232 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 FEBRUARY 2004 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. AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW 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 FEBRUARY 2004
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