The Sixties: The New Frontier for Historical Fiction, a guest post by Richard Sharp

Over the time that I've been involved with the genre, I've seen the vibrant, socially complex 1960s gradually slide into the definition of historical fiction.  For this reason—and also because I was born at the tail end of the decade and am becoming "historical" myself—the subject of today's post intrigues me immensely.  In the following essay, novelist Richard Sharp puts the Sixties in perspective as an important historical setting and also as an attractive venue for both novelists and their readers to explore.

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The Sixties: The New Frontier for Historical Fiction

Richard Sharp

I received a flattering review recently, and others like it, saying I had “written the novel that many of us baby boomers wanted to write and the rest have been hoping to find.” The subject was a historical novel set in the Sixties. Readers who lived through this period, Boomers and their predecessors, as well as descendants curious as to why their elders were so crazy, seem eager for good fiction on this era. That is, fiction that goes beyond war stories, “groovy” and conspiracy theories. This is an appeal to satisfy that pent-up demand.

Historical novel writers, I call your attention to a new subject matter. Are you attracted to an era of history that is poorly understood and which you might like to clarify for a new generation of readers? Are you intrigued by the primitive violence of a past age? Do the strange cultures of passing civilizations appeal? Or the roots of our unfinished business in gender, sexual and racial tolerance? Or the rhythms of distant drums? Or the natural remedies and mysticism passed down by gurus and charlatans? Do you feel the romance of Camelot?

Then awaken to a new sub-genre in historical fiction: The Sixties. By the common definition that historical fiction must be at least fifty years ago, we have just celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of the March on Washington and the fiftieth memorial of the assassination of President John Kennedy. Remembrances of the other seminal events of that era are falling into history like so many autumn leaves. And those that lived through that era are passing into history along with them.

Surely, you say, the contemporary writers of that era have dissected those times in non-fiction and fiction alike. Many have written about the Vietnam conflict—true. Of the struggle for racial equality—true. Of the counterculture of drugs and rock and roll. Of the sexual revolution and her sister, feminism. Also true. But these are the threads from which the Sixties were woven, they are not, separately, the fabric of those times, and novelists have yet to create a substantial array of fine tapestry from that fabric.

Why is that? Perhaps it is partly because the turmoil of the decade tore the society apart and also because our interpretation of that era became so remarkably political—the stuff of every Presidential election from Kennedy’s Camelot through George W. Bush. Barack Obama, born in 1961, is the first American President too young to have participated in the Vietnam War or have avoided it, to have visited Woodstock or not, to have learned of Selma or Kent State on live television, to have looked on Bond girls as feminists, or any of those things.

Many now remember Vietnam as the Baby Boom war and the counterculture as the Boomers’ great misadventure. By any objective standard, neither is true. The common definitions now in use place the Baby Boom from 1946-1965, the so-called “Silent Generation” approximately two decades before that and (thanks to Tom Brokaw), the “Greatest Generation” another twenty years or so earlier. To have been subject to the draft or experienced the summer of love, a young man in the Sixties would have had to be born in the first eight years of the Boom (before 1954) or the last decade of the preceding generation. So part of the lack of focus on the Sixties themselves may well be that the era does not fit well with the pseudo-scientific generational mythology we have come to rely on. Add to that the uncomfortable fact that the political, military, and even socio-cultural leadership of those years were from the semi-deified Greatest Generation (and would remain so through much of the Reagan Administration), and you have a formula for denial. But LBJ, Nixon and Carter were as much that generation as JFK. For better or ill, no one generation was responsible for the Sixties. But that does not excuse a failure to come to terms with it in either non-fiction or novels.

As I began writing two novels dealing with this period, The Duke Don’t Dance and Crystal Ships, it became clear to me that, the era was even more complex than I remembered as a confused voyager through those years. This was confirmed recently by the realization that at least two dozen major colleges (no doubt an understatement) are now teaching courses on the political/social/cultural history of the Sixties. Academics have even invented a new term for the period: “the long Sixties.” The term recognizes that some critical changes defining the period began in the late Fifties and that a large number of issues lingered well into the Seventies, at least as far as the fall of Saigon in 1975.

Today the Soviet Union has dissolved and we have had Nine-eleven, two Iraq wars and Afghanistan separating us from the trauma of the Sixties. Perhaps the time has at last arrived when both the academics and novelists can display some perspective on this era—that we don’t have to write about just the threads, but can talk about the fabric and even create something beautiful from that fabric.

For Crystal Ships, I started with the background music of the era, providing a personal soundtrack in the back of my head as I constructed the saga, aiding my recall of the writings we read back then and the performing arts that we watched. (The title itself recalls Jim Morrison’s “The Crystal Ship” and the Irish legend behind it, but serves as a metaphor for the fragile idealism of the period.) Pre-boomers wrote and performed the great music of the era. The boomers disseminated and preserved it and current generations still listen to it every day. The music was more of a unifying force for the period than a divisive one (despite some geezer complaints) and also provides a link to the present. For those reasons, I tried to immerse the reader in music and other cultural references to capture more of the spirit of the era. Other writers will find other devices.

I’m proud to have added a volume to a sparsely filled shelf of novels that attempt to portray the Sixties in all its diversity. Still my perspective is limited by what I understood of the actions, point of view and emotional reactions to those difficult years in my own social milieu. Those of different backgrounds will have other experiences that merit expression in the form of historical novels. JFK once said of the space program we do these things “not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” True also of recapturing the Sixties, but there are many shelves to fill.

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Richard Sharp grew up a Colorado farm boy, later was educated at Harvard and Princeton, and began his career in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War. He subsequently worked as a development consultant in some four dozen countries.

His rural roots have inspired two 19th-century historical novels and his later life, two Cold War era sagas. Self-published to date through the CreateSpace publishing platform, his well-reviewed and prizewinning tales are available through amazon.com.Visit his website at http://richardsharpnovels.com.

Trieste by Daša Drndić, an unsparing look at the Holocaust in Italy and its aftermath

Just as the river Soča wends through northeastern Italy, bearing witness to everything it touches, Trieste roams through the tragic array of Jewish experiences during the region’s Nazi occupation. It centers on Haya Tedeschi, an elderly woman whose son, fathered by an SS officer, had been stolen away as part of the Lebensborn breeding program. During her relentless search for him, Haya revisits her family’s lives over generations and collects artifacts about the atrocities—from photos, songs, and testimonies from war-crime trials to heartbreaking stories that have waited too long to be heard.

Drndić has assembled an angry scrapbook of searing memories, horror, and loss. For the Holocaust’s victims, there is no hope; for its perpetrators, there is no punishment. Trieste’s originality lies not just in its structure and forceful, unflinching imagery—translator Elias-Bursać deserves acclaim as well—but also in how it brings the lingering effects of the Nazis’ merciless racial policies forward into the present. Here the past doesn’t lie dormant and forgotten but is a cancer that can poison us from within.

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Trieste was published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt in January ($27, hardcover, 368pp); MacLehose Press is the UK publisher.  Ellen Elias-Bursać's masterful translation from Drndić's original Croatian is a work of art in itself.  In 2013, Trieste won the Independent Foreign Fiction Readers' Prize, which honors both the author and the translator.  This review first appeared in Booklist's November 15th issue.

Book review: The Traitor's Wife, by Allison Pataki

Allison Pataki employs an engaging, light style for her debut novel, which reveals the role Benedict Arnold's wife played in his treason during the American Revolution.

Eighteen-year-old Peggy Shippen, the favorite youngest daughter of a Philadelphia judge, has golden curls, a pretty face, a quick wit, and an insatiable desire for life's finer things. The most popular belle in local society, Peggy adores the handsome redcoats occupying her city, especially army officer John André, and connives to keep him close.

But when British troops evacuate Philly in June 1778, and new military commander Benedict Arnold declares martial law, Peggy uses all her wiles to attract the burly major-general and establish herself as a fervent patriot – especially if it means that luxurious goods left behind by the British will be given to her as gifts. Prone to tantrums when plans don't go her way, Peggy is that rare creature who can get away with screaming in ALL CAPS without it seeming exaggerated.

