell for ten thousand years as revenge for her presumption. Another of his ex-lovers, the muse Calliope, is repeatedly raped by a young writer in order to help him gain inspiration. She remarks, when Dream eventually decides to save her from this fate, that he must have changed over the past century or so. The older version would have refused to help her on principle.

The more closely you look, the more obvious it is that Gaiman has been half-condemning, half-defending his own sexual peccadilloes throughout his whole career. The disguise, now, seems as paper-thin as Dickens' series of late novels defending the idea of young women becoming enamoured of older men.

Whether or not Gaiman manages to extricate himself from his present difficulties concerns only him and his publicist, I would say. But, if anything, his work has become more interesting now it's revealed to have been so profoundly personal all along. I find I can continue to read it - mainly because Gaiman the writer is superior to Gaiman the man. The ugly face of libertinism, its callous cruelty, is shown in his fiction - not, I think, because Gaiman is a lying hypocrite, but because the logic of the story and the reality of his characters forces him to do so.


Neil Gaiman: A Game of You (1991)





William Mayne: A Game of Dark (1971)


There's an interesting attempt to summarise the case against Mayne in John Clute's Encyclopedia of SF:
Soon after [the success of his "pared to the bone and fantasticated" later work], Mayne's life and work were tragically darkened – a tragedy first and foremost for his victims – when he was charged with child abuse in 2004 and imprisoned for two and one half years. His oeuvre went out of print, his books were removed from libraries, which was expectable; but his name was also conspicuously cancelled from the influential 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up (2009) edited by Julia Ecclestone, an erasure with grave implications. His death may eventually have the effect of allowing his books to live again.
As usual with this most fascinatingly layered of reference works, there's a lot going on in this short paragraph. There's a (parenthetical) acknowledgment that Mayne's abuse was "a tragedy first and foremost for his victims," but the burden of the piece seems, nevertheless, to be on the cost to him and his oeuvre. That last sentence sounds far more heartfelt: "His death may eventually have the effect of allowing his books to live again."

There's also a sideswipe at Julia "Ecclestone" (a misprint for Eccleshare), and her decision to "cancel" Mayne so conspicuously "from the influential 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up (2009)", which the authors of the entry describe as "an erasure with grave implications."

Interestingly enough, this same Julia Eccleshare wrote the Guardian obituary for Mayne roughly a year after the publication of 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. Like most such long and well-considered assessments, it shows signs of having been written long before the eruption of the scandal, then recast in a hurry with a eye to those details:
William Mayne, who has died aged 82, was one of the most highly regarded writers of the postwar "golden age" of children's literature. His output was huge – well over 100 titles, encompassing novels and latterly picture books, rich in a sense of place and feel for the magical, and beautifully written. He wrote several books a year in a career that spanned more than half a century and won him the Carnegie medal and the Guardian children's fiction prize.
That first paragraph could have been written at any time; the next one, however, shows signs of having been hastily supplemented with new details to undermine any notion of a Mayne "comeback":
Although never widely popular and sometimes thought of as inaccessible for his young readers, his distinctive, allusive and spare writing had considerable influence and, despite being sometimes out of fashion, his books were often thought due for a comeback. That was never to happen. Instead, Mayne's books were largely deliberately removed from shelves from 2004 onwards following his conviction and prison sentence for indecent assault on children.

William Mayne: A Swarm in May (1955)


The rest of the obituary runs through his career more or less chronologically, from his early choir school stories, "based on his own experiences as a chorister at Canterbury Cathedral from 1937 until 1942, the only part of his education he valued," to the more fantastic and supernatural themes he explored from the mid-1960s onwards.


William Mayne: Chorister's Cake (1956)


Numerous encomia are quoted along the way:
A Swarm in May was hailed as a "minor masterpiece ... one of the 20th-century's best children's books" by Frank Eyre in British Children's Books in the Twentieth Century (1971).
... Mayne also received great praise for Choristers' Cake. A review in the Times Literary Supplement highlighted the already clearly recognisable qualities of Mayne's writing while also pointing out the difficulties:
Its virtuosity and verbal richness, as well as the undoubted oddness of many of its characters, put it beyond the range of the average reader. But for the child who can meet its demands it will be a deep and memorable experience. In insight, in gaiety, in exuberance of idea and language, it is in a class apart. Mr Mayne is certainly the most interesting, as the most unpredictable, figure in children's books today.

