Forthcoming historical novels for 2011

I've just completed the first round of updates to the Historical Novel Society's list of forthcoming titles, with info on historical fiction set to be published in the US through next August.  Head on over there and take a look!  There are many titles I'm especially eager to read (of course), and I'll be highlighting some of them in an upcoming post.

A look at Kate Morton's The Distant Hours

This won't be a lengthy review, because saying too much about the plot of Kate Morton's The Distant Hours might spoil it for readers, and that's the last thing I'd want to do. I received a galley from the publisher a month ago and decided to save it to read as a birthday present to myself. Full of intrigue, period atmosphere, and layers upon layers of carefully hidden secrets, it's an expansive multi-period saga with classic Gothic elements and a multitude of well-developed, intriguing characters.  The plotline had me guessing every step of the way.

Crossing back and forth between 1992 and various dates during the WWII years, the novel opens as the present runs up against the past. A mysterious letter arrives fifty years too late, and Edie Burchill, a thirty-year-old London book editor, wonders why its contents would cause her mother such distress. Perhaps if Juniper Blythe's long-ago missive to Meredith Burchill had reached her in time, Juniper might have been spared the madness that befell her in her youth.

Evacuated out of London with other children during the war in anticipation of German bombings, Meredith had spent a year living at Milderhurst Castle in Kent, where she and brilliant, eccentric Juniper had become the best of friends, despite their slight age difference.  Their friendship was not to last. Persephone and Seraphina Blythe, Juniper's now-elderly twin sisters, have cared for their fragile younger sibling ever since the terrible night in 1941 when Juniper's fiance deserted her, and she lost her mind as a result.

Edie's visit to the castle in search of answers serves as the catalyst for a series of disquieting revelations about the Blythes and further insight into the complicated dynamics within her own family. When Edie learns of Juniper's family connection to Raymond Blythe, the reclusive author who penned the beloved (and intensely creepy) children's novel The True History of the Mud Man, she grows even more intrigued.  No one ever knew what inspired him to write the book; it has remained an unsolved mystery.

The Distant Hours is the type of novel you inhabit rather than simply read, and I found it satisfying on every level. I admired Morton's clever use of point of view and how it illustrated how younger generations view those who came before them. It would be an excellent read-alike choice for anyone who enjoyed Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale, Sarah Waters's The Little Stranger, and others of that ilk. Within its suspenseful plotline, successive aspects of a convoluted mystery lock into place one by one, and the final revelation is a stunner. Most of all, it's a celebration of the power of stories and how they can burrow deeply into our lives. This one certainly had that effect on me.

The Distant Hours is published on November 9th by Atria at $26.00/C$29.99 (672pp, hardbound).

V is for Victoria

Victoria Hislop's The Island has been sitting unread on my bookshelf for the past few years, for no particular reason, and it caught my eye again while I was considering my letter V pick for the alphabet challenge.  A former Richard & Judy Book Club selection, it hit #1 on British bestseller lists and has recently been made into a miniseries for Greek TV. It even has its own Wikipedia page. 

Living in the U.S., I missed all the hoopla.  The Island came out here in 2007 to little fanfare, but its broad appeal is understandable.  In many respects, it hits the right notes: a multigenerational saga focusing on women's relationships, its near-400 pages overflow with incident and drama.  Along with the modern-day heroine, readers uncover the painful family history that her mother has kept hidden for decades, an engrossing story gradually revealed. Such are the ingredients for a typical beach read, but it's made notable by its skillful evocation of a previously little-known setting, Spinalonga, an island off the coast of Crete that served as a leper colony for most of the 20th century.