Wisely, Pataki doesn't put readers into the head of this willful, selfish woman. Instead, we can sit back and watch her entertaining antics through the eyes of her new maid, Clara Bell. Although grateful for her position in the Shippen household and dedicated to her job, Clara quietly believes in the American ideals of liberty and self-determination. As Peggy and Arnold's courtship gains ground, Clara sees Peggy encourage his resentment over the poor treatment and slights he received from the Continental Congress, who refuse to repay the debts Arnold incurred on the army's behalf.

Treated more kindly by Arnold than her mistress, though compelled to serve them both, Clara becomes an unwilling party to their plans as Peggy persuades her disillusioned husband to switch sides, with the secret assistance of her old flame, John André.

With her stirring plot about, well, a stirring plot, Pataki proves herself adept at distilling these complex historical circumstances into an easy-to-read fictionalized story. The Traitor's Wife reads much more quickly than its nearly 500-page length suggests. She provides visually appealing scene-setting details on the Shippens' upper-class Philadelphia household and looks beyond the famous figures to portray the less privileged lives of their servants. Although relegated to the sidelines in Peggy's view, Clara experiences her own touching love story and grows in inner strength over time.

The basics of the story are anchored in history, but there are some mistakes in the details. There was no "genteel British accent" in the late 18th century, for example – the colonists and British would have sounded about the same back then – and it feels odd to have Clara reflect on "all these years" she spent at Peggy's beck and call when the entire book spans 1778 to 1780.

Still, Pataki is a talented writer with a bright future in historical fiction; she successfully revives this centuries-old tale of deceit, manipulation, and lost honor and makes it feel fresh. Those who mistakenly believe American-set historical fiction is dreary and unexciting will likely find themselves changing their minds.

The Traitor's Wife was published on February 11th by Howard/Simon & Schuster ($14.99/$16.99 in Canada, trade pb, 457pp + notes). Thanks to the publisher for sending me an ARC.

Book review: The Silent Tide, by Rachel Hore

Two career-driven women in London’s competitive publishing industry over sixty years apart feature in Rachel Hore’s comfortably overstuffed saga, which has light touches of romance and a haunting mystery linking the eras. In the dramatic prologue, Isabel awakens alone to a flooded house in East Suffolk of 1953 and, with no rescue source nearby, is soon swept away into the waters of the cold North Sea. The story of how this sad situation came about unfolds in the remaining pages.

Escaping an unhappy home life, 19-year-old Isabel Barber arrives in London in 1948 and lands a job as a clerk at a small publisher. She loves her work and her first big project, editing the debut novel of talented newcomer Hugh Morton. This draws her into close company with its much older author, whose charm she finds hard to resist.

Her modern counterpart is Emily Gordon, an up-and-coming editor at London-based Parchment Press. In the course of acquiring the first authorized biography of Morton, a distinguished literary figure, Emily becomes intrigued by the shadowy Isabel, whose name is found inscribed in one of Morton’s early books. Maybe it was Isabel, not his widow Jacqueline, who inspired the heroine in The Silent Tide, the bestselling epic that made him famous?

Ambitious women in similar occupations, Emily and Isabel don’t feel distinct enough in the early chapters. However, as Hugh and Isabel’s relationship develops, and mysterious packages containing Isabel’s writings begin turning up at Emily’s office, their personalities solidify, and their stories become hard to set aside. The novel is particularly affecting in its portrayal of the difficulties working women faced in the post-war era, and of the hidden secrets that can lie, seemingly dormant, within families and marriages. The last hundred pages had me on the edge of my seat and more than made up for the slowish start.

The Silent Tide was published by Simon & Schuster UK in 2013 (£7.99, pb, 514pp). Sorry, there isn't a US edition yet.  I reviewed it from a personal copy for the Historical Novels Review's February issue. 

A historical fiction cover art matchup, US vs. UK

Two weeks ago, Becky at the excellent readers' advisory blog RA for All mentioned the side-by-side cover design analysis of popular novels in their US & UK editions from The Millions.  I posted the link on the Historical Novel Society's Facebook page, which has members from both countries.  There were many historical novels featured in the tournament, and much discussion ensued.  More than a few readers stated that none of the covers in the analysis appealed to them much or would prompt them to pick up the books.  I had to agree.

So I thought I might repeat the comparison idea but change the focus.  Rather than looking at the literary heavy-hitters of 2013, I'm including cover pairs for all historical novels I could find that (1) were published in either January or February and (2) had editions in both countries. Overall, compared to the books in The Millions piece, these designs are less avant-garde and more typical of the historical fiction genre, yet there are still some striking examples and some noticeable differences.  I'll provide my reactions below, but I'd love to hear which ones you prefer, and why.

In these examples, the US cover is on the left, the UK on the right.


The setting: Viking-age England.  These are nearly identical, aside from the zoomed-in approach in the UK edition, the fonts, and the placement of the author's name and book title.  I'm going with the UK edition here simply because, call me superficial, I like the font used for the author's name better.



The setting: Elizabethan England.  Having read The Tudor Conspiracy, I'm choosing the UK edition here, too; it gives a much better sense of the historical atmosphere and heightens the fact that this is a mystery-thriller.  It gets me curious about what's in the packet of letters the protagonist is walking away from.



The setting:  Georgian England.  The US version emphasizes the woman's-period-piece aspect, while the UK design, combined with the elegant font of the title, playfully hints at a woman's subtle act of disobedience.  I like it.



The setting: London, 1920s.  I'm not sure which I prefer, the original painting of the US edition, or the UK edition with its eye-catching colors and close-but-staggered placement of the title and author.  Even if the woman reminds me of the US edition of Tyringham Park, below.



Setting: the late 19th century, in Europe, America, and the South Seas.  For me, the US edition wins by a mile, not just because it features a representation of one of the title characters, but because it conveys both the brightness and shadows in the relationship between Robert Louis and Fanny Stevenson.  The tropical scene with its rainbow background doesn't work for me at all.



Setting: antebellum South Carolina.  Invention of Wings is the newest Oprah pick, so there's perhaps less need for an enticing cover to draw readers in. I find the US interpretation rather generic and self-helpy.  Its UK counterpart has some ornate flourishes to take up all of the (literal) white space, and the background colors don't entice me, but otherwise I like it for its visual interpretation of the novel's plot, setting, and themes.



Setting:  pre-WWI England.  The woman on the US cover has a look of Lady Mary from Downton, doesn't she?  The attempted tie-in with the TV series is obvious, but it's also thoughtful and elegant in how it conveys the era.  It makes for a gorgeous package.  The UK cover just says "women's fiction" to me, but since I haven't read the novel yet, it may be more appropriate than it first appears.



Setting:  the late 19th century.  Having read this novel, I feel the US cover is perfect, with its deep green color and evocation of the haunting mystery around which it centers.  Plus, the ship's name is in italics, as it should be. In comparison, the image on the UK cover is too plain and faded to be effective; at first glance I didn't spot the ship in the background.



Setting: upper-crust early 20th-century Ireland.  Both of these work for the novel (which I've read) although I feel the UK version is less generic and more accurate to the storyline.  The title character is a troubled young woman whose problems weigh her down, so her expression fits.  And it's always a plus to see a woman's full figure rather than the headless/faceless look.



Setting:  South Africa, 1919.  Both evoke the African setting and are gorgeous for different reasons, although the UK version acknowledges not just one but both protagonists (a white Irish expatriate and the black daughter of her housemaid, whom she befriends) and reflects the storyline more precisely.  I have copies of both editions and am not sure I want to give up either one.



Setting: the Aleutian Islands, WWII.  I love the US cover, which would persuade me to pick it up immediately to discover the meaning of the title and image.  I understand the effect the UK cover was trying to get at, but the two faces within the bird seems awkward and strange to me.


