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Reviews of Books and Films
century is still necessary. However, Suarez's book on
the subject is the most complete and ambitious contribution so far. Specialists will certainly welcome its
original views and helpful information.
ALFONSO W. QUIROZ
Baruch College and Graduate Center,
City University of New York
MARINA DE MELLO E SOUZA. Reis negros no Brasil
escravista: Historia da festa de coroacao de Rei Congo
[Black Kings in Brazilian Slavery: History of the
Coronation Festival of the King of Congo]. (Humanitas, number 71.) Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais: Editora UFMG. 2002. Pp. 387.
The history of the coronation of African kings and
queens in Brazilian festivals is the subject of this book
by Marina de Mello e Souza. The popular festivals,
which typically took place on Kings' Day (January
sixth) have long attracted the attention of Brazilian
folklorists, observers, and historians, but as the author
notes, they were hardly unique to Brazil. The election
of a king, his investiture, and subsequent processions,
dramas, and dances were part of the experience of
slaves in the African diaspora: in the Caribbean,
Spanish America, and even the United States. It was in
Brazil, however, that the festivals developed most
fully. Beginning during the early decades of slavery
and remaining an important cultural force until the
abolition of Brazilian slavery, some festivals continue
even to this day. According to Mello e Souza, these
ceremonies reflected both the monopoly of power held
by Europeans as well as the ability of Africans to
maintain coherence with their origins and to create
their own social institutions. Although slaves in Brazil
came from many different regions, Bantu peoples from
Congo and Angola dominated. The coronation of
kings and queens, which recalled events deep in the
history of Congo and Angola, served, in Mello e
Souza's view, as a means through which Africans
constructed an identity for themselves in Brazil.
Rather than simply recreating an African past,
Mello e Souza argues that the naming of kings was part
of an annual ceremony that dramatized for slaves and
free blacks the founding of an African Christian
people by their ancestors. Thus the coronations kept
alive an oral interpretation of the first contacts between the Congo kingdom and Portugal in the fifteenth century. When the Portuguese made contact
with Congo in 1483, Mello e Souza argues that the role
of the king in each kingdom influenced the interaction
between kingdoms: the kings recognized each other
and sent presents and ambassadors. The motivation of
the Portuguese king is not hard to discern; he intended
to cement trading privileges and to spread Christianity.
But the Congo king's motivations are more difficult for
modern scholars to comprehend. Mello e Souza follows the work of Wyatt MacGaffey and W. G. L.
Randles and suggests that the Congo king perceived
the king of Portugal to be a sort of "living god" from
AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW
the "other world" across the ocean where the dead,
who were conceptualized as "white," lived. The association with those from the other world thus increased
his power. With the conversion of the Congo king and
many nobles to Christianity, an African Christianity
took root in the kingdom of Congo. King Afonso I
became a well-known Christian king, and his son,
Henrique, became the first African bishop. In the
seventeenth century, the Angolan Queen Njinga, at
one time baptized as Ana de Sousa and known for her
wearing of luxurious clothing obtained from Portuguese merchants, became a symbol of resistance to the
Portuguese.
Mello e Souza suggests that the coronation of kings
and queens in Brazil symbolized both resistance
(Queen Njinga) and accommodation (King Afonso).
Throughout the diaspora, in public places, these popular festivals reenacted traditions once performed in
the Congo kingdom. The crowning of kings began in
Lisbon in the sixteenth century, at around the same
time that the first lay brotherhoods (irmandades) of
Africans, free and enslaved, formed around the devotion to Nossa Senhora do Rosario (Our Lady of the
Rosary). In Brazil likewise, the elections of kings
usually occurred in the irmandades, which tended to
select an African slave or freedman of the Congo as
king. The ceremony of coronation blended Christian
with African traditions, visible in music, dance, and
religion. This parallels the fact that in the Congo kings
were traditionally elected, and that the investiture of
the king was accompanied by music, a procession,
drumming, and a Mass in the cathedral.
Mello e Souza's contribution rests in her synthetic
portrayal of African kingship, the relations between
Portugal and Congo, and the coronation ceremony.
Her account of the historical roots to the coronation
ceremonies, their common attributes, and their symbolic as well as historical meanings is a welcome
addition to the Brazilian historiography on slavery and
popular culture.
ALIDA C. METCALF
Trinity University
FEDERICO FINCHELSTEIN. Fascismo, liturgia e imaginario:
El mito del general Uriburu y la Argentina nacionalista.
Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Econ6mica. 2002. Pp.
159.