While on a vacation to Greece with her arrogant and annoying fiancé, Alexis Fielding leaves him behind for a few days to visit Plaka, in northwestern Crete, the village where her mother Sofia was born. Here an old family friend, Fortini, spells out for Alexis the reasons behind Sofia's desires to leave her homeland behind and start anew in London.  The majority of the narrative spans from 1939 through the late '60s, explaining how Sofia's family story intertwines with that of Spinalonga.  It begins as Alexis's great-grandmother, Eleni, is banished to the island after contracting leprosy, leaving her great-grandfather, Georgiou, to raise their daughters on his own.  The tale proceeds through World War II, a time when residents of Spinalonga were spared the traumatic occupation by German forces that Cretans were forced to endure, and continues as Eleni's children, Anna and Maria, follow very different paths in romance and in life.

Victoria Hislop writes with warmth and sensitivity about Spinalonga's residents and the self-contained community they build together.  Although few expect to leave - a cure for leprosy seems far distant - the island, with its vibrant flowers and bustling storefronts, is far from the prison most of them envisioned.  The coming of a movie theatre and the founding of a newspaper means their minds are kept occupied and entertained. Georgiou, the boatman who ferries supplies out to the island, never forgets his beloved wife, though many of Plaka's other citizens feel ashamed of their connections with Spinalonga.  The island becomes a place of acceptance for people rejected by their home, and Eleni's determination to give its children a proper education is one of many moving triumphs.

Where The Island falters is in its characterizations, which aren't exactly nuanced, and its occasionally awkward writing style. The constant point-of-view switches, sometimes within the same paragraph, ensure a well-rounded epic story but startle with their abruptness.  Anna, Eleni's elder daughter, grows from a selfish, hateful child into a gorgeous, vain, and self-absorbed woman; it's a wonder anyone tolerates let alone loves her, but they do. Maria, her polar opposite, is a pure, gentle, and self-sacrificing soul, the epitome of kindness in all situations.  And Alexis's boorish fiancé, Ed... it's clear she'll ditch him in the end, but why would she have stayed with the guy for five years?  Despite the revelation of many family secrets, some mysteries still remain. 

After I settled in with it, the flaws became less noticeable, and I finished it in two days, which says a lot.  Other readers  have objected to the plethora of details on daily life, but I felt they enlivened the plot rather than dragging it down.  Not the tragic, depressing book one might expect with such a somber topic, this is a thoughtful, relaxing, even uplifting read for a lazy weekend.  If you're planning a trip to Greece, I'd definitely recommend it.

The Island appeared from Headline Review (UK) in 2005 and from Harper (US) in 2007.

A look at Rebecca Johns' The Countess

This wasn't a book I ever expected to read. I find most horror novels repellent, and although I'd long known of the infamous legend of Erzsébet Báthory - the Hungarian countess for whom the term "bloodbath" could have been coined - her life story never interested me at all.

Then an ARC of The Countess showed up in the mail unsolicited, and the back cover blurb piqued my curiosity. "Did her accusers create a violent fiction in order to destroy this beautiful, intelligent, and ambitious woman?" Hmm, this was a take I'd never heard before. Could she have been framed, a victim of a political conspiracy? Even Wikipedia, the font of authority that it is, said that it might be true, so maybe it was.

The setting was mighty intriguing, so I decided: If I had to read about the Blood Countess in order to learn more about the life of a powerful woman in 16th-century Hungary, I'd bear up bravely and skim over the gory bits. The authenticity of the character and place names, with their original Hungarian spellings, also impressed me. I opened the book and began reading the first chapter. Erzsébet's first-person life story begins in 1611, as she's being walled up in a room at Csejthe Castle as punishment for her murderous crimes. She addresses her account to her only son, whom she loves dearly. Her manner is proud and defiant; her voice is intelligent, even reasonable, and she denies any wrongdoing. Who wouldn't want to hear her out? And so I was well and truly caught, just like the hapless young noblewomen sent to the Countess's household by their trusting parents. By the time her true nature came to light, it was too late to turn back.