Setting: New York State during the frozen winter of 1897.  Both work very well, and the red lettering in both is apt.  The UK version emphasizes the novel's action and its thriller aspect, and the font is an even darker, bloodier red, so it's my choice as most appropriate even though I find the US version more visually appealing.

What do you think?  Which are your favorites?

Book review: Girl on the Golden Coin, by Marci Jefferson

Reading Marci Jefferson’s debut novel is like stepping into a Restoration-era painting, one full of elegant lines and deep, rich colors. 

Girl on the Golden Coin delves into the life story of Frances Stuart, a poor relation of the English royal family who hasn’t garnered as much attention from novelists as her flashier contemporaries at Charles II’s licentious court.

Her story begins in France, where she and other royalist exiles were living during the English Civil War. By 1661, King Charles has been restored to his throne, and Frances has become the good friend and lady-in-waiting to Madame, an English princess who married the Sun King’s younger brother, who prefers his male favorites to his wife. Gifted with a pure, ethereal beauty, Frances attracts the attention of Louis XIV of France himself, who offers her his heart and offers to make her his mistress.

Frances’ personal values make her a sympathetic character, and a rarity at Fontainebleau Palace. When she turns King Louis down, she receives her marching orders: cross the channel to England, entice Charles II into her bed, and persuade him to ally with France – and nudge him toward Catholicism. If she fails, a devastating secret involving her family’s heritage may come to light, throwing her family into disfavor and ruining her and her sister’s hopes for good marriages.

Over at London’s Whitehall Palace, Charles II warmly welcomes his distant cousin, and after she takes her place as maid of honor to his Portuguese queen, the atmosphere swirls with intrigue. As Frances and the king grow close, courtiers petition her to act on their behalf, and his official mistress Lady Castlemaine strikes out in jealousy. Frances must keep many goals in careful balance, following the wishes of King Louis and keeping her virtue while acknowledging her own desires.

That she manages to navigate treacherous waters while safeguarding her family’s interests and retaining the king’s respect is a testament to her strength of character. Charles II, likewise, is depicted as strong-minded and lusty yet appealingly vulnerable – a side of him that few but Frances ever get to see. Because the story is told from Frances’ viewpoint, the larger political arena, involving the tenuous ties between France and England and possible war with the Dutch, remains in the background, but readers can see how these forces shape everyone's actions.

The prose, full of richly described attire and furnishings, acknowledges readers’ intelligence with deliciously subtle conversations among the many players. There’s no need to be daunted by the large cast list at the beginning, since everyone’s personality and position comes into clear focus. Fans of high-stakes court intrigue should be more than satisfied with this tale about a Scotswoman of honor and courage.

Girl on the Golden Coin is published today by St. Martin's Press in hardcover ($25.99, 336pp). Thanks to the publisher for sending me a review copy.

The Secrets She Carried by Barbara Davis, a multi-period tale of family ties and family secrets

Barbara Davis’ debut opens with an attention-grabbing prologue. In 1940, Henry Gavin, owner of a large North Carolina tobacco plantation, brings his daughter Maggie to see the final resting place of his wife’s maid, Adele, who was buried high on a distant ridge. Speaking from beyond the grave, Adele sorrowfully tells readers she was Maggie’s real mother but that Henry’s wife raised Maggie as her own.

With this big secret revealed up front, how many surprises can the narrative hold? Quite a few, as it happens. This compulsively readable saga spans five generations of women and presents new mysteries at every turn.

In 2013, Leslie Nichols returns to her Carolina hometown after thirty years’ absence. Her grandmother Maggie had died a year earlier, and Leslie needs to claim her inheritance at last. She clashes at first with Maggie’s caretaker and friend, the ruggedly handsome Jay Davenport, who was left the other half of Peak Plantation.

Fortunately, Leslie sheds her big city arrogance quickly and agrees to partner with Jay in his winemaking venture. As their romance develops, Leslie combs through old papers and photos, including one of a mysterious grave, and becomes consumed by uncovering old secrets. In scenes set back in the ´30s, Adele reveals her difficult role as a companion to Susanne Gavin, an insufferable snob despondent after multiple miscarriages, and her love for Susanne’s morally upright husband, Henry.

Davis has a gift for developing flawed characters and their emotionally wrenching dilemmas. The small-town setting, full of gossip and prejudice in the Depression years, feels realistic. In laying the past to rest, Leslie must also address the problem of her drug-addict father, whose role in her mother’s death was never explained. All of these elements are woven into a very satisfying tale, but one loose thread is left dangling. A sequel would be welcome.

The Secrets She Carried was published in 2013 by NAL Accent ($15.00, 384pp).  I wrote this review as an online exclusive for February's Historical Novels Review, based on a personal purchase; I bought the e-book not realizing the story had a historical thread and decided to review it after that.

Mary-Rose MacColl's In Falling Snow, a thoughtful multi-period novel of war, family, love, and memory

Readers are spoiled for choice with new historical novels set during WWI. Most offer similar themes: navigating the era’s shifting social patterns, how its pointless loss affected generations, and how valor springs from impossible circumstances. Fortunately, each one that I’ve read offers a unique perspective. What distinguishes Mary-Rose MacColl’s international bestseller In Falling Snow are its realistic portrayal of human relationships and focus on women in medicine, in particular its inspiring depiction of the self-sacrificing wartime heroism of the women of France’s Royaumont Abbey.

The narrative has a three-part structure, with two sections flowing effortlessly into one another as Iris Crane’s mind drifts from present to past in old age. In 1914, having failed to stop her 15-year-old brother Tom from enlisting, Iris leaves Australia for Europe to bring him home to their worried father. She gets distracted from her mission after discovering her nurse’s skills are needed at Royaumont, a run-down Cistercian abbey north of Paris that’s being established as a field hospital. Working alongside its industrious chief physician Frances Ivens and hard-edged ambulance driver Violet Heron, Iris finds her calling. For her and its wounded soldiers, the capable medical sisterhood there makes Royaumont a secluded haven in the midst of horror.

Much later, in 1970s Brisbane, an invitation to a reunion reminds Iris of the leaden sense of guilt she’s carried since the war, the full reasons for which are carefully, if somewhat predictably, revealed. In a separate thread, Iris’ granddaughter Grace, an obstetrician in a nearly all-male field, struggles to reconcile her ambitions with her perfectionism and her family’s needs. Although I’m not normally drawn to modern medical dramas, I found Grace’s story gripping. The Royaumont segments are more leisurely paced, but they are immersive nonetheless. Just like Iris, I found myself drawn in and reluctant to leave.

In Falling Snow was published last August by Penguin ($16.00, trade paperback, 454pp). It's also out in the UK (by Allison & Busby), Canada (Penguin Canada), and Australia (Allen & Unwin), the author's home country.  This review also appears in February's Historical Novels Review.  I'm home on a snow day – the university is closed – so this was a natural choice to pick for today's review.

Frances Brody's Murder in the Afternoon, an intelligent mystery set in 1920s Yorkshire

Frances Brody's Murder in the Afternoon successfully melds the British historical saga and the traditional crime novel.  The plot and characters reflect the era: the socially turbulent 1920s, when working men fought for fair treatment, liberated career women met with patronizing attitudes, and people across England struggled to emerge from the Great War's long shadow.

In this third entry in an ongoing series, it's May of 1923, and thirtyish war widow and private investigator Kate Shackleton gets awakened at 4am by a woman who needs her help.  Mary Jane Armstrong's husband Ethan has disappeared from the quarry where he worked as a stonemason.  Their ten-year-old daughter Harriet says she found him lying dead in his hut after bringing him lunch the day before, but his body has vanished, and the local police don't believe her. 

Ethan, a charismatic leader, had been organizing a strike at the quarry; in addition, he and Mary Jane had argued just before he left for work. The blue slate sundial he'd been crafting for his boss is found crushed in pieces.  Did he smash it in revenge before abandoning his wife and family, or was he murdered? Clues to this complex puzzle are intricately woven into the story as Kate discovers a startling family connection to Mary Jane and encounters resistance from an unexpected place.

