Showing posts with label TBR Pile Challenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TBR Pile Challenge. Show all posts

Thursday, November 21, 2013

For the TBR Pile Challenge: The Betrayal of Maggie Blair, by Elizabeth Laird

Entry in the 2013 TBR Pile Challenge:  #4 out of 12

Years on TBR: 2

Edition owned: Houghton Mifflin, 2011 (hb, 423pp)

I haven't been keeping up well with the TBR Pile Challenge, with only four books read so far in 2013.  (I made an attempt with a fifth, Diana Norman's Daughter of Lir, but have put it aside.)  On my original list of twelve, I noted the following for Elizabeth Laird's The Betrayal of Maggie Blair: "YA historical about an accused witch in 17th-century Scotland... adventure, religious repression, and so forth.  I don't read much YA but should."

A brief synopsis: Maggie Blair, a sixteen-year-old orphan living in a ramshackle cottage with her sharp-tongued Granny on Scotland's Isle of Bute in the 1680s, narrowly escapes to the Scottish mainland after she and her grandmother are condemned as witches.  After reaching safety at her uncle Hugh's wealthy estate of Ladymuir, Maggie learns about her relatives' religious beliefs and political stance Hugh is a Covenanter who rejects the king's interference in the Presbyterian Church and unwittingly brings danger to their doorstep.

What impressed me:  The Scottish Lowlands in the late 17th century is a setting virtually untouched in fiction, and The Betrayal of Maggie Blair presents the reign of Charles II from a less familiar, revelatory perspective.  Here the king is a distant figure living in sinful splendor in London while denying his Presbyterian subjects the freedom to select their own bishops and worship as they choose.  Hugh Blair is a man of deep religious principles (he's a historical character based on the author's ancestor) who's willing to martyr himself for his cause.

I admired how Laird depicts her characters' strong faith and the moral conflicts it engenders.  Through Maggie's eyes, readers see how her uncle's choices, while they may be justified, negatively affect his wife and children. There are no simple answers, and other mature themes are presented as well, but Laird doesn't talk down to her readers at any point.  I also appreciated the book's dark, moody tone and the descriptions of the heather-covered hillocks and other aspects of the landscape as Maggie travels over land and water.

Maggie is an engaging and courageous protagonist who stays true to herself even when it costs her. She longs to be a wife and mother someday but knows her circumstances won't allow it so accepts it and gets on with her life.  Her conflicted relationship with her Granny feels realistic, and although Maggie finds one itinerant preacher attractive and charismatic, no romantic subplot is forced upon readers, something I found refreshing.

I was less enamored of some characters' actions (I underlined "really stupid behavior" twice in my notes). Nobody deserves to be accused or convicted of witchcraft, but with her habit of placing curses on people who make her mad, Maggie's spiteful Granny goes out of her way to attract her neighbors' suspicions.  Also, Maggie's aunt is extremely gullible, taking the side of a pretty, young stranger over Maggie's and not realizing she's nurturing a viper in her own household.
 
The jacket design evokes a fantastical atmosphere (and the girl's curvy, slender silhouette resembles a historical Bond girl more than a flesh-and-blood teenager), but there are no supernatural elements here, just a detailed exploration of Scottish folk customs and beliefs at this time and place.  Also, the plot is paced more slowly than other YAs I've read; it's not quite an exciting adventure but thoughtful and character-centered, which suits the storyline.

Finally, for me personally, there was one amusing glitch: one minor character is alternately called both Sarah and Susan.  This happens to me all the time!

Despite some frustrating moments, I recommend the novel for YAs and adults as a thought-provoking look at women's roles and people's complicated relationships with each other and with God in late 17th-century Scotland.  A note that in the UK its title is The Witching Hour.

Saturday, June 08, 2013

For the TBR Pile Challenge: Rose Tremain, Music & Silence

UK edition (1999)
Entry in the 2013 TBR Pile Challenge: #3 out of 12

Years on TBR: 13 or so

Edition owned: London: Chatto & Windus, 1999 (hb, 454pp)

Back in February, I declared my intention to review one book from the TBR Pile Challenge each month during 2013.  Obviously, this hasn't happened, but I'm doing my best to catch up!