As her narrative continued, Erzsébet's account seemed so forthright and sane that she made me want to believe her. Sure, she exhibits a hint of cruelty early on, when she taunts a gypsy who's being put to death as punishment for selling his daughter to the Turks, but this was a brutal time and place. For example, even in childhood Erzsébet knows the unfairness of a woman's lot. Her mother, a three-time widow, is refused permission to remarry and takes to her bed in despair. Erzsébet's own arranged marriage to Ferenc Nádasdy, a union meant to cement an alliance between two of Hungary's highest-ranking families, is cold at first, and her redoubtable mother-in-law is hard to impress.

Erzsébet's power rises only later, after her unique punishment of a female servant causes her husband to look at her in a new light. They become soul mates of an unusual kind. She raises his children while he's off fighting Hungary's wars, and her beauty, even in middle age, attracts attention at the Viennese court. But after Ferenc's death, Erzsébet's luck turns. She takes lovers, but as a woman alone, without a husband's protection, she risks losing her fortune and lands - her son's inheritance - to whichever man has the ability to take them from her. Besieged from all avenues, she earns the reader's sympathy, an ambitious woman in a world ruled by men. So she establishes a domestic power base, with the help of some loyal women servants... and rumors of the goings-on eventually reach the outside world.

It takes careful reading, at first, to separate the rationality of Erzsébet's statements from the reality of her actions. Thanks to Johns's subtle rendering, readers see the gradual emergence of her character. The isolation of her properties - large castles surrounded by small villages and rolling farmlands, all vividly described - contributes to the starkness of the overall tone.

The Countess has a forbidding creepiness about it. The horror it evokes lies not in graphic depictions of violence (though there are a few) but in her casual attitude toward what she does - her belief that she's acting appropriately for a woman of her station. Which is more dangerous, the evil that makes itself obvious, or the one that appears in an appealing disguise?

I enjoyed her tale immensely, despite myself.

The Countess was published in October by Crown at $25.00/$28.95 Can (hardbound, 285pp). I meant to post this for Halloween, but time got away from me.

Bits and pieces

The UK Historical Novel Society conference took place in Manchester on October 17th, and since I wasn't able to attend, I've been enjoying the reports from afar.

• At Historical Belles and Beaus, Deborah Swift (whose debut novel The Lady's Slipper I'll be reviewing next month) provides an excellent writeup of the presentations she attended.  It's interesting to read about the cross-cultural differences in historical fiction, the diversity within the genre, and authors' and readers' responses to both.  Added later: Part 2 of Deborah Swift's writeup.
• On his blog, Doug Jackson, one of the speakers, talks about transitioning from a writer to an entertainer in the course of promoting his work.  
• Dianne Ascroft reports on her experience meeting other writers at the event.
• Novelist Elizabeth Hawksley talks about meeting Ann Turnbull at the conference.  Both Elizabeth and Ann are longtime reviewers of children's novels for the HNS.  
• The Pages Ago Historical Readers' Day took place the day before the HNS event, and Jane Mathieson provides a nice overview at the Time-to-Read site.

From Publishers' Marketplace... Three upcoming novels from Philippa Gregory have been announced, all part of her Cousins' War series set during the Wars of the Roses: The Kingmaker's Daughters (about Anne and Isabel Neville), for publication in 2012; The White Princess (about Elizabeth of York), and The Last Rose (subject TBA). All were sold to Trish Todd at Touchstone/Simon & Schuster US, with Suzanne Baboneau at S&S UK co-editing, via agent Anthony Mason.  Coming next, in 2011, is The Lady of the Rivers, about Jacquetta, Duchess of Bedford, mother of Elizabeth Woodville.

The Romantic Armchair Traveller is a wonderful new blog I found recently, thanks to a comment Danielle left on my site.  Pleasing from both aesthetic and literary standpoints, it takes readers on armchair journeys to lands near and distant.  Danielle focuses on romance novels and other romantic fiction with a strong sense of place, and her thoughtful reviews, full of incisive commentary, are interspersed with photos of the setting in question.

