Monuments to War and Love

By Lisbeth Eng

My recently published World War II romance novel, In the Arms of the Enemy, presents two conflicting themes: love and war. In fact, I had once considered the title In Love and War for my novel, reminiscent of Francis Edward Smedley’s famous quote, “All’s fair in love and war,” but then discovered that was already in use as the title of a 2001 Hallmark Hall of Fame World War II movie, set, like my novel, in Italy. (A pure coincidence – I didn’t even hear about the movie until after I had finished the first draft of my book!)  I know that titles cannot be copyrighted; I could have called my book Alice in Wonderland had I wanted to, but didn’t want my title so close to a work (in this case a film) with the same setting and similar theme (romance). I credit my late husband Kenny for coming up with In the Arms of the Enemy.  I rather like it, even though at least one other romance novel has the same title. (I didn’t find that out until years later, either.)

But let us return to monuments.  It has recently struck me how many monuments there are all over the world dedicated to wars, or at least to those who have fought them. I live in New York City and have the pleasure of frequent walks through Central Park. I can’t tell you how many war monuments there are, but I have encountered several in my travels.

“The Seventh Regiment Memorial of 1861 – 1865” is a handsome, lofty tribute to the fifty-eight members of that regiment of the New York National Guard who gave their lives “in Defense of the Union”, or so it says on the stone pedestal. I have passed this monument many times during walks through our lovely municipal park, sometimes even on my way to work.  Recently, I stopped to take a closer look. 

Standing atop is the stalwart bronze figure of a Union soldier, his rifle at the ready, staring off into the distance. I wonder who posed for the statue. Was he an actual soldier or an artist’s model dressed in an Army uniform? What is he looking at? Is he merely standing guard?  Is he thinking of his lost comrades or is he one of the fallen himself, perhaps reflecting on his short life and the loved ones he left behind.  Maybe he is contemplating his enemies, Confederate soldiers who fought and died for the cause they believed in. On each of the four sides of the base are bronze medallions, emblazoned with the words “Pro Patria et Gloria.” I have never studied Latin, but with my knowledge of French and Italian I am able to decipher a rough translation: “For country and glory.” 

Another famous statue (in Grand Army Plaza, near the southeast entrance to the Park) is that of Union Army General William Tecumseh Sherman, astride his mount, blazing in gilded-bronze and led by the winged female figure of “Victory”. Foreign warriors honored in stone or bronze throughout the Park include Polish patriot King Władysław II Jagiełło and South American military and political leader Simón Bolívar.

Not all statues in Central Park are warlike.  There is the lovely “Angel of the Waters” at Bethesda Fountain, as well as figures of William Shakespeare and Hans Christian Andersen. The Park possesses a representation of Alice in Wonderland and a statue honoring the canine hero “Balto,” dedicated to the sled dogs that led teams through a snowstorm to deliver medicine for a 1925 diphtheria epidemic in Nome, Alaska.

But does Central Park have of a monument to Love?  Outside the Delacorte Theater stands a bronze sculpture depicting Shakespeare’s famed lovers, Romeo and Juliet, entwined in an embrace. As a romance writer, as well as a woman who believes in the power of love (and who is not so enamored of war), I am grateful for that. 

In Verona, Italy, the setting of In the Arms of the Enemy, a bronze statue of Juliet resides outside one of the popular tourist attractions of that city, the “Casa di Giulietta,” alleged home of Shakespeare’s heroine. I have been to Verona and have seen this statue and the crowds who pose to have their pictures taken beside her.  It is considered good luck to touch her right breast, and that particular part of her anatomy is a shinier bronze than the rest – likely from the caresses of thousands of hopeful lovers (or superstitious tourists!). 

I did not choose the city of Verona as the setting of my World War II romance novel because of Shakespeare’s star-crossed lovers.  I chose it because during the period of the war in which my novel takes place (late 1944), that was the actual location of German military headquarters in Italy. The romantic connection is sheer coincidence.  And I promise that the hero and heroine of In the Arms of the Enemy enjoy a far happier ending than do Shakespeare’s tragic lovers.

BIO: An English major in college, Lisbeth Eng has also studied Italian, German and French. Lisbeth is a native New Yorker and has worked as a registered representative in the finance industry for the past 25 years. Her first novel, In the Arms of the Enemy, is available in e-book and paperback at The Wild Rose Press. Lisbeth invites you to visit her at www.lisbetheng.com.

