Photo of the Year, 2022

The Photo of 2022 shows that most beautiful sight for any author: one's book in a bookstore. 

Specifically, in December of this year, I saw (and snapped a photo) of the Spanish version of my dear short story collection, Our Lady's Troubadour, for sale in the local section, clearly visible from the street, at Mil Hojas Bookstore, Zamora, Spain. 

Massive changes in the book industry in the last twenty years have made it frustrating and inconvenient for most authors to see this sight as e-commerce and ebooks overwhelm the printed word. I grew up before the internet (gasp!), and seeing one's book in the store always seemed a glamourous, giant step to authorial stardom. 

That kind of deep-seated impression doesn't fade easily, so when I saw my book in my local bookstore, I felt in my blood and bones that this was a beautiful sign of success. 

Due to my excitement in sharing this photo with everyone I knew, at least this copy sold. I know because the reader brought it to me to sign, telling me he'd already read it in ebook and was now making a gift of it to his son-in-law. What a tremendously flattering situation for my beloved book! 

He went on to say that he couldn't get over how someone not from Spain could think of these things and write them so authentically. Again, so flattering I almost didn't know what to say. 

But of course, he'd made a tiny mistake. Everyone at this blog knows my soul is Spanish, right? 

This photo, objectively nothing special in itself, has also been chosen as 2022's Photo of the Year because it was taken in 2022 and showcases just one of my publications from 2021. 

It can't showcase something from 2022 because no such writing exists. 

I've spent all of 2022 working very hard for income to keep a roof over my head and food on the table. I've written two short stories (at the most) that have not been published. Comparison is odious in general, but at the end off 2022, it's hard not to feel like it's come up short. 

So, with this photo as inspiration, I'm looking at 2023 head-on to be my best writing year yet. Here's to attaining and surpassing realistic and idealistic goals! 

Happy New Year, everybody! 

The Desire to Touch the Past: The Precursor King Exhibit in Toledo

The cloister at the Monastery of Santa Cruz, Toledo,
now the Museum of Santa Cruz

As readers of this blog know, 2021 marked 800 years since the birth of Alfonso X, el Sabio, in Toledo (Spain) on November 23, 1221. I did everything I could to commemorate that important anniversary: going to a concert and exhibits, releasing a book of tremendous importance to me, and presenting that book in Zamora, Burgos, Salamanca, and Benavente. 

Here we are again on November 23. Happy 801st birthday to the focal point of my scholarly joy! 

In May of this year, I had an opportunity to revel in more than 200 objects (pottery, architecture, clothing, manuscripts, recreated musical and scientific instruments, and more!) having to do with Alfonso X, el Sabio, and I think this is an excellent occasion to share some highlights. 

I haven't counted, but I think the most celebrations over these two years have taken place in the city of Alfonso's birth. And I have to assume the exhibit Alfonso X: The Legacy of a Precursor King was the most extensive, impressive, and enjoyable. 

My mother was with me, and I wore her out looking at everything on offer for a long Spanish morning with excitement that only seemed to increase with every piece. I felt each object in my heart and bones. 

The exhibit filled the entire second floor of the Museum of Santa Cruz, and was beautifully organized into moments of Alfonso's life, from birth and family connections, to his early reign, the intellectual projects (the biggest section, of course--we're talking about a certified brainiac), through to the end of his reign, and the impressions of him throughout history since his death in 1284. 

The exhibit started in an anteroom with this lovely model for a nineteenth-century statue that was never completed. I took the opportunity to be photographed with a handsome physical representation of this person I will never meet in life. 

The bead curtains in the background were used throughout the exhibit to separate the sections and highlight the pieces. The intense colors, translucent glow, and symbols of royalty made this visitor feel like she was walking into an Alfonsine manuscript.

One representative of Alfonso's early family life was his brother, Prince Felipe. This linen and silk bonnet was removed from his tomb in Villalcázar de Sirga. The colors have darkened over time, but the castles and lions, emblems of the prince's royal status, are still visible. 

When you work mainly with texts, your heroes are ephemeral collections of thoughts and ideas. Anything that gives evidence of that hero's physical existence, even if it was 800 years ago, is the closest thing we have to traveling in time. 