William Mayne: Cathedral Wednesday (1960)


He's also described as "a master – the master in contemporary English writing for children – of setting". At length, though, the scandal must be faced again:
In 2004, Mayne was convicted of 11 charges of sexual abuse with young girls and was sentenced to two and a half years in prison and placed on the sex offenders' register for life. It was a death knell for his books, but it did not stop Mayne from writing and he was still doing so at the time of his death. Print on demand had recently helped Mayne, with reprints of some of his titles due to become available on Faber Finds.
How different is the tone of that "It was a death knell for his books" from the SF Encyclopedia's "His death may eventually have the effect of allowing his books to live again" ...

Eccleshare's obituary concludes as follows:
The son of a doctor, Mayne was born in Hull and lived in the Yorkshire Dales for most of his life. He was famously reclusive. When asked if he would be interviewed for a children's books magazine, Mayne replied: "I am sure this sort of thing never works. I shall go nowhere to accomplish it and I'm sure others would find it unrewarding to come here. I have not sensed the lack of my not appearing in your neologies ... but if you find it necessary to molest my ancient solitary peace for the sake of your new, maddening piece, I am prepared to tolerate for a short time some person guaranteed not to be strident."
While the obituary as a whole was presumably composed for The Guardian's file of pre-cooked celebrity obituaries sometime before 2004, the choice of this particular quotation for its last paragraph does sound a bit pointed: the term "molest", in particular, seems a strange one for Mayne to have chosen, and given that it was a series of young fans and visitors "guaranteed not to be strident" he was eventually convicted of abusing, the irony is probably intentional.

Clearly the omission of Mayne from Julia Eccleshare's 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up wasn't accidental.




William Mayne: Earthfasts (1966)


Which leaves us where, exactly? This is certainly not the piece I would like to write about William Mayne, teasing out the subtleties and constant spirit of experiment to be found in his fiction, old and new. As Julia Eccleshare puts it:
in general in Mayne's books, the characters are quiet and gentle. There are no heroics. If there is power, it usually lies within the land and its past; it can temporarily be used by humans passing through. This absence of heroes and the lack of major dramatic focus, combined with increasing obliqueness, caused Mayne to become less popular with children by the mid-1960s as his slower-paced stories failed to chime with the expectations of his readers. But, even before then, Mayne was always admired more by adults than children.
Different children have different expectations. I, too, found Mayne's books and elliptical dialogue difficult to follow at times, but for me that was a refreshing change from the "chosen one" action-hero fantasies which were the norm even then.

Nor did Mayne seem to have a distinct ideological axe to grind:
A recurrent theme of Mayne's stories was how children could see and accept magic and magical explanations, while the adults around them create rational stories to explain the same outcome. There was no sentimentality around Mayne's sense of children's belief. Instead he simply posited that children are as at home with unreality as reality, while adults take a different view. Mayne somehow seemed able to take both views himself, perhaps because he described his writing by saying: "All I am doing is looking at things now and showing them to myself when young."
He may have been - was, in fact - a flawed, childish man, but that is one of the reasons he was able to write so well from a child's perspective, without sentimentality, as Eccleshare admits above.

That trait of being able to take two views at once is crucial to understanding and appreciating his books. They're not action-packed - the land is more of an actor than the characters most of the time, as Eccleshare reminds us.

Like her, I doubt that there'll ever be a full-fledged Mayne revival. He never really was a bestseller, and his books were "always admired more by adults than children." I gather, though, that he's already finding his way back to a quiet vogue as a concocter of subtle and psychologically acute supernatural stories.

If the Weird Tales community can forgive H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard their multiple personal and stylistic transgressions, I can't foresee William Mayne having too much trouble.


BBC: Earthfasts (1994)





William Mayne

William James Carter Mayne
(1928-2010)

    Novels:

  1. Follow the Footprints (1953)
    • Follow the Footprints. Illustrated by Shirley Hughes. 1953. Oxford Children’s Library. London: Oxford University Press, 1958.
  2. The World Upside Down (1954)
    • The World Upside Down. Illustrated by Shirley Hughes. London: Geoffrey Cumberlege / Oxford University Press, 1954.
  3. Choir School Series (1955-1963)
    1. A Swarm in May (1955)
      • A Swarm in May. Illustrated by C. Walter Hodges. 1955. Oxford Children’s Library. London: Oxford University Press, 1962.
    2. Choristers' Cake (1956)
      • Chorister’s Cake. Illustrated by C. Walter Hodges. 1956. London: Oxford University Press, 1960.
    3. Cathedral Wednesday (1960)
      • Cathedral Wednesday. 1960. Leicester: Brockhampton Press, 1972.
    4. Words and Music (1963)
  4. The Member for the Marsh (1956)
    • The Member for the Marsh. Illustrated by Lynton Lamb. 1956. London: The Children’s Book Club, 1956.
  5. The Blue Boat (1957)
  6. A Grass Rope (1957)
  7. Underground Alley (1958)
  8. [as 'Dynely James'] The Gobbling Billy (1959)
    • [with Dick Caesar] The Gobbling Billy. 1959. Knight Books. Leicester: Brockhampton, 1969.
  9. The Rolling Season (1960)
  10. The Changeling (1961)
  11. The Glass Ball. Illustrated by Janet Duchesne (1961)
  12. The Twelve Dancers (1962)
    • The Twelve Dancers. Illustrated by Lynton Lamb. 1962. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1964.
  13. Sand (1962)
    • Sand. Illustrated by Margery Gill. 1964. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1967.
  14. Plot Night (1963)
  15. The Changeling (1963)
  16. A Parcel of Trees (1963)
    • A Parcel of Trees. Illustrated by Margery Gill. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963.
  17. Underground Alley (1963)
  18. Whistling Rufus (1964)
  19. No More School (1965)
    • No More School. Illustrated by Peter Warner. 1965. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972.
  20. Pig in the Middle (1965)
  21. Earthfasts Series (1966-2000)
    1. Earthfasts (1966)
      • Earthfasts. 1966. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969.
    2. Cradlefasts (1995)
    3. Candlefasts (2000)
      • Candlefasts. London: Hodder Children’s Books, 2000.
  22. The Battlefield (1967)
    • The Battlefield. Illustrated by Mary Russon. 1967. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971.
  23. The Old Zion (1967)
  24. Over the Hills and Far Away [aka 'The Hill Road']. Illustrated by Krystyna Turska (1968)
  25. The House on Fairmount (1968)
  26. The Hill Road (1969)
  27. Ravensgill (1970)
    • Ravensgill. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1970.
  28. A Game of Dark (1971)
    • A Game of Dark. 1971. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974.
  29. Royal Harry (1971)
  30. The Incline (1972)
  31. [as 'Martin Cobalt'] The Swallows [aka 'The Pool of Swallows'] (1972)
  32. Skiffy Series (1972-1982)
    1. Skiffy (1972)
      • Skiffy. Illustrated by Nicholas Fisk. 1972. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980.
    2. Skiffy and the Twin Planets (1982)
  33. The Jersey Shore (1973)
  34. A Year and a Day. Illustrated by Krystyna Turska (1976)
  35. It (1977)
    • It. 1977. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980.
  36. Max's Dream. Illustrated by Laszlo Acs (1977)
  37. While the Bells Ring. Illustrated by Janet Rawlins (1979)
  38. The Patchwork Cat. Illustrated by Nicola Bayley (1981)
  39. Winter Quarters (1982)
    • Winter Quarters. Illustrated by Margery Gill. 1982. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1984.
  40. Salt River Times. Illustrated by Elizabeth Honey (1982)
    • Salt River Times. Illustrated by Elizabeth Honey. 1980. Puffin Books. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1982.
  41. The Mouldy. Illustrated by Nicola Bayley (1983)
  42. Hob Series (1984-1997)
    1. The Blue Book of Hob Stories. Illustrated by Patrick Benson (1984)
    2. The Green Book of Hob Stories. Illustrated by Patrick Benson (1984)
    3. The Red Book of Hob Stories. Illustrated by Patrick Benson (1984)
    4. The Yellow Book of Hob Stories. Illustrated by Patrick Benson (1984)
    5. The Book of Hob Stories. [Omnibus]. Illustrated by Patrick Benson (1991)
    6. Hob and the Goblins. Illustrated by Norman Messenger (1993)
    7. Hob and the Peddler. Illustrated by Norman Messenger (1997)
  43. Drift (1985)
  44. Gideon Ahoy! (1987)
    • Gideon Ahoy! Illustrated by Chris Molan. 1987. Plus Fiction. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1989.
  45. Kelpie (1987)
    • Kelpie. London: Jonathan Cape, 1987.
  46. Tiger’s Railway (1987)
    • Tiger’s Railway. Illustrated by Juan Wijngaard. London: Walker Books, 1987.
  47. Antar and the Eagles (1989)
    • Antar and the Eagles. London: Walker Books, 1989.
  48. The Farm that Ran out of Names (1990)
    • The Farm that Ran out of Names. 1990. A Red Fox Book. London: Random Century Children’s Books, 1991.
  49. The Men of the House. Illustrated by Michaela Stewart (1990)
  50. Low Tide (1992)
    • Low Tide. 1992. A Red Fox Book. London: Random Century Children’s Books, 1993.
  51. Oh Grandmama. Illustrated by Maureen Bradley (1993)
  52. Cuddy (1994)
  53. Bells on her Toes. Illustrated by Maureen Bradley (1994)
  54. Fairy Tales of London Town Series (1995-1996)
    1. The Fairy Tales of London Town: Upon Paul's Steeple. Illustrated by Peter Melnyczuk (1995)
    2. The Fairy Tales of London Town: See-Saw Sacradown. Illustrated by Peter Melnyczuk (1996)
  55. Lady Muck. Illustrated by Jonathan Heale (1997)
  56. Midnight Fair (1997)
  57. Captain Ming and the Mermaid (1999)
  58. Imogen and the Ark (1999)
  59. The Worm in the Well (2002)
    • The Worm in the Well. Hodder Silver Series. London: Hodder Children’s Books, 2002.
  60. The Animal Garden (2003)
  61. Emily Goes To Market. Illustrated by Sophy Williams (2004)
  62. Jubilee's Pups (2004)
  63. Every Dog (2009)