A Unique New York Experience

by Lisbeth Eng

“Isn’t everything in New York unique?” you ask. Perhaps a valid question, but in my forty some-odd years in this city, this was a new experience for me. The setting was Yankee Stadium. What could be more iconically “New York” than that?

But then reality shifted and I entered what I will call the “Alternate Baseball Universe.” Three friends had persuaded me to join them at a Yankee game. (My arm still aches from the twisting.) Now it’s not that I don’t like baseball, but being a life-long, die-hard Mets fan, this was not easy. That, and the one hundred dollar ticket price. But I later found out that the regular price for these tickets was $150 and it included food and soft drinks, so it was really quite a bargain.

I was told before I arrived at the stadium that this was a luxury suite. I had been in one once at Shea and it was quite lovely. A private room for about 25 people with your own bathroom and covered open seating facing the action. It was a playoff game in 2000 and I had gotten the ticket through my job. (Not the romance writing job, but the rent-paying job.) My co-worker and I seemed to be the only ones interested in the game and I got the feeling that the other “fans” were out-of-town business people just there for the free food. When the score became lopsided – I think the Mets were losing by seven runs – the others retired to the comfortable living-room-style suite and watched a football game (!) on the television screen provided. My friend and I remained outside in the now-empty covered seating section, leaning out of the opening, cheering on our team and trying to capture the feeling that we were actually attending a baseball game – a playoff game, at that!

Though the Mets lost that game (they went on to become the National League Champs that year – we won’t talk about the 2000 World Series) it was a pleasant experience. I enjoyed all the hot dogs, hamburgers, French fries and chicken fingers I wanted and even got a free Mets cap to take home.

But back to the Alternate Baseball Universe. Riding the D train to The Bronx, I pictured a similar setting for our Yankee game – a covered luxury suite with an endless supply of typical baseball-stadium fare and all the bottled water or soda I wanted. We had already been told beer was extra. Bummer. When we got to the stadium we had no idea how to find our seats. A lovely young woman with a pin-stripe-adorned “May I Help You?” sign pointed us toward a guarded glass door. That led to an elevator and we got off at the level for “Audi Yankees Club” – that’s what it said on our tickets.

This was not a luxury suite – it was a restaurant seating some three hundred guests! Instead of French fries and hamburgers we feasted on lobster fritters, pan-fried soft-shell crabs, shrimp cocktail as big as your hand, sautéed asparagus and very rare filet mignon with béarnaise sauce. No kidding. Oh, and there were fries – sweet potato fries. The miniature pastries on the dessert bar were as tempting as any delicacy from the finest bakery. But lest anyone feel deprived (or forget that he was inside a Major League ballpark), hot dogs were provided, along with potato chips and popcorn. The food was wonderful and gracefully dished out buffet-style by servers wearing chef hats inscribed with the famed “NY” logo.

Yet that wasn’t the weirdest part. Our seats were arranged dinner-theater style before long tables all facing the field. But between the “regular” fans and us was a huge glass picture window. Here we were, watching a baseball game from inside a hermetically-sealed, soundproof, climate-controlled restaurant. We couldn’t even hear the National Anthem (we stood anyway since they piped in the soundtrack) or the roar of the crowd. It was like watching the game on a humongous TV screen, and to underscore the TV-like ambiance, the play-by-play telecast of the entire game was piped in, too.

We were attending a baseball game…but it didn’t feel like it to me. During particularly exhilarating moments – the scoring of a “go ahead” run or a breathtaking defensive play – excited fans are often moved to high-five the complete strangers seated near them. Yet this would have felt unseemly within the sophisticated milieu of the Audi Yankees Club. We were there at a ballpark, but not really there. All the action unfolded before us but we were removed from it. Part of the experience and much of the fun of attending a baseball game is to be among the other fans, not separated from them by glass. Fans are collectively referred to as the “tenth man”. We are part of the game and our “root, root, rooting” for the home team helps spur them to action. Sequestered within our opulent isolation booth, we became observers, not participants.

I don’t regret my expedition into the Alternate Baseball Universe of the Audi Yankees Club. (Yes, there were brochures hawking the luxury autos on a discreet rack near the exit.) The food was wonderful and the company agreeable. It just wasn’t an authentic baseball experience.

