The story behind The Heart Remembers, a guest post by Margaret Redfern

Margaret Redfern, author of the medieval-set novels Flint and The Storyteller's Granddaughter, has a new post today about the writing and research behind The Heart Remembers, last in her trilogy.  Some beautiful photos from her wide-ranging travels are included below. The Heart Remembers is published by Honno on October 15th in paperback (£8.99, 352pp).

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The Story Behind The Heart Remembers
Margaret Redfern

My niece is appalled. 'You killed him!' Well yes, I did. Not my choice, you understand, but inevitable and, as I am writing this in September and The Heart Remembers is not published until October, the 'he' must be nameless. That's the problem with writing. The characters take over and dictate events and so ‘his’ death was inevitable.

The Heart Remembers was originally a continuation of Storyteller's Granddaughter but the whole story 'just grew and grew', and so it was decided to split the MS. The third of the 'Flint' stories had taken on a life on its own. In this book, the group is separated but all eventually head for Ypres and Lincolnshire and reunion. The secondary characters had their chance to take centre stage, and the Lincolnshire background in particular became a character in its own right. A chance, as well, for 'East meets West', writers’ licence creating probably the only known instance of hot, piped water in the whole of 1330s Britain. And hot tubs.

Flat land, because this is farming land reclaimed from the Fens.

But first there was the arrival in Venice and subsequent dramatic events. My intention was to revisit this extraordinary city, last seen in 1973, but funds, as they say, did not permit, and a few domestic crises intervened. But – well – what was there for me to see? The catastrophic 14thC fire had destroyed much of ‘my’ Venice. Instead, I made a virtual tour – thank you Google – and read a hoard of books – thank you Lincoln Oxfam and Central Library - identifying the buildings of the 1330s city – and watched the DVD of the beguiling Francesco Da Mosta’s ‘Venice’. A real breakthrough was the on-line discovery of Professor Guido Ruggeiro’s gritty book, Violence in Early Renaissance Venice (UP 1980), tracked down to a real, paper copy by the staff of Lincoln Central Library. The book was a revelation. Venice was not a nice place to be in the 14th century.

Ypres presented similar problems. So much information on WW1 but so little about its medieval past. Chatham Library, Ontario provided the excellent book full of ‘useful stuff’ noted in my last essay for Sarah’s site. The cat-throwing ceremony, however, I discovered via the internet and wondered, at first, if it was a joke. I double checked. Nope. For real.

I couldn’t resist another ‘walk-on’ part, this time Giotto di Bondone, the first great artist of the Renaissance, though he doesn’t make an actual appearance. I was fascinated by his inclusion of Halley’s Comet, painted in place of the Star of Bethlehem, in his Adoration of the Magi in the Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, and also by the brown-curly-haired young man who appears in a number of Giotto’s frescoes. This had to be the young Will.

The horizon.

By this time I was realising that this book was very much about female power. The men are mentally, emotionally and, in one instance, physically vulnerable. Only Twm has a new inner certainty. The women are strong-minded, including the new characters, and those not always in a good way. I honestly didn't set out with ‘female power’ as a theme. The story and the characters created their own truth.

The lore of the 'wise women' – Ellen and Hilda – was learnt from Debbie of Lincoln who I first met at Chambers Farm Wood when she took a group of us round the woodland in spring, showing us the plants and herbs that were collected for medicine and well-being. I have shamelessly drawn on her knowledge. Later in the year we met again to make a useful winter salve, and a compote of blackberries, elderberries and wild apples flavoured with spices and sweetened with honey, and which I still make as a safeguard against winter ailments. As well, she gave us a recipe for fabulous Hawthorn Brandy. Medicinal use, of course. The 800 year old coppiced lime tree exists. And yes, I wept, hugging one of its trunks.

Chambers Farm Wood - moving into the Long Wood. Deep ponds here.

I cannot reveal the site of the deserted medieval village that became Bradwell. I didn't ask permission. It is one of many in Lincolnshire. Equally, the Norman manor that I ‘transplanted’ to the site of the village must remain unnamed though it is easily identified by anyone interested in ancient buildings. Much of 'Lost Lincoln' is still there, if hidden: the foundations of Gilbertine St Catherine's can be seen under glass flooring in what is now the community centre of a much later St Catherine's Church. Keep walking along the High Street and you pass 'Bargate', though it’s a street name only. No sign now of the original gatehouse. The Franciscan friary of Lincoln is gone, the 19thC St Swithin's church on the site of the original buildings, but there is one ancient building remaining between the church and library. One spring afternoon I trailed in behind a group of students whose seminar was to be held in the building. The tutor gave me permission to descend to its vaulted undercroft. Wow!

 The under croft of Bradwell manor.

And there are those Lincolnshire skyscapes, the extraordinary sunsets, dramatic thunderous clouds… late one January day, the sunset was exactly what I wanted for the beginning of Chapter 8 so I drove out to Bloxholme Wood for a closer view.

Bloxholme Wood and that sunset (chapter 8). Squint to miss the telegraph wires.

The wonderfully named Wasp's Nest hamlet alongside the Roma Carr Dyke.
And those skies!

My modest digital camera came in handy yet again, as it did on numerous ‘trottings’ around Lincolnshire. And Wales. The phenomenon of rainbow-lit clouds I really did see one rainy day when travelling along the ‘old road’ over the mountain from Dinas Mawddwy to Bala. And those indeterminate watery-landscapes of the Lincolnshire coast are still there.

Winter sunset along the Witham. It's canalised now - 1330s, spreading over a wide area but still with its stunning view of Lincoln Cathedral seen for miles dead-ahead.

I wanted this last book to come full circle and so in places I have repeated text from Flint and Storyteller’s Granddaughter. I’ve no idea if this will be obvious to the reader.

As always in all three books there is a sub-text of the need for love and tolerance of ‘same but different’. Right now, that need is more crucial and urgent than ever.