The murmurings in literary circles are growing louder every day, thanks to an Oxford academic's revelation that Jane Austen had some editorial help with her spelling and grammar, and she also revised her own manuscripts.  The BBC seems to have blown things out of proportion with the headline "Jane Austen's Style May Not Be Hers."  I prefer Catherine Delors's take on the issue: Breaking News: Jane Austen Was Human!  Most novelists today use word processing software, so the visual evidence of their editorial changes will be lost to posterity, but Austen's original manuscripts show all of her cross-outs and rewrites.

I spent the weekend reading an ARC of Kate Morton's The Distant Hours and finished it late last night, taking breaks every few chapters to draw out the experience a little longer.  I'll save my writeup to post when it's out around November 9th, but I'll note here that I loved it and envy those who'll be reading it for the first time.  (How's that for a recommendation?)

Book review: The Tapestry Shop, by Joyce Moore

I'd already been interested in Joyce Elson Moore's The Tapestry Shop after reading the blurb, and the gorgeous cover art just about took my breath away.  Thus, my dilemma: Should I read it, or should I find a way to hang it on my wall?  (Since the cover design is printed not only on the jacket but on the book itself, one could conceivably do both.)

The Tapestry Shop is an imaginative fictional reconstruction of the life of Adam de la Halle, an early trouvère, or medieval minstrel, living in and around Arras in northern France in the mid-13th century.  He was best known for his lighthearted play "Robin et Marion," which may have given rise to the later legends of Robin Hood.  Although I hadn't been familiar with Adam or his work beforehand, the storyline drew me right into his world.

As with tapestries themselves, the novel stretches out over a wide canvas but relies on its finer details to create a beautifully woven portrait of medieval life. Its plot moves with a lively yet steady pace that suits it well.  I found myself enjoying every minute of my virtual stroll through many French towns and cities, taking in the sights while following the hero and heroine on their travels.

On his journey home to Arras after a four-month exile in Douai - he had offended the wrong people with his satirical lyrics - Adam takes a detour to the village of Vitry-en-Artois, where he becomes enraptured by a lovely young woman working at her father's tapestry shop.  Catherine Durant, upset over her recent betrothal to a man with a hidden cruel streak, feels attracted to Adam as well, though she knows a future with him is impossible.  He's trapped in a broken marriage, and even though his wife is unfaithful, he refuses to force the issue. Medieval people had harsh punishments for adulterous women.

Neither Adam nor Catherine ever forgets the other, though this isn't a typical romance; the plot follows too unpredictable of a path for that.  Both are likeable and sympathetic, and while some of the dilemmas they face are timeless (in addition to his romantic woes, Adam suffers from writers' block), others reflect the particular milieu. Feudalism keeps peasants and landowners in their places, and women are given only as much freedom as their husbands or male relatives permit. Catherine's piety determines the decisions she makes, sometimes to the detriment of her happiness, but this felt realistic for the time and place.

Using clear language that turns quite lyrical in places, the novel had me hearing the clacking of wheels as they passed over cobblestone streets, tasting the delicious tarts sold by street vendors, and seeing the glory of the sun light up the forest in early morning.  I especially liked my visit to the Cold Fair at Troyes, an exciting gathering of craftsmen, buyers, and entertainers from all over.

There are a few errant threads - some scenes that were a little quirky - but not enough to detract from the overall picture. In its focus on the daily lives of artisans and musicians rather than the glamour of the royal court, The Tapestry Shop is refreshingly different from other novels set in medieval France. The author's close attention to detail made the era come alive, creating a historical setting I'd loved to have seen in person. Since that's not possible, alas, I'll happily recommend this book as an entertaining and enlightening alternative.

The Tapestry Shop was published by Five Star in October at $25.95 (hardbound, 326pp).  For more information on her research sources as well as other diversions, visit Joyce Moore's blog.  (Cover design credit to Deirdre Wait, High Pines Creative, ENC Graphic Services.)

Guest post: A Medieval Quiz, by Jeri Westerson

Jeri Westerson, a regular guest at Reading the Past, is stopping by as part of her tour for The Demon's Parchment.  Welcome, Jeri!  She has a short and clever quiz to present today, and it's informative to boot.  How many did you get right?