  64. Short Stories:

  65. All the King's Men (1982)
    1. All the King's Men
    2. Boy to Island
    3. Stony Ray
    • All the King’s Men. London: Jonathan Cape, 1982.
  66. A Small Pudding for Wee Gowry; and Other Stories of Underground Creatures. Illustrated by Martin Cottam (1983)
  67. The Blemyah Stories. Illustrated by Juan Wijngaard (1987)
  68. The Second Hand Horse (1990)
    • The Second Hand Horse and Other Stories. 1990. Mammoth. London: Mandarin Books, 1992.
  69. The Fox Gate and Other Stories. Illustrated by William Geldart (1996)

  70. Edited:

  71. Book of Kings (1964)
    • [with Eleanor Farjeon] The Hamish Hamilton Book of Kings. Illustrated by Victor Ambrus. London: Hamish Hamilton Children's Books Ltd., 1964.
  72. Book of Queens (1965)
    • [with Eleanor Farjeon] The Hamish Hamilton Book of Queens. Illustrated by Victor Ambrus. London: Hamish Hamilton Children's Books Ltd., 1965.
  73. Book of Heroes (1967)
    • A Book of Heroes. Illustrated by Krystyna Turska. 1967. Puffin Books, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973.
  74. Book of Giants (1968)
    • A Book of Giants. Illustrated by Raymond Briggs. 1968. Puffin Books, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972.


William Mayne (16 March 1928 - 24 March 2010)





Monday, July 07, 2025

The (Daft) Afterlife of Doctor Dee


Dr John Dee (1527-1609)


When local poet James Norcliffe published the collection Letters to Dr Dee in 1993, he thought it necessary to add the following explanatory note about his title:
Despite the oriental sounding name, the Dee I write to in these sequences is not Van Gulik's Chinese Magistrate of the Tang Dynasty, but John Dee, the Elizabethan magus. Dee was a man who straddled the medieval and modern worlds, a true alchemist of the crystal ball gazing type, a searcher of the philosopher's stone, the astrologer for Elizabeth I; and yet probably the foremost mathematician of his day, the man whose navigational assistance helped Frobisher in his search for the North-West Passage. Dee was reported to have had the largest personal library of any contemporary European at his home in Mortlake. I had been reading about this odd combination of mystic and rational man and I found it interesting to address my notes to him.

Read NZ Te Pou Muramura: James Norcliffe (1946- )
James Norcliffe. Letters to Dr Dee. Hazard Poets. Christchurch: Hazard Press, 1993.
I'm not sure if Norcliffe would run into the same difficulties with name recognition now as he did then. I've already had my say on the subject of "Van Gulik's Chinese Magistrate of the Tang Dynasty," Judge Dee, so I thought this might be the moment to extend the same courtesy to Dr John Dee, Norcliffe's "Elizabethan magus."