Closed tombs, architecture where they lived, or pottery they might've used become a concentrated blast of emotion accumulated over years of study. If possible, clothing is an even more intense sensory experience. 

Clothing so rarely survives because it's so delicate, and it is one of the most intimate things any person will ever use. Being so close I could touch the threads and smell the earthiness of the silk and metallic gold, and imagining this very hat on the head of Alfonso's brother... and ones just like it on the head of the king himself... Simply overwhelming. 

Unlike the hat, this cape retains all its original splendor. Probably a gift from Alfonso X to his brother-in-law, Prince Sancho, when Sancho was made Archbishop of Toledo (the most important ecclesiastical role in medieval Spain), the cape's silk and gold threads show the symbols of Castile and León (Alfonso's kingdom), Aragón (Prince Sancho's kingdom of origin), and the eagle of the Staufen family in memory of Alfonso's mother, Beatriz of Swabia. 

This closeup shows itsintricate detail and solid embroidery. It had to have been created by a team of royal tapestry-makers, and it's so intact, it must hardly have been used and been stored in very fortunate conditions. The bead curtains we were "wrapped" in the whole time are based on this pattern. 

The Book of the Privileges of Toledo, late thirteenth century, is a deluxe manuscript to ensure no one forgot exactly what rights and benefits Toledo had from the king. The miniature shows Alfonso X granting these privileges to grateful Toledans, yet another representation of the king doing his job with due generosity. 

I have a cherished replica of this seal at my home in the United States. In the Middle Ages, seals of authentication were large and hung from the documents by a cord. This wax seal is as big as the palm of an "average" man's hand and shows Alfonso X riding into battle. 

Medieval Spanish kings were expected to be able warriors and participate in whatever important battles came up. Though we no longer emphasize this aspect when remembering him, Alfonso X took active part in many battles, including helping his father win important cities in the south while he was still prince. His declining health in later years and extraordinary intellectual accomplishments are what people emphasize about him. Every once in a while it's good to recall that Alfonso X never shirked his physical duties, either. 

Here I am with the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. Remember what I wrote about clothing being so personal? In Alfonso X's case, Cantigas manuscripts, which he definitely commissioned, may have edited and approved, and certainly physically touched to refer to when complete, are probably the most personal physical object possible. 

The only reason my head didn't explode at this point was that I had already seen this very codex in February in Madrid at the National Library. That day I saw so many of the manuscripts I've spent decades admiring from afar that I broke down sobbing for a few minutes. With that out of the way, in May I had emotional space to take in this manuscript again and all the new-to-me wonders, as well. It's an accomplishment! 

The To codex was open to a different page for this exhibit than it had been in Madrid. Significantly, it displayed Cantiga 12, which takes place in Toledo. 

Alfonso X enters Cádiz and takes possession of the sea in this lively nineteenth-century painting that won the artist, Matías Moreno, a gold medal. This painting was at the entrance to the document-heavy section of the exhibit, so perhaps it served to remind visitors that these documents are not merely dry ink on vellum. They depict exciting events, many of which had centuries-long repercussions. 

Many legal documents display these beautiful circular symbolic royal signatures for a validation that's obvious to anyone who looks at it. This royal circle, especially deluxe with its rich reds, greens, black, and gold, is from a May 24, 1256, privilege granting coin minting to the archbishop and council of the Cathedral of Toledo.

A closeup of the same document shows the king and queen's names highlighted in green and red. I have a feeling I'll be discussing Queen Violante more on this blog in the coming months. 

A painted wooden St. Mary of the Navarra school, late thirteenth century, is a three-dimensional example of the aesthetic found throughout the Alfonsine manuscripts. 

In the astronomy section, some of the most impressive pieces were reconstructions of the instruments described and illustrated in the Alfonsine books that measure the phenomena of the night sky. Eduard Farré recreated this Mercury clock, which shows the movement of the constellations, based on the Book of Knowledge of Astrology.

The most diligent intellectuals are the people most in need and deserving of taking a little break now and then. This philosophy is found at the beginning of the Book of Chess and Board Games (1283), the last book Alfonso X commissioned. This chessboard from fourteenth-century Granada looks like it came out of an illustration from that book. It's practical, with storage for the pieces and a way to secure and carry it wherever it's needed for some clean fun. 