Kate has a quick, wry wit that makes her narrative a lot of fun to read.  "His eyebrows arched high enough to let a train of hostile thought pass," she says of an old-school police sergeant who's suspicious of female detectives. With her confident demeanor and gentle upbringing, Kate knows how to get things done, remaining aware of the "Yorkshire caution" she knows she'll find among the residents of Great Applewick. One minor distraction is her tendency to step back from what's happening and make present-tense observations; this takes some getting used to.

Because of Ethan's political activities, Kate's lover from Scotland Yard gets brought in, but it takes someone with Kate's brand of determination and sly thoroughness to crack the case – with the help of some clever undercover work by her partner, Jim Sykes.  Brody's knowledge of the geography, housing, and speech patterns of working-class Northern England adds to the convincing atmosphere, as do her depictions of "country children."

Although two Kate Shackleton novels precede this one, Brody doesn't waste time getting readers up to speed with her characters.  The solutions to the earlier mysteries aren't revealed here, either, which should give those new to the series more to look forward to in her backlist.  As Frances McNeil, she has also written many novels set in and around her home city of Leeds; her Somewhere Behind the Morning won the HarperCollins Elizabeth Elgin Award for the Most Regionally Evocative Saga of the Millennium.

Murder in the Afternoon is published on February 11th by Minotaur in the US ($25.99/$29.99 in Canada, hardcover, 387pp). It's also available in the UK from Piatkus in paperback (£8.99), with the same gorgeous original artwork on the cover.  Thanks to the publisher for sending me a review copy.

Announcement and call for participants: An upcoming focus on small press historical novels

Last March, I ran a month-long focus on historical novels from small and independent presses in honor of Small Press Month, as a way of bringing more attention to the valuable contributions these presses make to a vibrant and diverse literary marketplace.  The official observance of this occasion no longer exists, but in this era of merger-mania in the publishing world, the roles that small presses play are more important than ever – both for authors and their readers.

So I plan to continue with my observance of Small Press Month this coming March, even if this former national celebration is now quite a bit smaller.

You can help if you like, though – by reading along, spreading the word, reviewing small press historicals on your blogs, and by contributing a guest essay if you so choose.

Here's what I have planned.  During March 2014, I'll be offering reviews, guest posts, and spotlights on historical novels from small and independent presses.  As I mentioned last year, definitions for this term can vary, but I'll be using it to include those publishers outside of the Big Six Five that are independently run and not part of large conglomerates.  These publishers may or may not have large marketing budgets, and I hope to draw attention to worthy historical novels that readers may otherwise miss.

I'll be putting together showcases of small press historical novels, similar to those from last year, in four different categories:  US small presses (no specific focus), historical mysteries, university presses, and international small presses.

In addition, I have some reviews of exciting small press titles to post, and a few guest essays have already been scheduled.  I asked my husband to create a special graphic for my site, and you can see what he came up with above (isn't it purty?).  I'd love to be able to post something new every other day, at least, so here's an opportunity.

If you're an author with a historical novel out from a traditional small press (or if you work at a small press which publishes historical fiction) and you'd like to contribute a guest post during March, drop me a line (sarah at readingthepast dot com) with potential ideas.  If you're curious to read past contributions from guest writers, you can find a long selection of them here.  Giveaway offers are welcome, too, but I prefer to run these in conjunction with guest posts and not on their own.

If you're a blogger interested in reviewing a small press title or two (or more) on your own site during March, it would be great to have some company.  If there's any interest, I'll set up a Mr. Linky where you can link up your reviews later on.

Finally, since my 8th blogiversary is coming up in late March, I'll do as I did last year and offer a contest of some sort.

So, stay tuned – and look out for more on Small Press Month in a month from now!

Book review: The Swan Gondola, by Timothy Schaffert

Offering an expertly conjured atmosphere complete with soothsayers, cure-all tonics, technological gadgetry, and daring high-wire acts, Schaffert’s whimsical epic of illusion and reality at the 1898 Omaha World’s Fair promises and delivers grand entertainment.

One evening backstage at the Empress Opera House, “Ferret” Skerritt, ventriloquist and letter-writer-for-hire from the former frontier town’s rough neighborhoods, sees Cecily, a lovely actress with eyes the “color of candied ginger,” and falls hard for her. Ferret is nothing if not persistent, and after she returns his affections, they—along with the precious bundle Cecily carries in a carpetbag—become an improvised family. But as the summer ends, their sweet romance gets disrupted by a lonely entrepreneur whose money can buy him almost everything.

Audiences will be lured in by the offbeat personalities and carried along by the unexpected plot developments, but the real showstopper is the exuberant Gilded Age setting, imagined in elaborate detail. With so many wondrous attractions, this finely spun world feels almost dreamlike, yet Schaffert also takes a sharp look at what’s most important in life. A distinctive choice for literary- and historical-fiction readers, as well as steampunk fans wanting to cast their minds back to that genre’s origins.

The Swan Gondola will be published on February 6th by Riverhead ($27.95, hardcover, 464pp).  I wrote this starred review for Booklist's January issue.

Some additional comments:

- Although I don't usually go for novels about circuses and fairs and things of that sort (maybe stemming from a fear of clowns I had as a child... but I digress), I absolutely loved this one.

- The cover design is a great match for what's inside, plus it's seriously cool.

- There are links to The Wizard of Oz to be found within, but background knowledge (or even enjoyment) of the book or film isn't necessary in order to appreciate Swan Gondola.

- I think this is my favorite novel of 2014 so far; it will make my top 10 for the year for sure.

Why Casanova? A guest post by Greg Michaels, author of The Secrets of Casanova

For today's blog entry, Greg Michaels, author of The Secrets of Casanova (Booktrope Editions, 2013), reveals why he chose one of history's most notorious libertines for his novel's protagonist—and the unexpected discoveries he made while researching Casanova's life.

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Why Casanova?

Greg Michaels

I’d had my fill of the walking dead. Couldn’t stomach another twelfth-century zombie. Was bored to tears with vampire heroes.

“But,” you scold, “you chose an incorrigible, womanizing charlatan to be the protagonist of your book?”

“Yikes,” I reply, “I did.”

But please, please, allow me to digress...

Not to get too personal about a whole generation of folks, but for those of us who survived the wild and crazy ‘70’s and ‘80’s—well, I’ll talk about just me—by the turn of the new century I was in need of a bit of redemption. If nothing else, it was imperative for me to discover what I really felt about life, religion, salvation, the metaphysical, afterlife, etc. You know—the pesky subjects.

“Too much confusion in my spirit,” I thought. “Writing could be potent therapy. So maybe a glossy coffee-table book. Something cool like that.”

Now what’s that quote? “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” A teacher, an historical figure, appeared just as I was primed for a spiritual lesson or two. That is, a guy’s biography practically jumped from the bookstore shelf into my sweaty palms. And I bet you know whose biography it was.

Casanova lived from 1725-1798, during a period that was later called The Age of Reason. From your high school history class, you’ll effortlessly recall The Age of Reason as a time of scientific thought, skepticism, and intellectual interchange that challenged the established order, especially government and religion.

Religion! Wasn’t that one of the subjects that was troubling me?

“This ain’t gonna be no coffee table book,” I finally decided. No, Casanova leaped from each biographical page. He was larger than life, an icon of the Western civilization, bigger than a coffee-table book.

Why, even the meek and mild Merriam Webster Dictionary defined a “Casanova” as “a man who is a promiscuous and unscrupulous lover.” Ah, here was a decadent cad upon whom I could hang my literary hat. Here was an antihero who could lurch from decadence to redemption in three-hundred pages. And, by the way, did I mention that some called him genius?

But wait, unbelievably there was more that could fit my literary needs: as a young man, Casanova began his training in the priesthood—until he was expelled from the seminary for dissolute behavior. Later, after particularly frustrating life experiences, he twice considered checking into a monastery. I began to suspect that beneath his debauched behavior there was some spiritual underpinning to the man, a kernel of decency.