Blue skies - I'm the shadow. Better than selfies.

Margaret Redfern
September 2015

The pursuit of an artistic life: Jeannine Atkins' Little Woman in Blue

Atkins’ elegantly understated work is the first novel to be written about May Alcott, a 19th-century artist whose talents were overshadowed by her older sister, Louisa. While it succeeds in drawing readers into the lives of the Alcotts of Concord, Massachusetts – their aspirations, values, insecurities, conflicts, and their love for one another – it’s more a portrait of a woman struggling to pursue her artistic dreams while hoping one day to become a wife and mother. May attracts many students to the local painting classes she teaches but knows she’s missing out, never having had the opportunity to visit Europe: “My art would improve with Michelangelo and Raphael to teach me,” she tells Louisa.

Although May enjoys a romance with Julian Hawthorne, the son of neighbors Nathaniel and Sophia, his poverty and lack of direction make him a bad choice as a husband for an ambitious woman. Once Louisa’s Little Women becomes a bestseller, a trip to Europe finally looks like more of a possibility. However, Louisa’s interpretation of May’s fictional counterpart – golden-haired Amy March, who dabbles in art but gives up her hobby to marry – shows May that her sister hardly knows her.

Atkins creates beautiful images with her writing: May and Julian’s moonlit boat excursion through the water lilies floating in the Concord River has the feel of an impressionist painting, and May’s observations of the bustling Parisian streets bring the city alive. Some sharper characterizations would have helped; the Alcott parents fade into the background, for instance, and without dialogue tags during lengthy exchanges, it can sometimes be hard to tell who’s saying what. A slight re-edit would be of benefit here.

While this is a quiet book, the characters’ strong emotions come through on the page. Thoughtful readers will appreciate the depictions of the sisters’ passion for their art and the challenges that 19th-century American women faced when they worked for a living.

Little Woman in Blue was published by She Writes Press this month ($16.95, trade pb, 326pp).  This review first appeared in the Historical Novels Review's indie reviews.

See also Jeannine Atkins' essay about her research, posted this past Monday.

Guest post by Jeannine Atkins: Plundering Back Cupboards

Jeannine Atkins, author of Little Woman in Blue: A Novel of May Alcott, is here today with an essay about finding the little details that can make an era and character feel authentic.  

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Plundering Back Cupboards

Jeannine Atkins

Obsession and an eye for detail can take a writer of historical fiction a long way, especially when those collide in a perfect storm. I’ve been drawn to the Alcott family since I was a girl arguing with my sister about who got to play which sister in Little Women. As an adult, I studied the connections and contradictions between Louisa May Alcott’s real family and her fictional creation. The youngest sister in the novel is depicted as a spoiled girl who grew into a dilettante. In reality, May Alcott spent much of her adult life unmarried – while flirting wildly – in order to devote herself to art. May’s greatest successes, including having her watercolor copies of Turner sold at London’s National Gallery and work shown in the competitive Paris Salon, came after Louisa wrote Little Women. Still, Louisa seemed unimpressed.

The warmth and grit between May and Louisa became the core of Little Woman in Blue: A Novel of May Alcott (She Writes Press, Sept. 2015). For me, writing historical fiction means spending years researching and imagining, so these had better be people that, like family members, you may not always approve of, but feel bound to by love, with all its highs and lows. Writers let that first flicker of “here’s a story” deepen into obsession as we follow clues around detours and past walls.

All the Alcott family members kept journals and wrote letters, many of which were saved. Some have been published, while others are in archives. It’s great to swap pens for pencils and touch fragile paper in quiet rooms, but it’s not a moment-by-moment a thrill. Eventually that first hold-your-breath intimacy bumps into the realization that there’s more humdrum than drama. Like attics, diaries often are full of stuff that seems useless, but a dim corner may hold just what we need. My eyes glaze at accounts of vague miseries but light up when I find out exactly how long a game of whist lasted or the shape of shoe’s heel. I borrow these real things in hope they’ll make my fiction seem thoroughly real to readers.

Writing based on real people means we’re given a shape, but to bring someone back to life, we must draw from a richness of stuff, plundering untidy closets and cupboards. Maybe an apple core or an old paint box will bring a story to life. Always, mystery abounds. 

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In addition to her newest release, Little Woman in Blue, Jeannine Atkins is the acclaimed author of twelve books for young readers featuring women in history, including Borrowed Names: Poems about Laura Ingalls Wilder, Madam C. J. Walker, and Marie Curie and their Daughters. She is an adjunct professor at Simmons College and the University of Massachusetts-Amherst. Visit her website at www.jeannineatkins.com.

Interview with India Edghill, author of Game of Queens - plus special giveaway

Back in 2002, I trekked out to New York State to interview author India Edghill about her debut historical novel, Queenmaker, which took a fresh look at King David by picturing him from the viewpoint of his first wife and queen, Michal.  When given the opportunity to speak with India again about her new biblical novel, Game of Queens, I was immediately interested in following up with her about her writing career. As I'm no longer based in the Northeast, though, this new interview was conducted over email.   

Game of Queens puts a distinctive new spin on the traditional story of King Ahasuerus of Persia, Queen Esther, the repudiated Queen Vashti, the famous kingdom-wide beauty contest, and the circumstances that led to Esther's saving of the Jewish people (the origin of the Festival of Purim). The novel is partly told from Vashti's point of view; she's neither evil nor a rival of Esther's; and... well, I don't want to give too much away, but please read the interview (and the book!) to discover more.  Game of Queens is published by St. Martin's Press this month ($28.99, hb, 400pp).

India is generously offering a special giveaway for blog visitors.  Two selected winners will receive a set of both Game of Queens and Gladys Malvern's Behold Your Queen!, which you can learn more about below.  This giveaway is open internationally.  Fill out the form at the very end to enter.