The exhibit boasted an enormous altar of musical instruments recreated from illustrations in the Cantigas manuscripts. Jesús Reolid, Jota Martínez, and María José Campos crafted this lovely citole, accurate down to the castles and lions. 

After a somber section describing Alfonso X's difficult final years and death, but that also provided a video summary of his accomplishments, the exhibit featured what turned out to be the star items. When they opened the tomb of Sancho IV, Alfonso's second son and successor, in 1947, the scholars rescued many items Sancho had been buried with. The first on display was this spectacular sword. 

I don't think I would be so into medieval Spain or swords if I hadn't adored The Princess Bride as a preteen. This kind of thing still has plenty of capacity to delight me. This sword is regally decorated and must have rested in Sancho's hand on any number of occasions. It's another very personal item for that reason. 

The piece I had been longing to see came at the end. Another item extracted from Sancho's tomb, this is the only medieval Spanish king's crown that we are aware of having survived to the present day. The only one! And it seems extraordinary. 

I love the ingenious way the castles serve as the peaks. There's no pictorial evidence that this was the usual way to design a crown. The large precious stones, however, are typical. The cameos aren't a medieval specialty, but it was very medieval to repurpose Roman cameos. I think these cameos were probably already antique when they were set into the crown. The hinges so it could adapt to different heads and headwear are another delightful surprise. The king would've worn a soft hat, often of velvet, and placed this crown on top. 

Here's the thing. Though it was found in Sancho's tomb, it's pretty clear Alfonso X used this crown before his son did. Alfonso's 1282 testament granted his heir "the crown with stones and cameos." Most scholars agree it makes sense that he's referring to this crown, the only one that survived the Middle Ages to our time. 

I would've bought a reasonably accurate replica of this crown, no questions asked, no matter the cost. Even though I had no room in my suitcase after my mom had brought me a couple of things from the United States and three weeks of travel. Even though I have nowhere to put it in my apartment. I would've found a place. 

But no replica was available, and so I went home with just a great CD of Cantigas by the Jota Martínez Ensemble.

Granular closeup of a bejeweled sheath said to accompany a
sword belonging to "Roland." Since it's from 1250 and part
of the royal treasury, it's likely Alfonso X, his father, and his son
were the actual owners of this sword. 

After a wonderful visit, I've been reading about the Romanesque art of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Maestro Mateo, the designer, was kind enough to sculpt a near-life-size statue of Santiago the pilgrims could approach and wrap their arms around. In this way, they tangibly experienced the object of a devotion so strong, they left their homes and walked for months in its honor. 

This was nearly a thousand years ago, so it has nothing to do with modern commercialism, but with a deep-seated need for humans to bring their interior hopes and dreams into exterior reality. 

I've left the place of my birth and have been on this Alfonsine journey much longer than it takes to walk the Camino de Santiago. Of course I want tangible evidence of my decades of study. The Precursor King exhibit has been the event that came closest to fulfilling that desire. 

But I wasn't able to literally touch any of the books, clothing, instruments, or metalwork. The saga continues...

Thanks for letting me share a small part of my joy with you. 

Further reading:

Our Lady's Troubadour

Law and Order in Medieval Spain

New Historical Fiction: The Last Dollar Princess by Linda Bennett Pennell

It must be said. Scandal follows her family like a faithful hound. No matter how hard they kick it away, it comes slinking around to insinuate itself into their lives again. Although her family is obsessed with social position, one thing is certain. Heiress India Elisabeth Petra De Vries Ledbetter is an outlier among her kin. She is determined to set her own course, family expectations and society's demands be damned.

Reared away from the social whirl of Gilded Age New York, India would prefer a life of philanthropy in her native Appalachia, but Mother and Grandmama have far grander plans. They believe Mrs. Astor’s old 400 are ready to overlook the past and that an advantageous marriage will cement their place in society once more. In fact, they have already selected the prospective bridegroom. The only problem? No one consulted India.

With captivating insights into the human spirit and heart, The Last Dollar Princess leads us on a riveting quest for self-determination through the most elegant and glamorous settings of the early 20th century. Perfect for fans of Marie Benedict, Daisy Goodwin, and Julian Fellows, this sweeping work of historical fiction will stay with readers long after the last page is turned.

Pick up your copy here! 