Or rather, what interests me here is not so much Dr Dee himself, fascinating - albeit distinctly dodgy - figure though he undoubtedly was, but the various roles he's been allotted in popular culture since his death in penury, a forgotten man, in 1609 (or was it toward the end of 1608? Nobody seems to be quite sure).


Peter French: John Dee (1972)
Peter French. John Dee: The World of an Elizabethan Magus. 1972. New York: Dorset Press, 1989.
One of the most vital building blocks in Dee's posthumous reputation is the book above, which I was fortunate enough to find a second-hand copy of the other day (though I'd known of its existence for many years). It's referred to repeatedly in the later works of Frances Yates, undoubtedly one of the most influential modern historians of the Hermetic and esoteric strains in Renaissance thought.


Frances Yates: Theatre of the World (1969)
Frances Yates. Theatre of the World. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969.
The last paper Yates gave in her lifetime was on, in fact, on John Dee, and he played an increasingly important (some would say deleterious) role in her thinking from the 1970s onwards. In brief, her contention was that his acknowledged skill as a mathematician and scientist should not be overshadowed by his popular reputation as a kind of Doctor Faustus, consorting with demons and spirits for dubious ends.

Frances Yates. The Occult Philosophy in the Elizabethan Age. 1979. Ark Paperbacks. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983.
Meric Casaubon. A True & Faithful Relation of What Passed for Many Years Between Dr. John Dee and Some Spirits. 1659. Kila, MT: Kessinger Publishing LLC, n.d.
The tone of the earlier writing about Dr Dee was largely set by the book above, Méric Casaubon's rather sensationalist tome recording the experiments Dee performed with his personal medium Edward Kelley, a dubious con-man who persuaded Dee that he could not only establish contact with spirits, but that this knowledge could be used to achieve the Philosopher's Stone.



The two scholars did a kind of European tour through the lands of the Holy Roman Empire in the mid-1580s, during which:
They had audiences with Emperor Rudolf II in Prague Castle and King Stephen Báthory of Poland, whom they attempted to convince of the importance of angelic communication.
They were suspected, however - probably justifiably - as passing on information to Queen Elizabeth's spymaster Francis Walsingham at the same time as pursuing their alchemical researches, which may explain some of the suspicion with which they were treated.
In 1587, at a spiritual conference in Bohemia, Kelley told Dee that the angel Uriel had ordered the men to share all their possessions, including their wives ... The order for wife-sharing caused Dee anguish, but he apparently did not doubt it was genuine and they apparently shared wives. However, Dee broke off the conferences immediately afterwards. He returned to England in 1589, while Kelley went on to be the alchemist to Emperor Rudolf II.

Emperor Rudolf II (1552–1612)


Kelley eventually fell from grace when he failed, despite all his grandiose promises to the Emperor, to produce gold from base metal. He died trying to escape from prison sometime around 1597-98.

Dee, too, had a rather unfortunate time of it in his later years:
Dee returned to Mortlake after six years abroad to find his home vandalised, his library ruined and many of his prized books and instruments stolen. Furthermore, he found that increasing criticism of occult practices had made England still less hospitable to his magical practices and natural philosophy.
The accession of the rabid witchhunter and demonologist King James to the throne in 1603 was not good news for Dee. While Elizabeth had continued to back her old astrologer and adviser to some extent, even when he fell from favour everywhere else, James did not feel similarly inclined.

Dee was, it seems, forced to sell off most of the remainder of his once awe-inspiring library to provide for daily necessities for himself and his daughter Katherine.


John Dee memorial plaque (Mortlake, 2013)





Colin Wilson: The Occult (1971)
Colin Wilson. The Occult: A History. 1971. Occult Trilogy #1. New York: Vintage Books, 1973.
For a spirited (if somewhat sensationalist) account of all these doings, you could do worse than read the relevant section in Colin Wilson's bestselling page-turner The Occult. Nobody ever accused Wilson of not knowing a good story when he ran across it, and much of the subsequent palaver about Doctor Dee is probably based on the information included in his book.

Benjamin Woolley. The Queen’s Conjuror: The Life and Magic of Dr Dee. 2001. A Flamingo Book. London: HarperCollins, 2002.
If, however, you'd like to read something a bit more reliable about the life and times of this extraordinary man, the book above might be a better place to go. If you'd like even more detail than that, however, I'd recommend a perusal of his surviving diaries.