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You’ve mentioned that Gladys Malvern's Behold Your Queen!, an older novel about Queen Esther, is one of your all-time favorite books. Why does it stand out for you?

Behold Your Queen! is one of the first historical novels I ever read. BYQ! came out in 1951, and I read it when I was eight or nine – fortunately, the elementary school library had a copy. (Back in the fifties, BYQ! was considered a children's book; now it's considered YA.) So it made a huge impression on me, just as Young Bess did.

And the writing in BYQ! is wondrous; not one word too many, not one word too few. It has a clarity and a purity that's rare. BYQ!'s Esther is an amazing character: intelligent and wise; kind, loving, and strong. Yes, she's also physically beautiful, but it's her inner beauty that leaves the most lasting impression.

What played into your decision to write your own version of the Esther story?

Well, I had this two-book contract… The first book on that contract was for a book about Delilah, and the second was about A Biblical Woman To Be Determined Later. People kept suggesting I do Esther, and I kept saying "Esther's been done a zillion times, and besides, my book won't be as good as Behold Your Queen!" I think it was my sister who suggested I do the story from Vashti's POV. It's really Vashti who sets the ball in play, because her refusal to obey Ahasuerus's command to show herself off to a banquet-hall full of drunks makes everything fall apart for Esther to put back together.

How did you come up with Vashti's family background in Game of Queens?

Tradition tells us that Vashti was Nebuchadnezzar's granddaughter, which would make Belshazzar her father (tradition says a lot of things about Vashti, most of them not very nice). I made Belshazzar her grandfather to suit my storyline.

However, I strongly suspect you're actually asking about Vashti's grandmother, Ishvari of the Black Horse People. She's totally fictional – and she's in Game of Queens because I didn't want to spend a whole book about women talking about Vashti's grandfather. So I created a Scythian princess of great pride and beauty and gorgeous horses and incredible riding ability who's sent to marry Belshazzar. (Walter Farley and his Black Stallion series have a lot to answer for, literarily speaking….) (And you know, there's a really good reason that fiction's littered with orphans who have no relatives at all, living or dead. Boy, do relatives get cumbersome to keep track of in a manuscript.)

Book One, "The Lion's Den," covers the backstory of Daniel the seer. Why did you decide to begin the main part of the novel there?

Seriously? Because he's the oldest. No, really – you see, I write a book in scenes, not beginning-to-end (and I cannot too strongly recommend that if you can, write straight through, not as your whimsy takes you), and so I had what I considered just Absolutely Fabulous openings for each of the main characters. Each of which would have been a perfectly corking beginning for the book…which wasn't actually possible. So it (eventually, and after much shuffling around) opened chronologically.

The amusing banter among the characters in that section was unexpected and fun to read -- Daniel has a good sense of humor. How did you decide on that approach? 

Daniel needs a good sense of humor, especially since he doesn't have much sense! The dialogue flowed from the kind of characters Arioch, Samamat, and Daniel were, and I'm glad you found it amusing, because humor is much, much harder to pull off than serious dialogue.

In Game of Queens, you've managed to create appealing personalities and realistic motivations for Vashti, Esther, and Ahasuerus. The story works well, yet none is cast as the villain of the piece. Why was this important to you?

There really isn't much need for additional villains when one of the characters is Haman The Horrible! Not only that, but writing villains gets tiring very fast; no one thinks of him/herself as a villain. Once you're in a character's POV, it's a real tightrope-dance to keep a villain, well, villainous. This is one reason there's not more about Queen Mother Amestris in the book – it would have been far too easy to wind up with her as another main character for whom I felt sorry.

The toughest thing was turning the Bible's Ahasuerus, King of Kings But Not Any Too Bright, into a door prize that a nice Jewish girl like Esther would want, let alone into a mate worthy of her. I had to start just about from the time he was born to try and pull it off.

Anyone reading Game of Queens will recognize that you're an animal lover. Did any of your own pets, former or current, make it into the storyline?

Vashti herself is based on my Best Cat Ever, Vashti, who was a silver Persian with chatoyant opalescent eyes (you can see photos of her on my website). Unfortunately, once I'd done that, I was stuck for visual reference for ages – like many writers, I stare at pictures of people who look like my characters when I'm working on a book. I started work on my Vashti-and-Esther novel in 2008, handed in the first version in 2010, and at that point photo reference of beautiful girls with white-blonde hair were about as rare as that hair color is in real life. Then I started watching this miniseries starring Sean Bean (the reason I watched in the first place) and Jason Momoa (a delightful surprise when he turned up), and unvirtue was rewarded, because it turned out there was a girl with long flowing white-blonde hair in it too!

Now that you've written four historical novels set in biblical times, can you pin down any qualities you look for when choosing a heroine to write about?

Ideally, she's a woman who hasn't already been written about recently, or too often. The Esther story's the exception, since it really has been done so often there's always room for one more Esther novel. I mean, who can resist that beauty contest? Other qualities are less tangible; I can't get excited about Ruth, for example, or Deborah, although they're both admirable characters. I'd hate to think that's because there's not much opportunity to put either in Sumptuous Raiment, but I'm afraid that's probably a consideration….)

Back when Queenmaker was first published, back in 1999, the popular trend of "biblical women" novels was just getting going. Do you have any thoughts on how biblical fiction has changed since then? What suggestions would you have for other authors thinking of writing in this period?

The trend may be dying out at the mainstream houses, although there will always be a market for novels about biblical women at the Christian publishing houses. If mainstream isn't interested, and inspirational isn't for you, consider self-publishing, which has changed dramatically in cost and reputation since I self-published Queenmaker.

And it doesn't matter how many other people have written about the woman you want to write about – if 127 authors retell Esther's story, each story will be different. For instance, there are 126 other girls in the reality series "Who Wants To Be Queen of Queens?", and each of them has a story of her own….