Now, this is where I usually make some obscure connection from my blog post to my upcoming World War II romance novel. Hmm…. World War II… war…. Well baseball is a little like war…. Ok, that’s a stretch. So I’ll just refer you to my website at www.lisbetheng.com for more info about In the Arms of the Enemy, coming October 1 from The Wild Rose Press. See, I can write a blog post without gratuitous, blatant self-promotion!

Oh, and in case you’re interested, the Yankees lost.

BIO: Lisbeth Eng is a native New Yorker who works in the finance industry by day and plugs her soon-to-be-released World War II romance novel In the Arms of the Enemy every chance she gets. Visit her at www.lisbetheng.com.

Sex and THIS City?

by Lisbeth Eng

When I first moved from the hinterlands of Staten Island to the chic isle of Manhattan four years ago, one of my co-workers excitedly remarked, “Lisbeth will be the new Terry Bradshaw!” “Huh? Terry Bradshaw?” I replied, bewildered. What did she possibly think I could have in common with the bald football announcer? “Carrie Bradshaw!” she corrected with a laugh, and went on to explain her prediction that my new life as a Manhattan single woman would be as exhilarating, fashion-forward and sexcapade-filled as that of the fictional heroine I had barely heard of. Yes, that’s right, I have never watched even one episode of Sex and the City, nor either of the two movie versions, nor read Candace Bushnell’s book upon which the TV series was based.

I, a forty-something-year-old widow, am probably as un-Carrie-Bradshaw-like as a native New Yorker can be. I have lived in four of the five boroughs (alas, the Bronx will probably never enjoy the privilege of my residency), having spent the longest period, thirty-five years, in Staten Island, which, in case you were unaware, is part of New York City. It’s amusing that transplanted mid-westerners (among others) seem to think of themselves as more “New York” than those of us born and bred in the outer boroughs, simply because they have lived in Manhattan a few years and know all the “in” places to eat, drink, shop and pick up men. But I digress.

First a disclaimer: since I have never watched the TV show (or seen the movies or read the book) I am in no position to judge the lives of women who seem more interested in their Manolo Blahniks and cosmopolitans than in global warming or human rights abuses in Darfur. But I’ve really no right to make such a self-righteous comment. For all I know, Carrie and her friends may spend their free time volunteering at a local soup kitchen, and I’ll bet they donate last season’s Jimmy Choos to the Salvation Army so that the disadvantaged can get “back on their feet”, properly shod.

All right, perhaps I’m just jealous. I am seldom fashionably attired (for me, comfortable shoes trump high heels and pointy toes every time), and engaging members of opposite sex has always been a challenge for me, especially after I became single again at the age of forty-four. I live in one of the most exciting cities in the world – “the city that never sleeps.” Well, I sleep. Even on weekends I’m usually in bed by midnight. Nightlife? Does watching the eleven o’clock news count?

So how can a single gal living in New York City lead such a boring life? I don’t. There is more to this city than a quest for sex and cocktails. Besides world-famous museums, opera companies, orchestras, Broadway theater (not to mention off- and off-off-Broadway theater), there is a soul to this city that may not be obvious to the casual observer. An army of volunteers delivers meals to the homebound elderly and AIDS patients. Community gardeners beautify hidden corners of this concrete jungle. The socially conscious meet to strategize against pollution, political oppression, poverty and hopelessness. As for me, I enjoy the above mentioned museums, opera and theater, study foreign languages “just for fun”, volunteer for Amnesty International on behalf of prisoners of conscience and write romance fiction for self-fulfillment and for the remote possibility of selling the movie rights to my soon-to-be-published debut novel for a seven-figure sum.

Which brings us back to sex. And self-promotion. For sex and another city, how about Verona, Italy circa 1944 where a woman torn between two lovers, one her compatriot and the other her enemy, battles the Nazis? You can read about her (and her lovers) when my World War II romance novel, In the Arms of the Enemy, is released by The Wild Rose Press on October 1, 2010. In the meantime, please visit my website at www.lisbetheng.com for a preview.

BIO: Lisbeth Eng is a romance author and financial services representative (that’s how the rent gets paid) who inhabits the lovely island of Manhattan where she continues her search for spiritual awakening, inspiration, the meaning of life and yes, well… ahem…sex. Visit her at www.lisbetheng.com.