Edward Fenton, ed.: The Diaries of John Dee (1998)
Edward Fenton, ed. The Diaries of John Dee. Charlbury, Oxfordshire: Day Books, 1998.
There's an edition of Halliwell's nineteenth-century edition of Dee's private diary available online, also well worth a look:

James Halliwell: The Private Diary of Dr John Dee (1842)
The Private Diary of Dr John Dee, and the Catalogue of His Library of Manuscripts. Ed James Orchard Halliwell. London: Printed for the camden Society, 1842.



Christopher Marlowe: Doctor Faustus (1594)


Dee's credibility problems began pretty early. Already, in his own lifetime, he was popularly regarded as a sinister occultist, and there are many reasons to suppose that Doctor Faustus in Marlowe's play is at least partly based on him and his jaunts with Edward Kelley - his Mephistopheles - around Central Europe.

Elizabeth appointed Dee Warden of the sternly Protestant Christ's College, Manchester in 1595, shortly after the first performances of Marlowe's masterpiece, and it's tempting to conjecture that this may be one of the reasons "he could not exert much control over its fellows, who despised or cheated him."


William Shakespeare: The Tempest (1610-11)


Was the magician Prospero, exiled Duke of Milan, in Shakespeare's penultimate play The Tempest similarly based on Dee? The answer is probably yes. The latter had, after all, recently died, which made him fair game for an enterprising playwright. And, after all, what other models for a old-school Renaissance Magus were to be found in Jacobean Britain?

After that the trail went cold for a bit until the appearance of Méric Casaubon's immensely damaging account of Dee's séances with Edward Kelley (mentioned above) in 1659. This may not have been Casaubon's intention, but it did mean that Dee was now considered just one more name on a long list of credulous alchemists and occultists (Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, Ficino, Cagliostro) whose ideas had been swept into oblivion by the new experimental science of the Enlightenment.

Dee was, accordingly, the obvious suspect to have formerly owned the famously indecipherable Voynich manuscript:


The Voynich Manuscript (c. 15th century)
Dee has often been associated with the Voynich manuscript. Wilfrid Michael Voynich, who bought the manuscript in 1912, suggested that Dee may have owned it and sold it to Rudolph II. Dee's contacts with Rudolph were less extensive than had been thought, however, and Dee's diaries show no evidence of a sale.
Similarly, H. P. Lovecraft felt no qualms about dubbing him translator of the English version of his imaginary forbidden tome, the "Mad Arab" Abdul Alhazred's Kitab al-Azif, or Necronomicon:


Dr. John Dee, trans.: The Necronomicon (1596)


It wasn't until later in the twentieth century that scholars began to pay him serious attention again. But the appearance of various studies of his influence on the English Renaissance by by Frances Yates and her successors was, unfortunately, accompanied by some rather less flattering portrayals.


Sandman fandom wiki: John Dee


The character John Dee (aka Doctor Destiny), for instance, appeared in the first, 1988-1989 story-arc of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman as a psychopathic killer, the son of Aleister Crowley-like Magus Roderick Burgess and his absconding lover Ethel Cripps. At the end of his rampage in the comic he's returned to a cell in Arkham Asylum.


Sandman fandom wiki: David Thewliss as John Dee (Netflix, 2022)
Neil Gaiman. The Sandman Library I: Preludes & Nocturnes. [Issues #1–8, 1988–1989]. 1991. New York: Vertigo/DC Comics, 1995.
Peter Ackroyd's contribution to this thriving sub-genre is not really much better. His House of Dr Dee lacks the dramatic energy and interest of previous efforts such as Hawksmoor (1985) or Chatterton (1987). It's almost as if he expects the famous house at Mortlake to supply the plotting for him. Even Wikipedia is hard put to it to sum up the point of it all:
The novel is a mix of the two men's stories as Palmer continues to find out more about the doctor. As the investigation continues, it is revealed that both men are similar in that they are both selfish and would rather be left to themselves.
A little like their author, one is tempted to add.


Peter Ackroyd: The House of Dr Dee (1993)


I won't go into all the other movies, fictions and video games inspired by - or including - Dr Dee. Some of the brighter spots are John Crowley's four-volume novel-sequence Ægypt (1987-2007); Michael Scott's six-volume fantasy series The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel (2007-12); and Phil Rickman's The Bones of Avalon (2010), where Dee plays an undercover secret agent turned detective.