Thanks very much, India!

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The giveaway:

And now, for those who enjoy biblical fiction, here's a special opportunity to read two novels about Esther and Vashti... India Edghill's own take on their story, plus another novel that she highly recommends.

Fill out the form below for a chance to win!  One entry per household, please; void where prohibited.  Deadline Monday, September 28th.

Family, ambition, and competition: Sally Christie's The Sisters of Versailles

Although I’m a longtime fan of royalty stories and historical fiction set in France, Sally Christie’s The Sisters of Versailles focuses on a quintet of women I’d never come across before: the five intriguing Nesle sisters, four of whom became mistresses to Louis XV (the Sun King’s great-grandson and successor) in the 1730s and ´40s.

Based on this premise, one might imagine the rivalries, jealousies, and opulent fashions of The Other Boleyn Girl, but taken to the fourth power. There’s some truth to that.

A mere seven years separates Louise (the eldest) from Marie-Anne (the youngest), with Pauline, Diane, and Hortense in between. The closeness that develops among them, after their mother’s tragic early death and their father’s abandonment, means they know each other well… their distinctive qualities as well as their weaknesses, and how best to exploit them. No one can be as jealous or as critical as one’s sister when she has something you want for yourself. And the gowns the women wear (or don’t wear) in their king’s presence are stunning.

On the other hand, the comparison to Philippa Gregory’s oeuvre isn’t always apropos. King Louis is a more attractive prospect than tyrannical serial-husband Henry VIII, his royal court feels even more decadent than that of the Tudors, and the novel is simply hilarious in places. The sisters’ letters to one another, which are scattered throughout the book, express their dry wit and occasional cattiness. They’re also privy to a lot of lewd talk at court and elsewhere. The racy double entendres are funny when the women understand the references, and even funnier when they don’t.

The novel is framed by the observations of Hortense, the longest-lived and most sensible sister, and the only sexual holdout among the five, though that was her decision. (“I could have,” she tells us on page one. “Had I wanted. Because he – the king – he certainly wanted.”) Through their first-person accounts and notes zipping back and forth, the sisters reveal the events of their lives: from the time gentle Louise is hand-selected by the king’s advisers as his first-ever, secret mistress through the ascension, years later, of Marie-Anne, whose youthful bookishness conceals a latent drive for power.

Pauline’s ambition shows in her repeated pleadings for Louise to invite her to court -- which her sister spends years ignoring. Diane, possessed of a warm, jolly nature and terrible handwriting, just wants to find happiness but gets mixed up in her sisters’ schemes.

The details on how the four siblings succeed one another in the king’s bed are as dramatic as you’d expect. Members of the court, even as dissolute as it is, are scandalized by the whole prospect. Over the course of the book, Louis XV transforms from a reluctant adulterer to a libertine despite himself, and the sisters – some more than others – learn how to handle him to get what they want. Each is a unique individual, and their shifting relationships with one another, moving from loving and supportive to antagonistic and back again, kept me turning the pages quickly. King Louis may be an absolute monarch, but in this engrossing novel, it’s the women who rule.

Sally Christie's The Sisters of Versailles is published this month by Atria/Simon & Schuster (pb and ebook, 432pp).  This review marks the first stop on the blog tour with Historical Fiction Virtual Book Tours.  Thanks to the publisher for giving me access via Edelweiss.

Historical fiction cover trend: Scenes of the coastline

Inspired by the fact that I've recently read three of these novels and am currently reading a fourth.

Moreton Bay, Australia, in 1891 and a century later.

The rocky Corsican coast, from the 1920s through the 1980s.

Newport, Rhode Island, summer home of America's blue-blooded elite in the Gilded Age.

The ritzy resort city of Famagusta, Cyprus, in the 1970s (see review).

Wealthy expat life along the coast of Antibes in the Roaring '20s.

A mystery set along the French Riviera in the postwar period.

Sunny Portugal in the present day and during the WWII years. An April '16 release.

Romance and secrets at a Mediterranean seaside resort, from 1948 to today.

Gothic fiction set in a seaside resort in Kent in the 1850s.

Romance alongside the Ligurian Sea in the year 1962.

The beautiful French Riviera in the late 1930s.

1960s society and secrets: Tiny Little Thing, by Beatriz Williams

Beatriz Williams’ novels are deliciously addictive. Although her latest is a less complex story than The Secret Life of Violet Grant (see review), it has the same winning combination of intriguing characters, zippy prose, and realistic dialogue.

Unlike her exuberant younger sister Vivian, one of the previous book’s heroines, Christina “Tiny” Hardcastle had been groomed to be the perfect hostess and spouse. By marrying handsome Frank, an aspiring Congressman, she has achieved her and her family’s goal – yet feels the weight of responsibility upon her petite shoulders. She appears to have the support of her husband and his formidable family, especially after her recent miscarriage, but in the summer of ’66, which the Hardcastles spend together, Kennedy-style, on Cape Cod, Tiny’s perfect world starts falling apart.

First an incriminating photo and blackmailed threat arrive in the mail, and then her secret former lover, Frank’s cousin Caspian, returns from Vietnam a war hero and helps bolster Frank’s first political campaign. Caspian seems honorable and trustworthy, so Tiny can’t imagine he’d be blackmailing her – but how did the photos he took get into someone else’s hands? And thanks to a reporter’s questions and her own intuition, she suspects Frank’s hiding something, too. Providing unexpected moral support is Tiny’s beautiful sister, Pepper, whose adventures in the forthcoming Along the Infinite Sea promise to be most excellent.

Novels showing the downsides of life among the glamorous elite are hardly new, but Tiny’s sympathetic and engaging voice, even addressing the reader on occasion, ensures she isn’t a cliché. The plight of returning Vietnam soldiers is touched upon only lightly, and Caspian feels a bit idealized, but in showing the pressures endured by celebrities of both genders, the novel sends a heartfelt message about the struggles everyone faces between our public and private selves.