Linda Bennett Pennell has been in love with the past for as long as she can remember. Anything with a history, whether shabby or majestic, recent or ancient, instantly draws her in. It probably comes from being part of a large extended family that spanned several generations. Long summer afternoons on her grandmother's wrap around porch or winter evenings gathered by the fireplace were filled with stories both entertaining and poignant. Of course, being set in the American South, those stories were also peopled by some very interesting characters, some of whom have found their way into Linda’s work.

As for her venture in writing, it has allowed Linda to reinvent herself. We humans are truly multifaceted creatures, but unfortunately we tend to sort and categorize each other into neat, easily understood packages that rarely reveal the whole person. Perhaps you, too, want to step out of the box in which you find yourself. Linda encourages you to look at the possibilities and imagine. Be filled with childlike wonder in your mental wanderings. Envision what might be, not simply what is. Never forget that all good fiction begins when someone says to her or himself, "Let's pretend." 

Linda resides in the Houston, Texas, area with one sweet husband and one adorable Labradoodle who is quite certain she’s a little girl.

"History is filled with the sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up." --Voltaire  

Find out more about Linda and her books at her website. 

Get all the news on her blog! 

Follow Linda on Facebook for more historical goodness.

World Rhino Day 2022

One great thing about the pandemic was the decrease in rhino poaching incidents. Now, COVID-19 is considered to be under control in most places in the world, and along with all the great stuff that implies, poaching incidents are on the rise. 

For those who don't know, rhinos are hunted for their horns because some people wrongly believe that these special horns have a few different medicinal properties and will pay hefty sums for them. 

No. The only one who needs a rhino horn is a rhino. A rhino horn is made of plain old keratin you can find in many other places. You might as well chew your own fingernails, 

But greed and wrongheaded ideas are evergreen. 

Please think about how wonderful these five species of gentle giants are for their respective environments, how few of them are left, and how sad it would be if there were no more of them. 

I'm writing this post before the twenty-second, but you'll be able to catch up with the State of the Rhino Report and lots of fun activities at rhinos.org. 

Thank you! 

Thirteenth Anniversary

Today marks thirteen years since I married Stanley Arthur Coombs. Thirteen was our number: We met on a thirteenth and married on a different thirteenth the following year. We mentioned, at the very least, that it was our day on the thirteenth of every month we were together. 

I wrote some solid things that are still true for our tenth anniversary on this blog, and I don't want to repeat myself. I'll use this space to say that Stanley died in 2016, so this anniversary marks a moment in time when I've survived him almost as long as I was married to him. We only missed celebrating our seventh anniversary together by a month and half, so the marriage still wins by a few months at this point, but the symmetry being so close on "our number" anniversary seems significant to me.

If you know that Stanley was twenty-four years older than me, you might wonder why I was so blindsided that he predeceased me by so many years. 

He always seemed healthy and youthful. The world was a place of new experiences and ceaseless wonder for him. He was never old. His parents also both lived well into their eighties, and I figured he must've inherited some longevity, and we had at least twenty more years ahead of us in 2016. 

I'd forgotten that he'd smoked a pack a day for forty years before he met me. 

It was easy to forget because as soon as I mentioned that I didn't appreciate smoking, he quit. I never saw him with a cigarette. 

If only the cells in his lungs could've forgotten so easily! 

Our short years together compacted an insane amount of love and joy. We did everything right, from finding each other at long last, to not waiting long to marry, to wandering all around the United States and Spain, enjoying life on Earth in all its complexity. 

Our relationship changed to the nonphysical realm too quickly. Tobacco companies stole some two decades from us. Stanley always said, "You gotta die from something." It's true, but I can't help but think that something so stupid and preventable was unworthy of my wonderful husband. 

It was too late by the time I met him. 

It may not be too late for you. 

The present moment is all we have. 

Brand New (Oddio) Audiobooks to Enjoy! Y una nueva edición muy guay

I've always known my books are mostly odd, so it only makes sense that they should be available in oddio audio. I'm so excited that this dream is now finally coming true! I've decided to reach readers through their ears instead of their eyes! 

The first book is a medieval classic prepared for you with modern technology, my translation, The Abencerraje.

Listen here.

This short story (it will take you less than an hour to listen to) was written in Spanish in the 1560s, and it will surprise you with its depth of feeling and its powerful message about the value of human life and especially of friendship. 