A Medieval Quiz
By Jeri Westerson

In celebration of the release of my third Crispin Guest Medieval Noir, The Demon's Parchment, I’d like to offer you blog readers a quick medieval quiz to see how aware you are of certain medieval terms that might crop up in your reading. Sharpen your number two pencils. Ready?

1. The “mote” of a mote and bailey castle is
A) the high walls
B) the water barrier around the castle
C) the mound the castle sits on
D) the kind of rock used to build it

2. The term “medieval” means
A) dark and evil
B) “middle ages”
C) modern times
D) ancient times

3) A Chevalier is the same as a knight
A) True
B) False

4). What kind of English did Geoffrey Chaucer speak?
A) Anglo-Saxon
B) Old English
C) Middle English
D) None of the above

5. In a palace or manor house, a buttery is
A) the place the wine is stored
B) the place the dairy products are stored
C) the place the weapons are stored
D) none of the above

6. A hauberk is
A) a leather satchel
B) a kind of pack horse
C) a mail shirt
D) the last man in the battle line

Put your pencils down. How’d you do? Time to go through them and see what you missed.

1. The “mote” of a mote and bailey castle is…the mound the castle is built on. The term “mote” is Anglo-Norman French and means a hillock. The Normans built the first of what one might call castles in Europe, which meant a sort of fortified enclosed structure on top of a mound. The bailey is the courtyard within the walls. You thought it was the moat, didn’t you? That’s the water barrier around a castle.

2. The term “medieval” means…“middle ages.” This idea of “middle ages” was coined by the Victorians, those lovers of all things medieval and who were responsible for preserving a lot of what we know about the medieval world, though they were also fond of …well, making stuff up, too. The “middle” of these ages means they are in the middle between the classical Greek period and modern times.

3. A Chevalier is the same as a knight, true or false? True! Chevalier is French for horseman and that is essentially the earlier meaning of the idea of “knight.”

4. What kind of English did Geoffrey Chaucer speak? Chaucer spoke and wrote in Middle English, that is, the English between Old English which was mostly German or Saxon, and Elizabethan English, which is akin to modern English. Middle English was transitional. The difference was that Middle English was phonetic like German. You know all those extra letters we have in words that are silent? Well, they weren’t silent then. Take the word “knight” for instance. We pronounce it “nite.” But in Middle English, you’d pronounce all the letters in something like K-N-EE-CH-T (the ch being a glottal sound like you have a fishbone caught in the back of your throat.) But English it was and this was very important. Prior to the English of the fourteenth century, the nobility spoke Anglo-Saxon and when William the Conqueror conquered England the nobility changed over to Norman French and anybody who was anybody spoke French. It was said that in the twelfth century Richard the Lionheart didn’t even speak any form of English and barely ever set foot in England. Sort of rude of him, being king of England and all. By the time the fourteenth century rolled around, King Richard II and his court were all speaking English and Geoffrey Chaucer merely reflected that, writing his books and poetry in the mother tongue for the first time.


5. In a palace or manor house, a buttery is…the place you store and serve wine and ale. From “butt” meaning a “cask” as in “butt of malmsey,” the thing the duke of Clarence was drowned in during Shakespeare’s Richard III. It’s also the place where the food is laid out and ready to be served. The buttery, that is.

6. A hauberk is a…mail shirt. I know you’re thinking “chain mail” but the proper term is simply “mail” because mail means rings or chains. In the early Middle Ages this was worn alone over the clothing to afford protection from sword hits, but by the late Middle Ages it was worn under your plate armor for extra protection where the armor didn’t cover you, like at the armpits, neck, and groin.

So there you have it. A few terms that might help you when you read medieval novels. Some of these might even show up in my novels. You can catch an excerpt of my latest, The Demon's Parchment, on my website www.JeriWesterson.com.