Tiny Little Thing was published by Putnam in June ($26.95 or Can$33.00, hb, 386pp).  This review first appeared in August's Historical Novels Review.

Tales of innocence and experience: Annie Barrows' The Truth According to Us

Every family has hidden stories in its past. Tales of love and togetherness, others of disappointment, betrayal, even tragedy. Posed black-and-white photos can only hint at the day-to-day specifics of our forebears' lives. The only way to know the truth is if you were there.

But, as suggested by Annie Barrows’ (co-author of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society) first standalone novel for adults, sometimes even that isn’t enough. As one wise character notes early on, “All of us see a story according to our own lights.” Sifting through remembrances, anecdotes, and other evidence to discover what really happened can be tough, painful work.

Perceptive and engrossing, and with a host of characters you’ll regret having to leave after it's over, the appropriately-named The Truth According to Us has a trio of threads that address this issue. One takes a fairly light tone while the others are more serious and progressively more suspenseful, and they all overlap and intertwine.

The story opens during the stifling summer of 1938. Cut off financially by her parents after rejecting a blue-blooded but stuffy suitor, Layla Beck gets assigned to write the history of Macedonia, West Virginia as part of the WPA Federal Writers’ Project. Sharply intelligent but privileged, she isn’t used to a regular job. (As her field supervisor – who happens to be her uncle – writes to a colleague, “When she came down for her interview, I was pleasantly surprised to discover she had heard there was a depression.”) Layla also isn’t thrilled about possibly spending the summer in an impoverished backwater full of “toothless old hicks.”

The Romeyns, the family she boards with, have come down in society. Their late patriarch used to run the local hosiery factory, but a mysterious fire 18 years ago changed everything. Fortunately for Layla, the Romeyns’ home is cleanly appointed, and they themselves have their own quirky charms, especially Felix, a “terribly attractive” divorced father of two. As Layla interviews descendants of Macedonia’s “first families” for her book (and gets closer to Felix), she has to decide which “facts” to believe, both about the town’s past and her would-be lover.

Meanwhile, twelve-year-old Willa Romeyn, Felix’s elder daughter, gets curious about her father’s frequent absences. Is he really a chemical salesman, or maybe something more nefarious? Here Barrows, a prolific children’s author, demonstrates her familiarity with writing from a not-quite-adolescent’s viewpoint. Willa’s got some Harriet the Spy in her, narrating her sections in a voice that’s observant and funny, if almost too precocious in places. It’s also gratifying to see the town librarian encourage Willa’s book habit.

Yet it’s Willa’s Aunt Jottie, who essentially raises her and her strong-willed sister Bird, whose backstory is the most affecting. An attractive spinster of 35, Jottie's hopes for romance were stifled years back, in an incident she can’t quite get over or fully comprehend. While she’s grown accustomed to her sedate life, Jottie will do anything – joining the dull local ladies’ society included – to keep her family respectable and ensure Willa and Bird don’t grow up too quickly.

Their family home contains a compelling mix of innocence and experience, but the former can’t last forever. People's stories converge, revelations unfold, and the repercussions shake everyone up. The muggy Southern summer is evoked to perfection, with regular afternoon naps and doses of iced-tea, and the equally sizzling family dynamics, with Layla as the unsuspecting catalyst, drive the plot onward. As she gossips in a letter to a friend, Macedonia is “a small town that looks like any small town, with wide streets, old elms, white houses, and a tattered, dead-quiet town square – all seething with white-hot passion and Greek tragedy.”

However, as Jottie remarks with equal truth in one poignant section, small town life just doesn’t change much over the years. This feeling of “sameness,” as she puts it, can provide both frustration and comfort. This is  one of many ways the novel gives off the whiff of real life. Macedonia’s residents feel as tangible as one’s own family, and it’s in its honest depiction of people’s capacity for love, protectiveness, and understanding that the story shines.

The Truth According to Us was published by The Dial Press/Random House in June ($28.00, hardcover, 512pp).  I requested it on NetGalley and subsequently received a print ARC from Shelf Awareness, a true embarrassment of riches!  It will make my top 10 of the year.

The ambassador's controversial concubine: Alexandra Curry's The Courtesan

Curry’s debut is the first English-language novel about the controversial courtesan Sai Jinhua, whose unusual life path reached a crisis during the 1900 Boxer Rebellion.

At seven, after her mandarin father’s execution, she is sold to a cruel brothel-mistress, who trains her as a “money tree” (prostitute). “You do not own yourself,” the maid Suyin warns her, and their sisterly bond helps them survive.

Surprisingly, an official makes Jinhua his concubine, bringing her to Vienna just as Europeans, hated for their corrupt influence, are dismantling the Chinese empire. Buoyant with curiosity about Austro-Hungarian culture, Jinhua discovers her Western sympathies have a price.

The smooth-as-silk prose, flavored with details of Chinese customs and Jinhua’s favorite mythological stories, heightens the sense that we’re hearing a legend retold. At the same time, her pain and heartbreak anchor the telling in reality.

Multiple viewpoints add dimension and depth. The later sections feel rushed, and the novel doesn’t fully address the reasons for her celebrity, but this creative and haunting interpretation spurs interest in the real Sai Jinhua.

The Courtesan will be published by Dutton next week in hardcover ($26.95, 400pp).  This review first appeared in Booklist's August issue. Despite her fame, I hadn't heard of Sai Jinhua before beginning this novel, and it encouraged me to learn more - although (as noted in the book) it's hard to get a true picture of her life because it's difficult to separate history from the legend.  This version is one author's interpretation.

Book review: Orphan #8 by Kim van Alkemade

With her first book, Kim van Alkemade has struck a perfect balance that many historical novelists struggle to attain. The rapid, page-turning pacing is never impeded by the wealth of intriguing detail she includes on a little-known segment of history: the plight of children in Jewish orphanages in early 20th-century New York.