The Abencerraje is a popular text in Spanish literature survey courses at the university level, and I've also completed this project in the spirit of helping out a few students. 

More amazing audiobooks are on their way! Feel free to subscribe to my YouTube channel so you never miss another one.

These texts are read by yours truly. What I lack in professional locution skills, I hope to make up for in enthusiasm and drama.

Grab your copy of the extraordinarily entertaining historical novella, Empress of Misfortune: 

- available at select outlets

- FREE only to my email subscribers

It's coming out in paperback and audiobook read by the author very soon!

The audiobook magic continues in my other genre! The second book, releasing today, is the sweet, fun science fantasy novella The Atwells Avenue Anomaly. I'm so excited to bring this original story to readers in this new format! 

Watch/listen here.

If you're in a massive heat wave like I am, The Atwells Avenue Anomaly can help you cool off. It takes place in Providence, Rhode Island, in the autumn, and also in another universe that never has unpleasant weather! 

Next up in audiobook is the always controversial women's novella, Tree/House. This one is read by a professional! Look for it very soon on my channel! 

And again, I would be grateful if you subscribed to my channel so you can always have access to surprising, memorable stories.

Y por último, quizás lo más importante: Mundos impredecibles, mi colección de relatos que consistentemente alcanza cinco estrellas de sus lectores satisfechos, ya aparece en una nueva edición. ¡Ahora ya se puede adquirir en rústica! Ver toda la información aquí.

Thank you for letting me share my hard work and excitement with you! 

950 Years Later, the Siege of Zamora

This mural by beloved Zamoran artist Antonio Pedrero
graphically represents the Siege of Zamora
at the Puerta de la Feria (not far from my house).

This year marks the 950th anniversary of Zamora's most famous moment in history, the Siege of Zamora. If you've seen the El Cid film, this story occupies the first part. That is by far not the only medium this epic story has found it way into, with plays, songs, poems, and visual art existing almost since the time of its occurrence in 1072. 

This weekend (the hottest on record), the city government sponsored the revival of a play by Agustin Garcia Calvo, just one of many events marking this anniversary. The production by contra-tiempo-teatro and many collaborators was brought to life with modern spectacle and a heavy dose of charm. I thought using photos from the event would be a great way to tell this story on my humble blog. 

The sun sets behind the castle, a very evocative setting for the story of the siege of Zamora. 

It was necessary to reserve tickets days in advance. These cultural events are very popular in Zamora. 

The actors and musicians arrive on the scene. The play was very medieval in that most of it was narrated by a pair of singers and a vihuela, a medieval stringed instrument. Both the sung lyrics and spoken parts were in medieval epic meters with rhyme. 

I often wonder why Spanish historical fiction feels no need to update the mode of delivery of the content. If I were writing a play about the Siege of Zamora, I would never think to use narrators, but would reveal all the complex story through action and dialogue with psychological development. But that's my Anglophone historical fiction perspective. This way of doing things pleases the audience because it's "more medieval," and that's what counts. 

The action begins with King Fernando I on his death bed, dividing up his kingdoms. To Sancho goes Castile, Alfonso receives Leon, and to Garcia goes Galicia. 

Fernando I's daughter Urraca arrives on the scene to say more or less, "What am I, chopped liver?" Of course she isn't. The king grants her the noble and strategic city of Zamora to govern. She becomes our "Queen." We love her even today. 

Fernando I is dead. Urraca is offered the throne in Zamora, but she says, "Why sit down? Sancho's just going to push me off again!" Indeed, Sancho, not satisfied with the biggest piece of the pie, Castile, wants his siblings' pieces, too. He's taken control of Galicia and Leon and imprisoned his brother, Alfonso. 

Sancho's forces set up tents in order to lay siege to Zamora. It was very cool to watch the actors actually put up the tents. 

Sancho asks his knight El Cid (yes, that one!) to ask Urraca to hand over Zamora so they don't have to start the siege. El Cid and Urraca know each other pretty well. If anyone can convince her, he can. 

El Cid arrives on his valiant steed (a terribly cute and expressive stuffed animal). In no version of this legend does Urraca ever simply hand over Zamora. Come on! 