And then there were Casanova’s words in the preface of his autobiography: “I am not only a monotheist but a Christian whose faith is strengthened by philosophy, which has never injured anything.” And his deathbed words: “Almighty God, and you witnesses of my death, I have lived as a philosopher and die as a Christian.”

Casanova’s biographer didn’t buy a word of it. But maybe it was up to me to decide?

Oh also, along the way, I discovered that Casanova rubbed shoulders with kings, queens, philosophers, popes, pimps, prostitutes, and adventurers. This libertine knew life from the gutter to the church spire. Fabulous!

Casanova’s character—or lack of it—excited me. The way he lived his life electrified me. Could I—in a novel—bottle some of his exuberant spirit, his intellectual prowess, his damning deficiencies? As a protagonist, what questions might Casanova ask? What could he find? What would be the dramatic result? Casanova himself says “I did not stop to discover if what was leading me on was vice or virtue.” What a vast literary license that provided!

And why not put a smart, brave woman at his side? For moral balance.

Whole-heartedly I chose Casanova as my main man. With my pen I’ve sent him on an epic journey throughout Europe in a search for his heart, mind, and soul.

Now dear blog reader, if you’re in need of a little adventuresome “therapy” for past transgressions—even if all your evils took place in this twenty-first century—may I humbly suggest The Secrets of Casanova? This historical novel will present few “answers” but be assured, there are plenty of those pesky, soul-searching questions. And mystery, romance, and adventure.

Thanks for reading.

~

Greg Michaels received his BA in anthropology from the University of Texas at Austin, a chance experience thrust him into a career as a professional actor and fight director. To date he's acted in fifty theater productions, more than forty television shows, and choreographed dozens of fights for stage and screen. In The Secrets of Casanova, Greg again proves his skill at telling a theatrical story. He lives with his wife, two sons, and Andy the hamster.

About The Secrets of Casanova:   Paris of 1755 is bloated with opportunity. That’s the way Jacques Casanova, an unredeemed adventurer with an ever-surging appetite for pleasure, needs it. But times, men, and gods are changing—and Jacques’ luck is fading. When he is thrust to the center of a profound mystery, he doesn’t care if vice or virtue leads him onward. “After all,” he declares, “a man who asks himself too many questions is an unhappy man.” But as Jacques’ challenges mount, what questions will he ask? What price must he pay to uncover a treasure of inestimable value? Loosely based on Casanova’s life of intrigue, peril, and passion, Michaels’ The Secrets of Casanova will keep you burning the midnight oil.

Sujata Massey's The Ayah's Tale, an absorbing e-novella of class divisions in 1920s Bengal

Earlier this week I got word about Sujata Massey's new book via an email from one of the bargain e-book sites I subscribe to.  A self-published e-novella written by an award-winning mystery author whose first mainstream historical (The Sleeping Dictionary) was released last fall, The Ayah's Tale examines the plight of a 16-year-old Bengali girl, Menakshi Dutt, who takes a job as an ayah (nanny) to an English family in India in 1923-24.  Of course I pounced right on it!

This short book contains elements that readers of other historical novels of pre-independence India will find familiar: the bored and neglected English society wife, her wealthy husband, and descriptions of the less privileged lives of their native Indian servants.

However, what increases the book's originality is Massey's decision to tell her story from the dual viewpoints of Menakshi and the second eldest son in her employers' family. Julian is a six-year-old boy who exhibits the typical self-absorption of a child whose every need is met, but he's also loving, generous, and observant.  In his appealingly youthful voice, Julian reveals many unusual goings-on that readers will know how to decipher, but which he isn't old enough to understand fully. 

Mrs. Millings, his mother, distracts herself from her dreary life by throwing parties while her high-profile husband, the Commissioner for Burdwan District, devotes himself to his work in the Indian Civil Service.  This leaves primary responsibility for the couple's three older children with Menakshi – and so firm are the divisions between social classes that the children don't know her first name or even realize she has one.  She is simply "Ayah."

There are early warning signs about Mrs. Millings, in particular her sharpness and pointed snobbery. She tells lies about Menakshi's perfectly respectable family to her socialite friends and fails to acknowledge that Menakshi is both educated and a Christian, just like her. All of the drama within the Millings family finally comes to a head during one fateful Christmas holiday.

Massey paints a convincing picture of the hypocrisy of society during the British Raj and the deliberate ignorance that keeps three groups – the British, Indians, and Anglo-Indians – separated even as young Indian women working as ayahs become mother figures to British children.  I came away with a strong sense of Menakshi's horribly awkward position and the disrespect she has to endure.  Although still young, she keeps her dignity and is wise enough to know which battles she can and cannot win.  I empathized with her and cheered when a love interest appeared on her horizon.

The tale is framed by an episode set much later, on the island of Penang in Malaysia in 1952, as an older Menakshi comes across a novel written by the grown-up Julian in her small town library and realizes it was based on episodes from his childhood. The ending is very satisfying; it allows for some measure of closure for Menakshi, as she revisits feelings about the young charge she had come to care for deeply, and for the reader as well.

The Ayah's Tale was published in December as a Kindle original; the list price is $2.99, though it's on sale now for less.

Winner of the 2013 Langum Prize for American Historical Fiction

Gary Schanbacher's Crossing Purgatory (Pegasus, 2013) has been announced as the winner of the 2013 Langum Prize for American Historical Fiction.

From the press release:

"The title carries a double meaning, referring to the crossing of a river in western Kansas where the protagonist settled and made his home, and also the crossing of his own, personal purgatory. A spiritual dimension enlightens this book, not pushed upon the reader and so subtle that an uninterested reader could ignore it but then miss much of the book’s value.

"Irrespective of the protagonist’s inner struggles, the story itself is well-told and exciting. Once again, we have an excellent novel that paints the west with more depth than is usual, that portrays the evil and the hardship as well as the rewards."


The two Honorable Mentions are Christine Wade's Seven Locks (Atria, 2013), set in the rural Hudson River Valley during the American Revolution, and Pamela Schoenewaldt's Swimming in the Moon (Morrow, 2013), a novel of immigrant life in turn-of-the-century Cleveland.

The prize shortlist for 2013 included the following historical novels:

The Blood of Heaven, by Kent Wascom (Grove Press) [my review]
Crossing Purgatory, by Gary Schanbacher (Pegasus) [author's guest post on this site]
Seven Locks, by Christine Wade (Atria) [my review]
The Son, by Philipp Meyer (Ecco)
Swimming in the Moon, by Pamela Schoenewaldt (Morrow)
The Tilted World, by Tom Franklin and Beth Ann Fennelly (Morrow) [my review]
Nostalgia, by Dennis McFarland (Pantheon)
My Notorious Life, by Kate Manning (Scribner)
Love and Lament, by John Milliken Thompson (Other Press)

For more on the prize, see the Langum Charitable Trust. To submit a novel for consideration, view the directions available at the site; the Trust has also issued guidelines used by their readers and selection committee, which authors should find useful as well. The prize is awarded annually to the "best book in American historical fiction that is both excellent fiction and excellent history."

Past years' winners include Ron Rash's The Cove, Julie Otsuka's The Buddha in the Attic, Ann Weisgarber's The Personal History of Rachel DuPree, Edward Rutherfurd's New York, and Kathleen Kent's The Heretic's Daughter. 

Book review: The Ghost of the Mary Celeste, by Valerie Martin

Martin’s latest novel delves into the lingering questions surrounding the Mary Celeste, an American brig found drifting, intact but abandoned, in the open Atlantic in 1872. Eschewing a traditional linear narrative for an unconventional yet far more effective structure, Martin creates what seem at first to be loosely connected vignettes.

Arthur Conan Doyle, who wrote a sensationalist tale about the ship’s fate in his youth, appears at several different points in his life, and a journalist crosses paths several times with an enigmatic medium she hopes to debunk. It progressively becomes clear that their stories link in multiple ways with the Briggs family of Marion, Massachusetts, many of whom died at sea.