U is for Uruguay

For the letter U in Historical Tapestry's alphabet challenge, I chose Carolina de Robertis's The Invisible Mountain, a century-spanning literary saga about a mother, daughter, and granddaughter and the difficult paths they tread at different stages of their country's history.

I knew little about Uruguay before before beginning this novel.  Its capital, Montevideo, reportedly got its name from a Portuguese sailor's first words upon reaching the land:  "Monte vide eu," or "I see a mountain."  As the story reveals, the meaning is ironic, because the city is relatively flat, boasting little more than a rounded hill.  Each of its three protagonists spends much of her life yearning for something invisible and unattainable, but eventually finds contentment of sorts through another avenue.

Those who enjoy the rich, descriptive language of Allende or Márquez will find much to delight in here.  De Robertis carefully aligns her prose style with her heroines' personalities and the prevailing spirit of each era.  Pajarita, daughter of a gaucho, is born in the tiny town of Tacuarembó in 1899.  An unwanted child whose birth killed her mother, she vanishes from her father's home as a baby and mysteriously reappears nine months later in the branches of a tall tree, or so legend has it.  The chapters detailing her youth and marriage to Ignazio Firielli, a gondola-maker from Venice, are full of vivid metaphors that evoke the colors and textures of nature:

There, through the window, the soft slash of the moon.  There it falls, making silver light on the ground.  This place is home. And it is good.  But it is not the world.  The thought surprised her.  It felt fresh, an unknown herb against the palate of her mind.

No, the whole novel isn't written in this poetic style, but for me, these sections fell in as a natural part of the tale the author tells.

Pajarita becomes a renowned healer, a woman sought out for her knowledge of herbs - one of the few things, along with her indomitable spirit, she brings with her to her new home in the growing city of Montevideo.  Her daughter, Eva, endures a traumatic childhood after her father insists she take a job to help support the family.  A young woman with the soul of a poet, her journey takes her to the heart of Perón's Buenos Aires and back before she finally finds the love she's long deserved.  Eva's daughter Salomé comes of age in a country full of political turmoil; she falls prey to the communist fervor sweeping through Central and South America in the '60s and pays a terrible price.  The final section loops back toward the beginning, with Salomé writing a letter to her own daughter.

The tone shifts from magical realism to sharp reality over the course of the century as Uruguay endures economic hardship, labor unrest, and urban guerrilla warfare and emerges, not unscathed, as a modern, democratic nation. Threaded throughout is Uruguay's complex relationship with the United States.  All of this well-crafted history intertwines with the themes of the inner strength of women and their relationships with one another and the men in their lives.  At the risk of making it sound trite, which it isn't at all, this really is more of a women's book; most of its male characters (adventurers, hot-tempered machismo types, and worse) don't come off looking real well.  And one of the men even decides... well, that would be saying too much.

The Invisible Mountain is a deep and involving work, and I found myself reading slowly in order to absorb the nuances of the author's creative phrasings. Uruguay might not immediately come to mind as a desired setting for historical fiction, but it turns out that this small country tucked into the underside of eastern South America contains a fascinating world worth discovering.

The Invisible Mountain was first published by Knopf in August 2009.  The paperback was published this past August (Vintage, $15.95, 448pp).

Book review: Beautiful Dreamer, by Joan Naper

In her debut Beautiful Dreamer, Joan Naper has written a loving tribute to her hometown of Chicago, a major American city that takes pride in its illustrious history.

The novel opens during the 1899 Christmas season.  Kitty Coakley is a lovely young woman of twenty who lives with her working-class parents and her four older brothers in the parish of St. Patrick, in Chicago’s West Loop. Although Kitty and her family are Irish Catholics, this isn’t the immigrant saga one might expect. One generation removed from Ireland, Kitty considers Chicago her first and only home, and she’s enough of an American to know how to dream big.