“From her bed of bundled newspapers under the kitchen table, Rachel Rabinowitz watched her mother’s bare feet shuffle to the sink.” The first sentence does its job well, setting the scene while posing questions about Rachel's situation. A four-year-old living with her older brother, Sam, and their parents and boarders in a shabby tenement on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1919, Rachel is an active, inquisitive child.

By the end of the day, their circumstances tragically altered, the siblings are put in the care of social workers. At the Hebrew Infant Home, separated from Sam, Rachel experiences horrifying treatment in the name of medical research. She and other orphans become the ideal subjects in an experimental X-ray lab under the supervision of Dr. Mildred Solomon, a woman seeking to make her mark in a male-dominated field. The scenes at the home are emotionally powerful and disturbing, whether seen from the viewpoint of an innocent child or the matter-of-fact, detached perspective of the doctors.

Years later, in 1954, the two meet up again, but this time Rachel is Dr. Solomon's nurse at the Old Hebrews Home – where Dr. Solomon is dying of cancer. As Rachel’s faint childhood memories drive her to uncover her real role in the doctor’s research, she runs up against an ethical dilemma. While she’s doped up on morphine, Dr. Solomon can’t give Rachel the answers – or the apology – she seeks.

As Rachel contemplates her options, grasping the power she holds over another’s fate, the novel teeters on the edge of melodrama. The two timelines are well structured and contribute to the full picture of Rachel’s growth and development, and how her unusual upbringing in an orphanage, alongside a thousand other children, ultimately led to her career choice. Also, as a lesbian in the repressive 1950s, Rachel must keep her love life secret, and the novel depicts the different faces that Rachel presents to the world.

Both the experiments and young Rachel’s experiences are based on real-life history; the author’s grandfather (Victor, a friend of Sam's in the novel) grew up in a Hebrew orphanage, with his mother working as the Reception House counselor there. In addition to picking up a new angle on American history, readers will leave this compelling novel pondering choices and alternatives, responsibilities and their consequences. Orphan #8 is Target’s August book club pick, and with its courageous take on important ethical issues, it’s an excellent choice for book discussions.

Kim van Alkemade's Orphan #8 was published this summer by Morrow ($14.99/C$18.50, pb, 381pp). Thanks to the publisher for sending me an ARC.

Historical fiction paperback makeovers

Some historical novels first released in hardcover undergo cover redesigns for their paperback printings. This can be done for a variety of reasons. Maybe the hardcover design wasn't as successful as intended, the publisher wants to take the book in a new direction, or there's a feeling that a design reboot would bring in new readers, like book club audiences.  Trade paperbacks are a popular format for reading groups.

As you probably know, cover art is a favorite topic of mine, and I always find these design changes interesting for the new perspectives they provide.  Here are a dozen pairings below: original hardcover design on the left, new paperback on the right. I've listed just a snippet about the setting as background for readers not familiar with the books.  Which ones draw you in the most?

A dual period mystery centering on the ancient Amazons.

Gender-bending Civil War novel.

Magical Regency-era adventure.

A female illusionist in Gilded Age America.

A family in Depression-era and WWII Appalachia.

Story of a Rembrandt painting, set during the Dutch Golden Age.

Literary family saga, set in Revolutionary-era North Carolina.

The tragedy of the Great War, as seen through four men's eyes.  UK edition.

A teenage girl in an 1840s Shaker community.

A US army nurse in WWII Italy.

Novel-in-stories centering on an English country house.

Multi-period romantic mystery set in 2009 and in pre-Raphaelite England.

The Sunrise by Victoria Hislop, a splashy beach read turned war story

In the summer of 1972, the city of Famagusta on Cyprus is a sun-lit paradise for wealthy vacationers. Victoria Hislop’s The Sunrise opens with the feel of a splashy beach read.

The title comes from that of a 15-storey coastal hotel being constructed by Savvas Papacosta and his wife, Aphroditi, a classic power couple blessed with wealth, attractiveness, and perfect taste as they cater to their guests’ every whim. The “holidaymakers,” cocooned in their carefree life of R&R, remain ignorant of the tensions between Turkish and Greek Cypriots.

There’s a lot of exposition piled on, and the storyline in the beginning offers all the glamour and depth of a dishy soap opera. If you don’t mind broad-brush characters, though, it’s worth sticking around to see what happens. The setting and history are both fascinating, and a timeline and note serve to alert readers of what’s to come.

In 1974, following a coup d’état in favor of annexation by Greece, and Turkey’s subsequent invasion of Cyprus, Famagusta was abandoned. Today its former tourist quarter, called Varosha, is a decaying ghost town. Seen from the viewpoint of three families – the Papacostas, Georgious, and Özkans – The Sunrise takes readers step-by-step on a dramatic journey from Dynasty-style decadence to devastation.

It turns out the Papacostas’ marriage isn’t as solid as would seem, especially when Savvas’ suave right-hand man, Markos Georgiou, gets closer to Aphroditi. While lonely Aphroditi is a sympathetic figure, the novel’s most compelling aspect deals not with the ultra-rich but with the lives of ordinary citizens of Famagusta. In spite of their ethnic differences, Irini Georgiou, Markos’ mother, and hotel hairdresser Emine Özkan are firm friends, the matriarchs of their respective clans. Both fear they’ve lost sons to violence.

After the rest of the city’s residents flee in droves, only the Georgious and Özkans remain in Famagusta, in hiding from marauding soldiers. Together, they take up residence at the Sunrise, with its luxurious rooms and seemingly limitless food stores. It's a bit idealized; issues about electricity and sanitation aren't really addressed.

Their interactions, hesitant at first, become warmer as they bond over traditional meals and the shared tribulations of family life. On the outside, however, the situation is dire. The suspense never lets up, as danger is ever-present.