Characterization is first-rate, as is the historical sensibility. Subtle undercurrents of impending tragedy create a disquieting effect throughout, a fitting atmosphere for a work about a society preoccupied with making contact with deceased loved ones. The scenes of maritime disasters are realistically terrifying. A haunting, if sometimes slowly paced, speculative look at a long-unsolved maritime mystery and the unsettling relationships between writers and their subjects.

The Ghost of the Mary Celeste is published by Nan A. Talese/Doubleday next week in the US ($25.95, hardcover, 320pp).  It will also appear from Weidenfeld & Nicolson in the UK on February 20th.  This review first appeared in Booklist's October 15th issue.

Some additional notes and confessions:

- Before the ARC for this novel landed on my desk, I hadn't heard of the Mary Celeste before, and I'm not sure how I missed knowing about it.  My lack of familiarity with the fate of its captain's family definitely heightened the suspense.  That said, there should be plenty of surprises in this novel even if you know the basic history.

- I love the cover art.  It captures the mood of the novel perfectly.

- Marion, Massachusetts, is a picturesque seaboard town that sits at the gateway to Cape Cod. At the risk of inserting an inappropriate moment of levity in the discussion of a serious literary novel, I can't resist posting a link to singer-songwriter John Forster's performance of "Entering Marion," his very funny tribute to the town and driving around Massachusetts in general.  He gives some historical background to the state's quirky road signage in his intro, and it's worth putting up with the shakiness at the beginning to see the rest.

- Martin's novel is one of those books that got me hooked on its subject; I've been seeking out more information on the Mary Celeste ever since.  In 2007, the Smithsonian Channel produced an hour-long documentary, "The True Story of the Mary Celeste," that posited a solution to this haunting mystery.  I watched it last month and have to say it was mighty convincing.  It's being re-broadcast a few times in early February in the US and seems to be shown pretty regularly.

A young voice from the past: a guest essay by Leah Pileggi, author of Prisoner 88

Leah Pileggi, author of Prisoner 88, is my guest at Reading the Past today.  Prisoner 88 is categorized as a middle-grade historical novel, yet I believe it will also intrigue adult readers due to its young hero and his experiences – which are based on a true story.  Please read on!

~

A Young Voice from the Past

Leah Pileggi

I stumbled onto the inspiration for Prisoner 88 while touring the Old Idaho Penitentiary in Boise on a blazing hot day in June of 2007. Built in the 1870s and closed as a prison since riots in the 1970s, the remains of the “Old Pen” bake under the summer sun and frost over in winter. I couldn’t help thinking How could anyone have survived in this place? Toward the end of the tour, the docent said, “The youngest prisoner ever held here was ten years old.” What? “It was in the 1880s,” he said. “He shot a man.” I had to read that book. Not only were there no books about that particular ten-year-old boy, there wasn’t very much known about him at all other than the fact that he had been there, he was 4’ 6” when he arrived, and his name was James Oscar Baker.

From the Idaho Register, 1885

Since I live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, the Idaho Historical Society was my lifeline to primary sources. Vintage newspaper clippings set the stage. In 1885, James Oscar Baker was in a saloon in Soda Springs, Idaho, with his father when an argument erupted. A man threatened to shoot James Oscar’s father. The son stepped in, grabbed a gun and took a shot. The man died right there in the saloon.

The trial transcripts, written in the elaborate cursive of the day, included witness statements. Even though the assortment of witnesses didn’t all remember what happened in exactly the same way, it was pretty clear that it was James Oscar and not his father who fired the shot. But even if that was true, how was it that a ten-year-old was sent to serve time in the penitentiary? A retired Idaho judge agreed to read the transcripts for me, and he explained how that happened.

Someone (perhaps his attorney) had told James Oscar that he should plead guilty to manslaughter, that if he didn’t do that, he might end up being convicted of murder and spend the rest of his life in prison. So he pleaded guilty to manslaughter, and because of that, he had to serve time. There was only one place to do that in 1885 Idaho: The Idaho Territorial Penitentiary. It didn’t matter his age. Guilty = Must serve time.

Through letters from the attorneys for James Oscar’s parents, I found that James Oscar had been disowned by his parents while in prison. When he was released, it was to the custody of a man named Cyrenius Mulkey – a friend of the governor – and his wife. That information was corroborated by a book called Eighty-Three Years of Frontier Life, the autobiography of Cyrenius Mulkey written when he was eighty-one years old and revised two years later.

What I didn’t find was a day-to-day record of the boy’s time behind bars or of any inmate at that time. So I immersed myself in 1880s Idaho including everything I could find about the Old Pen.

Close-up of stone wall, Old Pen

The penitentiary was self-sustaining all the way up through the Depression with the inmates working in an orchard, in gardens and with livestock. The prison walls were built of local sandstone blasted from the hills nearby, blasting that was done by prisoners (who handled the dynamite) due to a lack of money to hire workers. Prisoners included Chinese men who had come to America to discover gold or perhaps were brought over to work on the railroads. Some prisoners were Mormon “cohabs,” polygamy still being supported by the Mormons at that time.

Old Pen, three layers of cells

Once I had 1880s Idaho absorbed into my consciousness, I let my protagonist, Jake, write his story. There were days when I would pick up from my previous day’s writing and I would think, Where did that come from? I like that, but I don’t remember writing it. As though Jake truly was writing his own story. And for me, that’s the beauty of historical fiction. Finding that voice – in this case, a young voice – and letting the past speak for itself.

~

Leah Pileggi has published in The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Chautauquan Daily and Hopscotch Magazine. She has been writing for about ten years, and her first book of nonfiction, How to Design a World-Class Engineering College: A History of Engineering at Carnegie Mellon University, was just released. She lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she bikes whenever possible, practices yoga and occasionally plays the mandolin.  Visit her website at www.leahpileggi.com and follow her on Twitter at @pileggi88.

Prisoner 88 was published in 2013 by Charlesbridge ($16.95, hardcover, 144pp).

What's in a name? An essay by Alex Myers, author of Revolutionary

I'm very pleased to welcome Alex Myers to the blog.  Today he's contributed an original essay about the background research for his debut novel, Revolutionary, specifically his quest to find primary source accounts of his protagonist's early years.  Revolutionary follows the remarkable story of Deborah Samson, a young woman from southeastern Massachusetts who fought in the American Revolution disguised as a man.  Hope you'll enjoy reading about his research journey.

~

What's In a Name?

Alex Myers

At times during the composition of Revolutionary, it seemed like the research would never end. What road leads from Middleborough to Taunton? Where did the ferry cross the Hudson in the spring of 1782? What currency was most commonly used in southeastern Massachusetts, and how much would a room at an inn cost? There were facts momentous and mundane to establish. There was verisimilitude to render. There was a historical record to which I felt accountable. But amid all this, one tiny question, a miniscule point to resolve, led me to a profound insight into the period.

Artist's rendition of Deborah Samson
(or Sampson)

The heroine of Revolutionary is based on a real person, Deborah Samson, whose surname is also spelled Sampson. From my research, I knew that Sampson is the more common spelling, but there is debate as to its accuracy. This bothered me. And for reasons that I can’t quite explain, I really wanted her name to be Samson in my book (perhaps it’s just because I have a contrarian streak… and I think I wanted some connection between her and the biblical character, though that part got edited out).

As a descendant of Deborah, I knew my own copy of the family tree recorded “Sampson,” and certainly Google searches of her name yielded far more texts that had the “p” than didn’t. But these contemporary sources weren’t satisfying to me, so I delved into the historical records. I don’t know what I expected to find, but the results surprised me. There is no remaining record of Deborah writing or signing her maiden name. There are others who recorded it – she is noted in the record of the Middleborough Baptist Congregation at the time when she joined and also at the time when they excommunicated her (for purportedly dressing in men’s clothes and other “unchristian” behavior). There is a document of intention to marry, written by some clerk. After this, she becomes Deborah Gannett and, as she lobbied for her right to a pension, I found more of her writing and letters, though not her maiden name.

