In line with a promise I made to myself some time ago to read or re-read some of our great literary classics, I have just finished Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.  Whatever the literary merits of this much-acclaimed novel, something about it strikes me as distinctly odd – the title!

    Ivanhoe is a Saxon knight, probably an unusual combination at that time as, even a century after the Conquest, the Normans were still regarded by the local population very much as an occupying force. Thus, when Ivanhoe joins King Richard’s knights in a Crusade to the Holy Land, he is disinherited by his father, Cedric, a local warlord. The story opens as Ivanhoe returns from Palestine hoping to win back his father’s favour.

    Not a shrinking violet, Ivanhoe begins his campaign by entering a large-scale tournament at Ashby-de-la-Zouch castle, attended by his father as a guest of Prince John. Not surprisingly he wins, but in the process is severely wounded. This confines him to a sick bed for most of the rest of the novel, until, in the concluding chapters, he rouses himself enough, as any self-respecting knight would, to ride to the aid of a damsel in distress.

    There is no shortage of action throughout the book, but this is led mainly by the mysterious Black Knight (not really that mysterious if you have the slightest inkling of twelfth century English history) together later with Robin Hood and his famous band of Sherwood Forest outlaws.  I would have thought The Black Knight a more likely title, but, called that, would it have endured for nearly two hundred years, being much read and in more modern times much dramatised? The importance of the title to a book can never be underestimated and Ivanhoe does have a ring to it, but is that simply down to familiarity?

    Still, if you can cope with Scott’s perception of twelfth century dialogue and his sometimes wordy, sometimes over-descriptive, sometimes pretentious prose (try to get a copy with notes), there is a stirring historical romance to be found.  Castles are stormed, battles rage, hand to hand combat, unrequited lust (a pretty risky theme for the early nineteenth century) and love are thrown into the mix. Just don’t expect Ivanhoe to be much involved in a great deal of this. Until his final moment of glory, the closest he gets is a running commentary from his carer on a battle raging below the window of the building in which he lies recovering from his wound. This is not a book about Ivanhoe; more a book with Ivanhoe in it.

    Not to be put off I have downloaded Scott’s take on Tudor history, Kenilworth (all right, it was free). Part of the attraction is that here in Birmingham I live not too far away from the splendid ruins of the once-magnificent Kenilworth Castle. What I don’t know at the moment is whether it will be that much about Kenilworth……..