You can find a more comprehensive list here.

Perhaps the most intriguing of the bunch to date is Blur-alumnus Damon Albarn's 2011 opera Dr Dee:

Damon Albarn: Dr Dee: An English Opera (2011)
There was once an Englishman so influential that he defined how we measure years, so quintessential that he lives on in Shakespeare’s words; yet so shrouded in mystery that he’s fallen from the very pages of history itself.
That man was Dr Dee – astrologer, courtier, alchemist, and spy.
The opera was originally conceived as a collaboration with comics-maestro (and self-styled modern Magus) Alan Moore, who initially suggested this choice of subject. The collaboration soon broke down, but Albarn persevered with the project.

Not having seen it, I can't comment further, but:
The Guardian gave the Manchester production four stars, saying that it "reaches to the heart of the tragedy of an overreaching intellect destroyed by a deal with a second-rate Mephistopheles". The Independent also awarded four stars, saying that the production was "mostly a triumph ... Rupert Christiansen in The Daily Telegraph gave the same star-rating, describing the opera as "fresh, original and heartfelt". The NME described it as "visually sumptuous and musically haunting".
Mind you, there's a rather amusing rant on a blog called The Renaissance Mathematicus entitled "Mythologizing John Dee" which sets out to unpack all the half-truths and false assumptions in the blurb above, sent out by the Manchester Festival.
Let’s take a look at how many of the facts ... are correct. John Dee did not define how we measure the years. He was consulted by the court on the possibility of introducing the Gregorian Calendar into England ... Far from being so shrouded in mystery that he’s fallen from the pages of history I can think of no other minor figure from the Elizabethan Age, and let us not fool ourselves in comparison to many others Dee in a very minor figure, who is so present in the pages of history. In not just British but European literature Dee is THE Renaissance Magus, minor and major figure in novels, films and theatre.
The list, astrologer, courtier, alchemist and spy, leaves out his principle [sic. - for "principal"] occupation: mathematician. Dee was one of the leading mathematical practitioners of the age known and respected throughout Europe. Also calling him a courtier is not strictly correct as although he was often consulted by the court as an expert on a wide range of topics he never succeeded in his aim of receiving an official appointment at court, Elizabeth and her advisors preferring to keep him at arms [sic] length ...
Lastly we turn to his supposed inspiration of Shakespeare and Marlow [sic]. The claim that he was the inspiration for Shakespeare’s Prospero is a rather dubious supposition with no proven basis in fact. This claim seems to have been fuelled by Peter Greenaway basing his Prospero, in the film Prospero’s Books, at least partially on Dee.

Peter Greenaway, dir. : Prospero’s Books (1991)
Peter Greenaway. Prospero’s Books: A Film of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. London: Chatto & Windus Ltd., 1991.
It's somehow comforting to know that Dr Dee can still rouse such passions after all these years! (And no doubt few of my own blogposts are free from typos, either ...) Is that true about Prospero’s Books, though? Did it really suggest the Dee-as-Prospero theory? It may have popularised it, but it certainly didn't start it:
In an analysis of The Tempest, Frances Yates writes: “It is inevitable and unavoidable in thinking of Prospero to bring in the name of John Dee, the great mathematical magus of whom Shakespeare must have known, the teacher of Philip Sidney, and deeply in the confidence of Queen Elizabeth I."
Yates's book Shakespeare's Last Plays: A New Approach was first published in 1975, long before Greenaway's film.

Another blogger sums up the present situation as follows:
It is popular to run to the historical visage of the famous physician, astrologer, and scrier, John Dee, as a probable influence whenever the stereotype of the bearded, crystal gazing, and be-robed wizard appears in literature or mythology. Dee has been suggested for Soloman of Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis, Prospero of the Tempest, Faust of the Faust legends, and many other similar wizard-like personages over the centuries.
Why can't we just give the poor guy a rest? "You were silly like us," as Auden said of W. B. Yeats, another inveterate Occultist:
ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn
[In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming]
- H. P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu" (1928)
"In his house at Mortlake dead Dee waits dreaming." All he ever wanted, apparently, was just to read his books in peace and quiet, whilst conferring with angels or spirits from time to time by means of his Enochian tablets ...


John Dee: Enochian tablets