But at this point in my research, the spelling of the name ceased to interest me so much. I went back again and again, looking for more evidence of her early years. But that was it. Two Baptist records are the sole surviving mentions of this young woman. More than anything, this made me think about how profoundly different the world in which she lived was from our world today. How many official records of our existence are tucked in file folders somewhere? How many of our signatures – digital and inked – are floating about at large? We are everywhere. We blare our existences: we proclaim and proclaim who we are. (It is for someone else to answer whether anyone hears us. Or whether any of this flotsam will survive for two hundred years.)

Deborah’s name as a young woman is nearly effaced from history. Just two surviving mentions. How easily, given a less remarkable later life, she might have disappeared altogether. And these two mentions are written in someone else’s hand (in one she is Samson, in the other Sampson). I felt that somehow this explained Deborah’s early life to me. She didn’t get to establish herself much. She had to yield to the rules of society and society was determined to keep women in confined roles with very limited identities. Though I had read a good deal about women’s lives in late-eighteenth century New England, the scanty physical evidence of Deborah’s name impressed the reality on me much more than the narrative accounts I had studied. She barely existed in any public way – women were private entities, owned property.

Imagine my delight, then, to discover the one record that remains of her hand signing her name before she was married. This signature survives in the records of the Massachusetts Archives, in faded ink on a discolored page. The text begins: “Received of Mr. Noah Taft, Chairman of Class No. 2 for The Town of Uxbridge, The Sum of Sixty Pounds Legal Money as a bounty to serve in the Continental Army For the term of Three years.” And it ends with the firm and legible signature of one Robert Shurtliff.

~

Alex Myers' Revolutionary was published in January in hardcover by Simon & Schuster (320pp, $26) and as an ebook (currently $11.89 on Kindle).  My Booklist review can be found here.

Alex Myers' Revolutionary, based on the true story of a female Revolutionary War soldier

“You must be able to imagine how good it feels to be assumed capable and intelligent and not always to have to prove this matter,” writes Deborah Samson to her friend, Jennie, during her remarkable Revolutionary War service, which she accomplishes while disguised as a man named Robert Shurtliff. In his debut, transgender author Myers relates the story of a courageous, real-life woman. His straightforward, clear prose lets the important and complex issues he raises shine through, including gender identification, the desire for self-expression, and the meaning of freedom in an era when women’s choices and actions were severely constrained.

The novel follows Deborah, a tall, sturdily built 21-year-old who escapes repressive Middleborough, Massachusetts, in 1782 by enlisting in the Continental Army. Crisply rendered scenes shift from days of camaraderie and routine camp life around West Point to deadly skirmishes, the unmasking of traitors, and the discovery of unexpected love. With this thought-provoking work, Myers resists modernizing Deborah/Robert’s predicament and lets readers explore both the external and internal transformations of this valiant American soldier.

Revolutionary is published today in hardcover by Simon & Schuster (320pp, $26) and as an ebook (currently $11.89 on Kindle). This review first appeared in Booklist on 11/15/13.

Some additional observations:

- I used to live down the street from Middleborough (also spelled Middleboro), Massachusetts, and enjoyed seeing the town as it would have appeared in the 1780s – even though it clearly wasn't the most comfortable environment for a female servant who wanted some measure of personal independence. Two of my ancestors were living there back then, so I imagine they would have been familiar with Deborah's story.  Today, Middleboro may be best known as the "cranberry capital of the world," as the headquarters for Ocean Spray.

- Per a note from the publisher, the author, Alex Myers, has a genealogical connection to Deborah Samson Gannett (her married name), and learned about her life story from his grandmother.

Statue of Deborah Samson Gannett, located in
front of the Sharon Public Library, Mass.

- If military historical novels aren't usually your thing, fear not.  Revolutionary provides just enough details on marches and musketry to inform readers without getting bogged down in technical details, and the development of Deborah/Robert's character remains at the center.

- Deborah realizes that in addition to trimming her hair, binding her breasts, and wearing men's clothes, she has to adopt a male mindset to pass herself off as a soldier successfully.  There's one particular scene I thought was especially creatively written; the pronouns used to describe Deborah (she, her) begin to shift and mingle with male pronouns (he, his) until the transformation is complete, and the viewpoint of Robert takes over.  Because the English language forces us to use pronouns to describe gender, that scene may seem confusing upon first reading, but I quickly realized it was necessary; it also performs a valuable service in making readers think about what's going on in her/his mind.

- Has anyone else noticed a mini-trend of novels about historical women who disguised themselves as men to escape the restrictions of their sex?  In addition to Revolutionary, there's Erin Lindsay McCabe's I Shall Be Near To You (Crown, also January), about a woman who fought alongside her husband during the U.S. Civil War, and William Klaber's The Rebellion of Miss Lucy Ann Lobdell (Greenleaf, 2013), about another real-life woman who adopted a male persona in 1855 to earn higher wages, and who kept the disguise up for most of the rest of her life.  Forthcoming will be Kathy Hepinstall and her sister Becky Hepinstall's The Girls of Shiloh, listed as a deal in Publishers Marketplace in December.  Publication will be 2015, by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Pig's Foot by Carlos Acosta, a colorful foray through Cuban history

Internationally acclaimed ballet dancer Acosta has encapsulated more than 100 years in the history of his native Cuba into a grandly entertaining debut novel.

In 1995, while being interrogated for reasons not yet revealed, Oscar Mandinga spins a colorful yarn about his ancestors and the rustic backwater village they called home: Pata de Puerco, or “Pig’s Foot” in English.

It begins with his great-grandfather and namesake, a pygmy of African heritage. He and his best friend, José, marry sisters, and their lives, and those of others they meet, play out against Cuba’s troubled political backdrop, from violent slave uprisings on a sugar plantation to the Spanish-American War to the Communist revolution and afterward.

The younger Oscar’s tone is rough and sarcastic, and the tales he tells are often exaggerated, but underneath all the bluster are several tender stories of love and family and the gradual unfolding of his heartfelt search for identity. Pata de Puerco may exist solely within Acosta’s rich imagination, but its unique characters and their exploits will long resonate in readers’ minds.

Pig's Foot will be published by Bloomsbury USA next Tuesday, January 14th, in hardcover ($26, 352pp). Bloomsbury published it in the UK last October. Frank Wynne translated it from the original Spanish. This review first appeared in Booklist (11/15/13).

Some additional notes:

(1) While it can definitely be called a historical novel, Pig's Foot also fits with the Latin American tradition of magical realism, which probably will come as no surprise.

(2) There's a twist at the end that readers may find either entirely suitable, given the outlandish nature of a good part of the plot, or unsettling and upsetting.  (I was part of the first group.)

(3) At the end of 2013, the author was recognized with a CBE in Queen Elizabeth II's New Year's Honours List for his services to ballet.

Going Down the Line: A guest post by Laurie Loewenstein, author of Unmentionables

Please help me welcome Laurie Loewenstein to the blog today.  Her original essay about Circuit Chautauqua, which features in her historical novel Unmentionables (out today in trade paperback), has piqued my interest in this unique form of itinerant entertainment and cultural education; I'm tempted to travel to see one of its modern re-enactments next summer.  Hope you'll enjoy her post!

~

Going Down the Line

Laurie Loewenstein

Even before the first chords of “The Indian Love Call” are struck by five Filipino musicians, the air under the brown canvas tent is electric. Farm families and townsfolk alike have waited all year for this moment, and now the opening salvo has been launched with a vigorous strumming of mandolins, banjos and guitars. Hundreds of palm fans flutter against the oppressive afternoon heat as the audience readies itself for a week of edification, culture and entertainment.