The development of right-wing nationalism in Argentina in the 1930s has not lacked studies by historians
and others who have looked there for the roots of that
nation's more recent right-wing violence. The book
under review by Federico Finchelstein is part of this
larger effort. In his preface, however, the author
makes a major effort to differentiate himself from
others who have written on the subject. In an addition
to a critique of individual authors, Finchelstein argues
that his approach is different because, instead of
concentrating on the ideology of the creators of rightwing nationalism, his emphasis is on the far-right's
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Europe: Ancient and Medieval
creation of a myth, in the wake of the coup of 1930,
around the figure of General Jose Felix Uriburu,
especially after his death in 1932. No attempt is made
to examine who U riburu was nor the size, scope, or
impact of the groups that used his image. Finchelstein
does show how numerous right-wing groups between
1932 and 1935 created a series of common myths and
iconic images around Uriburu and the Revolution of
September 1930.
The book starts with an interesting discussion and
critique of the existing literature on the rise of rightwing nationalist groups. The author then moves into
an examination of how these movements used the
image of Uriburu in the years immediately after his
death. He demonstrates that images and myths of
Uriburu and the September Revolution became central to their public presentation and a rallying point for
diverse organizations. Finchelstein begins with how the
Far Right used Catholic imagery to identify Uriburu
and the September Revolution with Catholicism. He
then shows how Uriburu came to symbolize a break
with the past, a good thing for the groups that used his
image. He also examines the exaltation of violence and
how this was tied to the memory of Uriburu. The
author also looks at what essentially were pilgrimages
to Uriburu's tomb and other places identified with his
memory, including a museum that housed some of his
belongings, such as his dress sword. Also discussed are
the masculine images of Uriburu presented by the
far-right organizations. The nature of the discussion is
indicated by the fact that, of the six illustrations
included, not one is of Uriburu himself.
Although this short book is informative and interesting, the reader is left wanting more information. If
images are so important (and I believe they are), why
were not the various right-wing movements, which
appear to have shared the use of the image of Uriburu,
able to cobble together some type of unified movement? Or are there other factors that need to be
considered? The decline of the use of the Uriburu
image after 1935 is not sufficiently explained either. It
is passed off as the result of tensions in the society
created by the Spanish Civil War and then World War
II. In succeeding years, however, even those who
rejected Argentina's liberal past have not necessarily
looked back to Uriburu when they wanted to celebrate
a historical figure. Since the use of the image of
Uriburu is central to the work, would not some
comparison to the use of images of other twentiethcentury figures have given readers more of a sense of
perspective? Although some comparisons are made to
fascist leaders in Europe, none are made to key
twentieth-century Argentine leaders, such as Hipolito
Yrigoyen or Juan Peron. Both were exalted by their
followers in life and their images were used and still
are used for political purposes decades after their
death. Comparisons would have permitted the author
to show how the use of the image of Uriburu differed,
if it did, from other attempts to shape the political
landscape through the creation of political myths.
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233
Finchelstein has given us an important look at the
imagery of the early right-wing nationalists of Argentina. It should help us understand better how groups
that failed to unite or even come close to achieving
power developed an important ideological legacy that
did have a long and tragic impact. Although the book
is interesting and informative, its prospective audience
is somewhat limited. Since extremely little context is
presented, those without a good grasp of Argentine
politics in the 1930s will find it extremely tough going.
Those who have the background, however, will find it
an important addition to the studies of right-wing
nationalism in Argentina.
JOEL HOROWITZ
Saint Bonaventure University
EUROPE: ANCIENT AND MEDIEVAL
TIMOTHY S. MILLER. The Orphans of Byzantium: Child
Welfare in the Christian Empire. Washington, D.C.:
Catholic University of America Press. 2003. Pp. xiv,
340. $44.95.
Orphan care and education is a vital theme in the
history of any society. Modern debates about nurturing
environments (family vs.. outsiders, home vs. institution) often influence laws and funding decisions. Timothy S. Miller's new book, a detailed study of orphan
care in Christian Constantinople, brings an important
historical perspective to this issue. His study is especially welcome for its focus on legal texts, its translations and thoughtful use of many rare sources, and,
above all, its careful study of the 1000-year history of
the "Great Orphanage" (Orphanotropheion) of Constantinople.
Miller earlier described the Byzantine hospital as a
public institution open to all (The Birth of the Hospital
in the Byzantine Empire [1986]). Byzantine orphan
care, however, depended chiefly on guardianship laws,
which Miller here explores in light of the tripartite
system implied in Anna Comnena's Alexiad 15.7.3.
War orphans in Constantinople in 1116 were assigned
first to local relatives, if they had any; second to
monasteries, if they were baptized but had no relatives;
and third, boys and girls with neither relatives nor
prior education were committed to the Orphanotropheion. This last was no throw-away option: by Anna's
day, the Great Orphanage was an impressive center of
learning, highly prized for its choir, and under the
spiritual direction of the patriarch.
Miller begins by defining Roman guardianship laws,
varieties of tutela and curia, all designed to protect
inherited resources that the orphan would need for
"successful" adult life, including (for girls) the protection of virtue. Chapter three introduces the Great
Orphanage, arguing for a fourth-century Arian origin
and outlining its focus on music education, grammar,
and Christian doctrine. Chapter four explores continuity and change in guardianship laws and how these
changes influenced care. The most notable change was
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