Despite the shaky start, The Sunrise is a fast-paced, haunting novel about ambition, betrayal, love for family and place, and the commonalities shared among people on both sides of an ethnic divide. There are many poignant moments of togetherness and others of somber reflection, all evoked with sensitivity. As one character observes toward the end, looking out on her once-beautiful home: “This was not the city she knew. It was a place she did not recognize. Its soul had gone.”

 The crumbling hotels of Famagusta, untouched and behind barbed wire since 1974.
"Famagusta2009 2" by Julienbzh35 - Own work.
Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons

The Sunrise was published in July by Harper Paperbacks ($15.99, 339pp).  It was previously published by Headline in a different form (so says the title page) in the UK in 2014.  Read more about "The Ghost Town of Cyprus" in the Famagusta Gazette; the experiences reported in the article echo those depicted in the novel. See also a February article from Newsweek discussing the history of Famagusta and recent talks on possible reunification.

For another novel about the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, see my review of Christy Lefteri's A Watermelon, a Fish, and a Bible.

P. J. Brackston's Once Upon a Crime, a fairy-tale spoof with personality

A fairy tale sequel and crime novel with a light, humorous twist, P. J. Brackston’s Once Upon a Crime is hard to pigeonhole. For her premise, she takes the character of Gretel, first made famous by her childhood appearance with brother Hansel in the witchy Brothers Grimm story, ages her a few decades, and installs her as a private detective in 18th-century Bavaria.

I’ve always gone for novels taking place in historical Germany, but must say up front that the setting here is quasi-historical at best. There are many willful anachronisms – waxing appointments, for example, and vodka martinis – plus a host of imaginary creatures, but the wacky combination of elements is part of its charm. When I heard the name of the place where Gretel hangs her shingle, the sleepy backwater of “Gesternstadt,” I was intrigued enough to read it.

Gretel’s a hefty gal who loves her Weisswurst and a good beer or two, and her perpetually inebriated brother Hans, who has never truly recovered from their childhood trauma, contributes to the household by cooking delicious meals. When Gretel agrees to help Frau Hapsburg locate her three kidnapped cats, she gets drawn into a web of danger involving a treacherous princess, a troll (the lives-under-a-bridge type) who has the hots for voluptuous women, and several unexplained murders. She also discovers that the fiery destruction of a local carriage-maker’s workshop is related to her case.

The storyline took a while to grab me.  While I like a well-done spoof, I prefer historical fantasy novels with more actual history than this one offered. However, Gretel’s smart and sarcastic attitude soon won me over. A fashionista who appreciates the finer things in life, Gretel also detests the innate twee-ness of the world she’s forced to live in. I confess to being so distracted by all the amusing whimsy that I neglected to pay attention to the clues in what turned out to be a pretty decent mystery.

Historical purists may want to steer clear, but for those looking for an entertaining diversion from more serious fare, this could be just the ticket.

Once Upon a Crime was published by Pegasus in hardcover in July ($24.95/C$27.95, 245pp). The author also writes historical fiction with a mystical spin as Paula Brackston.

Mystery, medicine, society, and scandal in 1850s Toronto: Janet Kellough's The Burying Ground

In 1851, there are odd goings-on at the Strangers’ Burying Ground outside Yorkville, a growing community north of Toronto. Graves are being disturbed, which infuriates sexton Morgan Spicer, but because the bodies are left intact, “resurrectionists” can’t be blamed. When Spicer runs into Luke Lewis, the new assistant physician to the elderly Dr. Christie, he realizes who can help him: Luke’s father, Thaddeus, an old acquaintance of Spicer’s who is known to love puzzles. On his return trips to Yorkville after preaching along the Yonge Street circuit, Thaddeus tries to catch the culprit.

The principal viewpoint in this 4th in the series, though, is Luke’s. He’s a charming character with aspects of his past he’d prefer to keep secret, even from his father, but a chance encounter with two young women draws him into situations that become steadily more worrisome. Luke is a straight-laced fellow, which creates some amusing episodes. True to his shy nature and Methodist upbringing, he’s alarmed at the thought of attending a soiree downtown (“If there was to be dancing, it was a good excuse to stay home”), but his employer knows that his mixing with the wealthier classes will help him fit in and increase their income. Dr. Christie’s burly and irascible housekeeper, Mrs. Dunphy, adds more doses of humor.

At times the historical backdrop gets lecture-y, particularly the long recap of the 1837 Rebellion, but otherwise mid-19th-century Toronto is richly evoked, with its political and religious divisions, bouts of deadly illness, the beginnings of urban sprawl, and the reputed miracle cures of Irish-born “Holy Ann” (a real person). Americans in particular may appreciate seeing how their country’s antebellum policies on slavery play out north of the border. Kellough also keeps readers on their toes by fleshing out her plot with unexpected turns throughout.

The Burying Ground was published in July by Canada's Dundurn Press, which sells books to both Canada and the US (304pp, paperback, $11.99 in both countries).  I reviewed this for August's Historical Novels Review from a NetGalley copy.  This is the first in the series that I've read, and I'd be interested to hear if anyone here has read the others.

Shona Patel's Flame Tree Road, a rich journey toward social change in 19th-century India

Historical novels can give us the opportunity to experience distant times and places through the eyes of another. The most talented historical novelists can immerse us in an unfamiliar culture so completely that we become part of it, gaining empathy and understanding for the dilemmas its characters face.

This is the case for Shona Patel’s Flame Tree Road, which is set mostly in 19th-century India. While it was written as a prequel to her debut, Teatime for the Firefly, it can also stand independently. Biren Roy, whose story is told from the early days of his parents’ marriage through his old age, is the man who becomes the beloved grandfather – Dadamoshai – of Layla from Teatime.