In this version, she says, more or less, "You had your chance to marry me, and you didn't take it. You're not the boss of me, and I'll never surrender Zamora!"

El Cid tells Sancho's other knights, "I knew that wouldn't work. Let's start the siege." Zamora lasts for eight or nine months without budging. 

Vellido Dolfos, formerly a knight of King Alfonso, confers with Urraca without ever implicating her in his plans in this version. He then insinuates himself into Sancho's camp under false pretenses of bringing solid intelligence about where to attack Zamora's impenetrable walls. 

In short order, he assassinates King Sancho, bringing a quick end to the siege and the fratricidal war. Alfonso is now the only brother left. 

Another of Sancho's best knights, significantly more hotheaded than El Cid, accuses Zamora (in the person of Arias Gonzalo) of Sancho's death. And I mean he accuses all of Zamora, enumerating the women, children, dogs, and chickens as conspirators. 

Arias Gonzalo explains calmly that he cannot bring a formal complaint against every last living thing in Zamora. 

Consulting with Urraca, Arias Gonzalo sets up a trial by combat. If Sancho's knight beats each of five Zamoran knights in single combat, then his accusation is true, and Zamora must pay further. If Sancho's knight falls, however, his accusation is false. The five Zamoran knights are Arias Gonzalo's four sons and himself. 

These were some really cool action sequences I couldn't capture very well. 

Sancho's knight beats the first two sons of Arias Gonzalo. But then son number three defeats Sancho's knight by hook or by crook. The arbiters of the process, the Knights of Santiago, decide that this outcome leaves the trial inconclusive. So much like real life. 

The funeral procession for King Sancho is projected on the castle wall. 

The actors take their bows to thunderous applause. 

The last lines in the play are spoken by El Cid on his way to meet King Alfonso as he rides away from Zamora. He says some lovely things about how strong it is and wishes the city well, knowing that it will endure for many, many centuries. At first I thought the audience was clapping for what he said because they love Zamora, too. But no, the play was over at that point. The story stopped at a place ripe for more epic action, as we see in the El Cid film. But, since it was titled The Siege of Zamora, it delivered on its promise, and nothing more. 

This story certainly needs a good historical novel in the Anglophone tradition. I'm trying to start something else right now, so consider the gauntlet thrown. Alternatively, if one exists and I just haven't read it, feel free to let me know about it! 

The Exhibits I Waited 800 Years to See

Me and the most important men of letters of Spain

I wrote Our Lady's Troubadour for Alfonso X's 800th birthday. I was largely under the impression that most celebrations had been canceled or curtailed by the pandemic. But, wonder of wonders, the two most appropriate institutions in Spain recently had exhibits in honor of this grand anniversary. 

The exhibits were appropriate because Alfonso was the Learned King, and the exhibits were of his books: the books he had his scholars research, write, lay out, and decorate in his court, and which he would've inspected to make sure they were to his standard and then left for future generations in his testament. Those books. 

The places housing the exhibits were appropriate because they're the two most important libraries in Spain. Even the humblest of libraries is a temple of learning. These buildings, with their grandeur and special designs for preserving and honoring books, are cathedrals of learning. 

My new knight in shining armor and I have been crazy busy, but when I saw that these once-in-a-millennium exhibits were about to end, we made a special trip, right around Valentine's Day. Books = Love. 

First, "The Books of the Wise King" at the National Library of Spain in Madrid. 

That illuminated A... I would wear a shirt with that on it! 

The mask keeps the drool from hitting the glass cases. 😉 Yours truly with the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. 

Just flipping out with a display of the E codex Cantigas presentation miniature. I'm practically in Alfonso's colorful court! 

What we all came for right up front: the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria, produced at the court of Alfonso X and personally approved by the king. With about 100 cantigas, it's considered to be the first part of a project that just kept growing. 

I can't emphasize enough that these books are deluxe and that it's a miracle we can decipher the musical notation today and enjoy these beautiful songs. The manuscript is open to Cantiga 37, a miracle about a man whose foot hurt so much he cut it off. The foot was replaced when he asked St. Mary for help.

The greatest law treatise of Alfonso's court, the Siete Partidas, this time in a copy for Queen Isabel I. I studied this and other law treatises for my doctoral dissertation. The confidence and clarity with which these scholars wrote in a language that had only been written down officially for about fifty years is stunning. 