From 1904 to the late 1920s, networks of orators, singers, humorists and orchestras toured the rural areas of the Midwest, South and West, in what became known as Circuit (or Traveling) Chautauqua. In 1924, when the phenomenon was at its peak, it is estimated that more than 40 million people attended a Chautauqua performance. Theodore Roosevelt famously called it “The Most American Thing in America.”

While rural citizens took a week away from the demands of farm and shop to bask in the rhapsody of chiffon-gowned sopranos, the mystery of illusionists and the allure of intrepid adventurers, it was the orators who reigned over the platforms. In his loose alpaca coat and with one hand on a block of ice to cool himself, William Jennings Bryan sweated out his famous “Cross of Gold” speech to as many as 30,000 people a night as he crisscrossed America’s heartland.

The handsome, silver-haired Lieutenant Governor of Ohio, Warren G. Harding, exuding small-town charisma, charmed Chautauqua audiences for decades with his discourse on Alexander Hamilton. Even after he was elected senator, Harding continued to step onto Chautauqua stages under the sweltering canvas. Harding’s open-hearted friendliness and soaring baritone trumped his critics, including H.L. Mencken who remarked that Harding’s words were nothing more than “a string of wet sponges.”

Formidable women lecturers, part of the rising tide of reform in the early 20th century, held forth on hundreds of Chautauqua platforms during these years. Jane Addams of Hull House fame, Ida Tarbell, a leading muckraker famous for her expose on Standard Oil, and suffragist Anna Shaw all took the stage at one time or another. Maud Ballington Booth, billed as the “Mother of Prisons,” spoke unceasingly about appalling conditions in British and American penitentiaries.

It was within this charged atmosphere of forthright orators, both male and female, that I imagined the fictional Marian Elliott Adams would take her place in my novel, Unmentionables. Marian, an activist for women’s dress reform, undertakes the grueling itinerary of nightly performances in small towns dotting the midlands in order to win converts to the loose tunics (sans corsets) that she advocates.

I was fortunate to find a wealth of digitized materials documenting Circuit Chautauqua compiled by the University of Iowa. Examining the multi-page program booklets passed out to every subscriber and the pamphlets distributed by hundreds of individual performers, I was able to re-imagine the world in which Marian moved. “Going down the line,” as regular Chautauqua talent called it, was not for the faint of heart. Many endured long train rides from one small town to the next over many consecutive nights. They learned to catch naps, as William Jennings Bryan did, on wooden benches with iron armrests for pillows. The heat under the tents was famously intense. Hail storms at times ripped holes in the canvas, but the orators did not drop a syllable. 

Source for photos: University of Iowa; reprinted with permission.

Traveling Chautauqua disappeared in the early 1930s, a fatality of the radio, which connected the isolated hamlets of America in ways the Circuit never could. Chautauqua, however, lives on. The Chautauqua Institute, the progenitor of the Circuit, continues its mission to provide ongoing adult education of the highest quality as it has since 1874. Beginning in 1904, the commercial booking agencies adapted the Institute’s format to create Circuit Chautauqua. Additionally, Humanities Councils in several states, including Ohio, Maryland and Nebraska, now mount summer Chautauqua events featuring historical impersonators.

In these ways while Circuit Chautauqua performers no longer “go down the line,” their voices and music still ring across the years.

~

Laurie Loewenstein’s Unmentionables was published by Kaylie Jones Books, an imprint of Akashic Books, in January 2014 ($15.95, trade pb, 320pp). Visit the author’s website at laurieloewenstein.com.

James Scott's The Kept, a taut revenge tale set in the snowy New York wilderness

The first sentence of Scott’s atmospheric debut, set in frozen upstate New York in 1897, proclaims: “Elspeth Howell was a sinner.” Indeed she is, by anyone’s reckoning, but within this dark, violent landscape, only sinners have a chance.

Already burdened by her transgressions—"anger, covetousness, thievery"—midwife Elspeth arrives at her remote farm after a months-long absence and discovers her family brutally killed—all but 12-year-old Caleb, who shoots her, thinking she is one of the murderers, returned. After Elspeth recovers sufficiently from her wounds, under Caleb’s makeshift care, they set out to bring down the three men responsible.

This taut revenge tale, as gritty as any western, is also an unusual coming-of-age story and a compelling saga of twisted secrets in which the very unmaternal Elspeth and the son she barely knows (and why is that?) slowly form a close bond. Scott writes with sustained intensity and strong descriptive powers, whether evoking the pair’s dangerous trudge through high snowdrifts, the rough lake town where many answers lie, or his characters’ complex lives and motivations.

The Kept is published this Tuesday, January 7th, by Harper ($25.99, hb, 368pp). This review first appeared in Booklist's 11/15/13 issue.  Since I'm sitting here in my house on the Midwestern prairie in the middle of Snowpocalypse 2014, awaiting -20 degrees by later tonight, the chilly setting for this historical thriller seemed all too apropos. 

Book review: The Lost Duchess, by Jenny Barden

Jenny Barden’s second book, a stand-alone sequel to her Mistress of the Sea, moves smoothly from Old World court etiquette to New World exploits. There are comparatively few novels that imagine the Elizabethan Golden Age from the perspective of its explorers, and even fewer about the lost Roanoke colonists, so The Lost Duchess deserves a warm welcome for those reasons alone.

Its heroine is an appealingly spirited young woman with a strong heart for adventure, and other highlights include the many beautiful descriptions of Virginia, a land of glorious, unspoiled wilderness and life-threatening perils.

For lady-in-waiting Emme Fifield, a baron’s daughter, joining the expedition to form the first permanent English colony in America solves many problems. She’ll avoid the damaging repercussions of a scandal not of her making while escaping her rigid life in London and satisfying her yearning for freedom.

Emme promises to come home on the Lion’s return voyage and provide intelligence on the expedition to Queen Elizabeth and Francis Walsingham.  To keep her plans secret, she’s advised to take a new name and travel as the maidservant of Eleanor Dare, daughter of colony governor John White.  However, she has every intention of remaining in Virginia. Meanwhile, complicating her life is her growing attraction to master boatswain Kit Doonan, who has a complicated past of his own – and personal reasons for wanting to sail to Roanoke.

Readers get to experience every aspect of Emme and Kit’s journey alongside them: the dangerous lurches of the ship during storms at sea, the pride of the “planters” in their newly constructed City of Raleigh, and the pair’s tender romance, a selfless love that serves to make them both stronger. The colonists’ relations with the Indians are presented with complexity, from the Secotans’ hostility to English incursion – which, it has to be said, isn’t unjustified – to the heroic efforts of Manteo, the settlers’ Croatan ally, to preserve the peace. Emme comes to play a greater role in the colony’s planning than one would expect of an unmarried female servant, but many of its leaders either know or suspect that she’s more than she seems.

Mysteries surrounding the colony’s past, present, and future create an underlying sense of unease that heightens as the answers come to light. What tragedies befell the previous Roanoke settlement, and why? What reasons lie behind pilot Simon Ferdinando’s navigational choices? And since readers will know the new colony is doomed, how will Emme and Kit’s story end?

The language has an authentic period flavor without feeling fusty, and The Lost Duchess movingly expresses the sense of exhilaration and amazement felt by Emme at the natural beauty of Roanoke Island: “How to marvel at wonders without name? She could only relish through her senses like a child before mastering language: enjoying the sight of a bird like a flame in the trees, a vivid flash of vermilion; see gourds like luscious melons, and flowers taller than she was with heads of radiant suns…”

Moreover, it also captures the distress she and Kit feel at the wrenching decisions they and the others are forced to make, and at the realization that there’s an unavoidable price to be paid for their daring venture. It’s a well-rounded portrait in that respect, and Emme and Kit, both of whom are fictional characters, fit comfortably into known events. They both make for good companions on this exciting journey to the New World.

The Lost Duchess was published by Ebury/Random House UK in hardback (£16.99) and trade pb (export edition, £12.99) in November (432pp). Thanks to the publisher for sending me a copy at my request.  Unfortunately there's no US publisher as yet, though it's available at Amazon UK and at Book Depository via ABE.