As implied by the title, Music and Silence is a novel of contrasts.  Tremain uses delicate, almost ethereal language to evoke her themes of intense passion, obsession, and longing.  Heated affairs play out during the cold, desolate winters of northern Europe, and the gentle heroine vies against the malign forces at court and in her own family.

So many readers have told me that this is one of their favorite novels, so I turned the first page prepared to be impressed, but with slight trepidation (would I agree?). I quickly learned that Music and Silence demands a quiet frame of mind.  It's not tolerant of distractions, and if you try to read it while other things are going on in the background, you'll need to tune them out first. It took me a few chapters to realize this.

The royal court of 1620s-30s Denmark isn't one that figures in other historical novels I've heard of, and Tremain has so thoroughly claimed this setting and its major players for her own that no other author is likely to try.

US edition (2000)
It opens in 1629, as English lutenist Peter Claire arrives at the Danish court to take up a post in Christian IV's royal orchestra. After coming to terms with the king's odd demand that the musicians play in a frigid cellar, so that the sound will waft up mysteriously to the audience on the upper level, he contends with Christian's other expectations (he reminds the king of a long-dead childhood friend). He also forms an attachment to Emilia Tilsen, one of the ladies of Kirsten Munk, the king's morganatic second wife.

The progression of Peter and Emilia's tender romance forms the novel's centerpiece, but it also encompasses many other stories about love: Emilia's close bond with her young brother Marcus, Christian's pursuit of the adulterous Kirsten, and dowager queen Sofie's love for her money. There's also a subplot about Peter's plain sister Charlotte, back in England, and the fiancé nobody expected her to have; I found this story especially moving.

None of these, however, is as compelling to read about as Kirsten's love for herself.

Kirsten Munk by Jacob van Doordt
Kirsten writes journal entries in sections labeled "Kirsten: From Her Private Papers," and Tremain's depiction of this character is a command performance.  Kirsten is lustful, deceitful, and completely self-absorbed. She thinks endlessly about her bedroom acrobatics with her lover, a German count named Otto Ludwig; she hates children; and she cares not at all for her husband.

For her birthday, Christian gives her a gold statue in his image, and even her disgust is mixed with lasciviousness.

I didn't ask for yet another likeness of my ageing husband. I asked for gold. Now I will have to pretend to love and worship the Statue and put it in a prominent place et cetera for fear of causing offence, when I would prefer to take it to the Royal Mint and melt it into an ingot which I would enjoy caressing with my hands and feet, and even take into my bed sometimes to feel solid gold against my cheek or laid between my thighs.

Kirsten's one saving grace would be her affection for Emilia, were it not for the fact that Emilia is the only person who tolerates her, and so Kirsten connives to keep her and Peter apart.  Kirsten pours all her wicked thoughts onto the page in a completely uninhibited way. She believes she deserves the reader's undivided attention, and she gets it.

Tormented by thoughts of Kirsten with her German lover, Christian reflects on his "quiet and orderly" married life with his queen and first bride, Anna Catherine of Brandenburg, who died in 1612.  Here, as elsewhere, the writing truly glows:

Christian IV by Peeter Isaacsz
In the darkness of the palace at Hadersleben, the skin of the young Queen's face had a luminous white sheen to it. No more light fell onto it than onto the other than onto the other faces, yet it stood out very plainly and Christian found himself wondering whether, in the very pitch of night, with the curtains of the bed drawn round them, he would turn and see this shining moonstone next to him on the pillow.

The abiding tone in Music and Silence one of melancholy, which reminded me in places of Tremain's Merivel.  Christian uses music to calm his spirit during his endless search for perfection which he rarely finds.  In addition to his marital problems, Denmark is suffering economically, with failed mining ventures and a near-empty treasury.  The darkness, though, is embedded with many bright spots: music, love, and hope for the future.

If asked to choose between the two Tremain novels I'd read, I'd have to say I prefer Merivel, for the entertaining company of the man himself, but I thoroughly enjoyed Music and Silence, too, both for its language and style and for the depictions of its excellent cast of characters.