Biren’s character is formed through his experiences in both rural India and the hallowed halls of Cambridge. Due to his unique educational background, Biren serves as a bridge between these different cultures, members of whom occasionally treat him like an outsider, but he comes to embody the noblest qualities of both. He is immensely likeable, a man of gentle demeanor and refined manners.  I rooted for him to overcome the obstacles he faced and find personal happiness.

For Biren, observing the shameful treatment of widows in his East Bengal village is the catalyst that directs the flow of his life. In his childhood, he sees how an old woman who lost her husband is forced to live under a banyan tree, while an old fisherman tells him bluntly that widows are “the cursed ones… the most wretched creatures on earth.” After the tragic early death of Biren’s father, he sees his beautiful young mother shunned and brought low, an action supported by the in-laws who loved her. The choice of ancient traditions over love and family is a pattern that repeats.

Fired up by this injustice, Biren knows that education is the key to social transformation and determines to become a lawyer and fight against the oppression of women in this regard. While the British educational model is highly respected, it’s also mistrusted, and Biren learns later that Britain has its own social problems to contend with. He forms friendships overseas and in India, but it’s only when he meets a schoolteacher's daughter named Maya that he finds the love he had sought.

Patel’s settings are evoked through richly woven images, from the generations-old craftsmanship at a potters’ village to the sensual fall of a woman’s hair.  Her descriptions make the river of Biren’s home village easy to visualize: “crescent-shaped fishing boats skim the waters with threadbare sails that catch the wind with the hollow flap of a heron’s wing.” That’s just from the first page. The landscapes through which Biren moves come alive with a sense of wonder.

The last few chapters speed through Biren’s later life much too quickly, and I regretted that the novel wasn’t longer.  The fact that I was left wanting more demonstrates the appeal of the characters. There are many moments of joy in Flame Tree Road, and others of abject sadness, all recounted with the flair of a natural storyteller as Patel brings us deeply into the life of an admirable man who dedicates himself to reshaping his world.

Flame Tree Road was published on June 30 by Mira ($14.95/C$17.95, 396pp).  Thanks to the publisher for sending me a review copy at my request.  For readers curious about Teatime for the Firefly, I reviewed it two years ago.

Amy Snow by Tracy Rees, a delightful and engrossing Victorian-era debut

Last year, Tracy Rees’ debut novel won Richard and Judy’s “search for a bestseller” competition. Completely engrossing, it was a worthy selection.

Set in England in 1848, it’s full of romance and mystery, taking the form of a scavenger hunt in which the heroine, Amy Snow, follows a trail left behind in letters by her late friend and mentor, ebullient heiress Aurelia Vennaway. Seventeen-year-old Amy owes her life to Aurelia, who had found her as a newborn, abandoned in the snow on her wealthy family’s Surrey estate.

Lord and Lady Vennaway had acceded to their daughter’s wishes in letting Amy grow up at Hatville Court but always resented her presence. Before Aurelia’s tragic early death from a heart ailment, she developed a clever way of ensuring Amy’s future livelihood while broadening her social horizons – and attempting to make up for her family’s hateful behavior.

The clues Amy finds (some of which take time to figure out) lead her around the country, introduce her to fascinating people, and prove that the kindness, love, and the family life she craves exist outside of Aurelia’s sheltering wings. Along the way, she learns surprising revelations about Aurelia and a lot about herself. Amy’s journey – and, consequently, the novel’s structure – may be contrived, but the author wisely makes her aware of it. The obligations of her mission chafe from time to time, as does her burden of secrecy, especially when enticing alternatives present themselves.

While the story is fanciful in spots, Amy Snow is written with warmth and attention to detail, particularly on Victorian geography and modes of travel. Best of all, it offers a tenderly poignant portrait of true friendship, a rare thing that both young women rightly treasure.

Amy Snow was published by Quercus earlier this year in paperback (£7.99, 551pp).  Don't be put off by the page count since it moves very quickly!  This was a personal purchase that I reviewed for August's Historical Novels Review.  For now you'll have to get it from the UK, but I hope a US publisher will pick it up.

Karen White's The Sound of Glass: Southern warmth, family reconciliation, and a creepy mystery

As a fan of Karen White’s Tradd Street series, which mixes quirky characters with family lore and Southern ghosts, I’ve been migrating over to her standalone works as well. They’re equally as enjoyable, although more serious in tone and issue-driven. Recounting a woman’s journey to recharge her unsettled life, her latest is also a creepy mystery wrapped in Southern style – and a book that had me dreaming of vacationing along the picturesque Carolina coast.

The dread-inducing opening poses many questions, and answers are revealed over the course of this smartly constructed novel. In 1955, Edith Heyward sets aside an unusual art project when an explosion tears through the skies above her home in Beaufort, South Carolina. Among the debris falling from above is a battered brown suitcase, which lands in Edith’s garden. It contains news so devastating that Edith can barely react when she learns her husband was killed in a car crash that same night.

Flashbacks to Edith’s later life appear throughout the main storylines, which are seen from the viewpoints of Merritt, widow of Edith’s grandson, Cal; and Loralee, the young stepmother Merritt hasn’t seen for years, a sassy Alabama native with big hair and perfect makeup. After Merritt drives from Maine down to Beaufort after inheriting Edith’s house, she’s obliged to take in Loralee and her ten-year-old son, Merritt’s half-brother – and she also learns about the past that Cal kept hidden.

Merritt’s gradual warming up to life is a delight to witness, and Loralee is hardly the stereotypical airhead Merritt thinks she is. While I wished for more emphasis on the history and less obvious imparting of important life lessons, I still found The Sound of Glass an affecting story about love, reconciliation, and the dangerous patterns that blight families over generations.

The Sound of Glass was published in May by NAL ($26.95/C$32.00, hardcover, 432pp).  Thanks to the publisher for granting me NetGalley access.  This review first appeared in the Historical Novels Review's August issue.