The other great law treatise, the Especulo, predecessor of the Siete Partidas, in a copy from the fourteenth century, which is the only medieval copy the National Library has.

A beautiful codex of the Fuero Real, a royally sanctioned municipal law code. This one was granted to Valladolid in 1255, just three years into Alfonso's reign. 

Display of the presentation miniatures of a codex of the first Partida that is held in the British Library. I'd only ever seen black-and-white reproductions before. Unlike traditional medieval European presentation miniatures, instead of a scribe presenting a completed book to the person who asked for it to be copied (usually a king), here King Alfonso dictates the contents of the book and looks overhead at the book's inspiration and eventual recipient: God. 

Display of the presentation miniature from a History of Spain codex from about 1280. The king tells his historians what to write and points to his heir, Sancho, who will become Sancho IV. 

The General History was meant to be a history of the world from ancient times to the thirteenth century (their present day), but only made it to the first century AD before Alfonso's death cut the project short. This massive codex is from the royal scriptorium, about 1270, and is only the first part.

A closeup of the beautifully legible text (you can't become learned if you can't read the texts) about the lineages of Jacob, General History.

Display of the beautiful colophon of the Book of the Canons, an astronomy treatise. The red and blue part reads, "Here ends the book of the canons the most noble King Don Alfonso ordered to be written. May God grant him life and good health for a long time."

The Book of the Crosses, an astrology treatise from 1259, signed by its translators, Yehuda ben Mose ha-Kohen and Juan de Aspa.

The Complete Book on Scrutiny of the Stars, about 1254.

The Tablas Alfonsies were astronomical measurements taken at Toledo for Alfonso X between 1263 and 1274, and were used by scholars all over the known world for hundreds of years thereafter. This manuscript is from Paris, about 1320.

A History of Spain from the beginning of the fourteenth century (after Alfonso's death).

Finally, a feminine touch: Queen Isabel II, who helped found the National Library. 

Out front, twentieth-century statues of the greats of Spanish literature. Here, Vives (father of psychology) and Nebrija (who wrote the first Spanish dictionary, 1492). 

Lope de Vega and Miguel de Cervantes, who I suppose don't need further introduction. 

Isidore of Seville, a Visigoth (c. 560 - 636) who takes pride of place here because he wrote Latin Etymologies that have been an important reference ever since.

And the star of all learning, Alfonso X, el Sabio. 

This statue exercises a particular attraction on this book nerd. In his hand, he holds a sheet from the Siete Partidas. It was probably hard to decide which branch of learning to represent with this medieval  Renaissance man. 

Mario and I walked back to where we'd parked through most of monumental Madrid. It's such a wonderful place to visit! Here I am with another statue of Cervantes across from the congress building. 

The very next morning, we headed to El Escorial in the mountains around Madrid for "Codices of the Wise King."

The monastery of El Escorial was built for Felipe II according to Neo-Classical architectural principles of reason, proportion, and balance. It has the most important manuscript library in Spain. 

I liked that my mask had the same image on it! 

This exhibit was, if possible, even more mind-blowing because all the manuscripts were from the court of Alfonso X, books the king himself would have touched and marveled at (or possibly pointed out the flaws in), including the E and T codices of the Cantigas de Santa Maria, which obviously I have some affection for. 

In the beautiful library, a veritable temple of learning. Absolutely electrifying! But at the library of El Escorial, they never allow photos. So you'll have to take my word for it. 

This was as close as I got before they started yelling not to take photos. I really think it should be apparent that I am not there to harm the books in any way, shape, or form. 

I'd like to note that the ceiling of the library is painted with symbols of all the branches of learning. Alfonso X appears in the section for astronomy, with a tablet and an astrolabe. 

Mario and I spent a good hour and half poring over the exhibit of nine manuscripts, so we got our money's worth. 

The gift shop had many beautiful items with cantigas and Book of Chess designs on them, and of course I nabbed a few. 

Back in the car, we decided on a strategy for lunch, and suddenly the whole couple of days came crashing down, and I sobbed with the emotion. Yes, it meant that much to me to see these books in person. With someone who encouraged my passion, no less. 

I don't always weep with gratitude, but this occasion certainly merited it.