Amberger's magnum opus is a compilation of fascinating vignettes orginally published in Hammerterz Forum, his quarterly journal of the history of Western sword arts. It's studded with absolutely wonderful illustrations, some contemporary in origin, some modern, all highly relevant and greatly enhancing the text. Likewise enriching are the meticulous and entertaining footnotes leavened throughout the pages.
The organization of this work is rather eccentric however, commencing with the title. With the exception of a grand total of two (2) pages on the subject of metallurgy, this 281-page book is exclusively concerned with *Western* sword history. To specialize in this specific field is fair enough, but it renders the title pf the book misleading. It's reminiscent of history texts which bill themselves as "world history" but turn out in fact to be exclusively Western history. Again, a fair enough specialization to choose, but a very misleading (and telling?) choice of title.
Next, the reader won't fail to realize that although the title suggests a catholic treatment of the history of the sword, this author's true love is the sabre. The first chapter is on the historic development of the waist-up target of sport sabre from its full-body military origins; the second chapter further develops this topic from the perspective of the offensive and defensive sabre systems taught to cavalry troopers; the third chapter pertains to the opposing philosophies of the cut versus the thrust in equestrian military sabre usage. Then five additional chapters throughout the book are concerned with the school of German academic sabre fencing known as the mensur. The author makes excellent use of his own experiences as well as other contemporary accounts to make the mensur encounter spring vibrantly to life for the reader (and clarifies the motivation behind the special affiliation he has for swords of the more edged persuasion). Interestingly, although one of the chapter titles is clearly a pun on Mark Twain's account of witnessing a mensur duel (chapter V of "A Tramp Abroad"), the author declines to include Twain's perspective... perhaps because it was a highly negative one!
The delivery of the book overall is marred by a persistently condescending tone in the author's narrative style. In his prologue he's forthright with his idea that the love of the sword is part and parcel with the essential nature of manhood, and a strong implication of unmanliness toward anyone disinterested in combat with sharp weapons pervades the whole book. So does the implication that conversely, little more than this willingness to face an opponent armed with a razor-edged blade is required in order to prove one's worth as a man (certainly an idea epitomized in the mensur tradition). The participation of women in the western sword arts is not dismissed or disparaged, but it is certainly rather minimized, perhaps a natural side effect of the author's monomania concerning the centrality of armed combat to manly vigor! Beyond that, the author also oozes not simply disagreement but active contempt toward most scholars who deviate from his own opinions (perhaps a misperception of that disagreeable attitude as an expression of jovial conviviality with the reader?). Interestingly, despite the author's own background as a sport fencer, he doesn't pass up any chances to drop disparaging remarks about the metaphysical shortcomings of modern sporting competition versus actual combat.
Despite these drawbacks however, this is an eminently readable and edifying work and certainly worth reading even were it alone for all of the wonderful stories about the exotic mensur. My favorites were the scintillating tale of young Bismarck's first duel and the moving excerpt from the diary of Nadezhda Durova.
The organization of this work is rather eccentric however, commencing with the title. With the exception of a grand total of two (2) pages on the subject of metallurgy, this 281-page book is exclusively concerned with *Western* sword history. To specialize in this specific field is fair enough, but it renders the title pf the book misleading. It's reminiscent of history texts which bill themselves as "world history" but turn out in fact to be exclusively Western history. Again, a fair enough specialization to choose, but a very misleading (and telling?) choice of title.
Next, the reader won't fail to realize that although the title suggests a catholic treatment of the history of the sword, this author's true love is the sabre. The first chapter is on the historic development of the waist-up target of sport sabre from its full-body military origins; the second chapter further develops this topic from the perspective of the offensive and defensive sabre systems taught to cavalry troopers; the third chapter pertains to the opposing philosophies of the cut versus the thrust in equestrian military sabre usage. Then five additional chapters throughout the book are concerned with the school of German academic sabre fencing known as the mensur. The author makes excellent use of his own experiences as well as other contemporary accounts to make the mensur encounter spring vibrantly to life for the reader (and clarifies the motivation behind the special affiliation he has for swords of the more edged persuasion). Interestingly, although one of the chapter titles is clearly a pun on Mark Twain's account of witnessing a mensur duel (chapter V of "A Tramp Abroad"), the author declines to include Twain's perspective... perhaps because it was a highly negative one!
The delivery of the book overall is marred by a persistently condescending tone in the author's narrative style. In his prologue he's forthright with his idea that the love of the sword is part and parcel with the essential nature of manhood, and a strong implication of unmanliness toward anyone disinterested in combat with sharp weapons pervades the whole book. So does the implication that conversely, little more than this willingness to face an opponent armed with a razor-edged blade is required in order to prove one's worth as a man (certainly an idea epitomized in the mensur tradition). The participation of women in the western sword arts is not dismissed or disparaged, but it is certainly rather minimized, perhaps a natural side effect of the author's monomania concerning the centrality of armed combat to manly vigor! Beyond that, the author also oozes not simply disagreement but active contempt toward most scholars who deviate from his own opinions (perhaps a misperception of that disagreeable attitude as an expression of jovial conviviality with the reader?). Interestingly, despite the author's own background as a sport fencer, he doesn't pass up any chances to drop disparaging remarks about the metaphysical shortcomings of modern sporting competition versus actual combat.
Despite these drawbacks however, this is an eminently readable and edifying work and certainly worth reading even were it alone for all of the wonderful stories about the exotic mensur. My favorites were the scintillating tale of young Bismarck's first duel and the moving excerpt from the diary of Nadezhda Durova.