While her parents want to see her settled with a nice Irish boy like Brian Kelleher, despite his lack of ambition and his strong-but-silent ways, Kitty yearns to escape the drudgery she sees in her future – her mother and older sister are living it – by establishing herself in her own career. Readers follow Kitty as she matures, seeks out new opportunities after her initial hopes are dashed, and struggles to balance her growing fondness for a Protestant former school friend, Henry Thomas, with her parents’ wishes. Henry’s viewpoint is revealed in alternating chapters, which show his difficult path to becoming a professional architect.

Naper renders turn-of-the-century Chicago in bountiful and exciting detail. From the shabby-but-respectable “Cabbage Patch” around West Adams Street where the Coakleys live to the slums around Hull House, and from the busy streetcars crossing the downtown to upscale receptions at the Palmer Mansion on Lake Shore Drive, the city comes alive with activity and local color. Occasionally extraneous facts interrupt the story, but the atmosphere certainly feels authentic, and readers should feel like they’ve gotten a quality tour of the city’s neighborhoods during all four seasons. Anyone who’s experienced the wind off Lake Michigan in January will nod their heads (and shiver) at the author’s descriptions.

In addition to capturing the physical milieu, the author depicts with care and subtlety the social barriers and cultural divisions affecting Chicagoans in that day and age. If Kitty’s Catholic family doesn’t approve of Henry, his wealthy parents – whose German Lutheran heritage is well presented – don’t think Kitty is good enough for him either. One cleverly written scene, depicting an elegant evening out at the symphony for the couple, illustrates how much their upbringing affects their behavior. And despite her ethnic background, not even Kitty is immune from prejudice. In her training to become a kindergarten teacher, she must take charge of recent immigrants’ young children and recoils from their drippy noses and abject poverty.

Beautiful Dreamer spans just over a year's time, and the action sometimes skips days or months with each new chapter. In the first half in particular, the plot forges ahead in fits and starts, much like one of those newfangled horseless carriages might proceed down Michigan Avenue. (It would have helped to have the date listed below each chapter title.) The writing is crisp and clean, but the plot lacks emotional intensity, a surprising deficit in a family story with romantic elements. Perhaps it was a deliberate choice to make Kitty’s Aunt Mabel the only fully rounded secondary character – a woman who runs her own millinery boutique at Marshall Field’s, she becomes Kitty’s role model – but it makes the novel less compelling than it might have been. Likewise, although the novel states the characters’ affection for one another, those sentiments don’t come through strongly on the page.

On the other hand, this isn’t a rose-colored-glasses romance, and if nothing else, one can appreciate the realism of Kitty’s situation. Whichever man she chooses and whichever path her career takes, there will be bumps along the road to happiness. Such, as they say, is life. In this respect, although the novel doesn’t always elicit deep feelings, its message is a wise one. Combined with an entertaining walk through historic Chicago, Kitty’s coming-of-age journey is ultimately worth following.

Beautiful Dreamer was published by Allium Press of Chicago in September at $14.99, or $17.99 in Canada (trade pb, 301pp).

Sunday smatterings

Good morning, everyone - it's a beautiful fall morning here in Illinois. I've been up since 6am, after going to bed at 7pm yesterday with a wretched headache. The same thing happened on Friday night, so I'm hoping today will be better.

Without further ado, the winner of Susan Holloway Scott's The Countess and the King is:  Terry! Congratulations, and I'll be in touch to obtain your mailing address.

For a short time this summer, I stopped accepting review copies for the site, since I was overwhelmed with work... plus, when I was offered the opportunity to review Ken Follett's Fall of Giants, I couldn't pass it up.  A little daunting, though, to take on a 985-page historical epic - especially when you consider the size of the galley when it showed up in the mail.

Galley at left, smaller hardcover at right.  Talk about a doorstopper!

My review appeared in the Globe & Mail on Saturday, so hop on over to the site if you'd like to read it.  (An interview with Follett, posted earlier in the week, is linked from the piece.)  I went into it with high expectations, and I'm happy to report that the book met them.  It's sitting atop the bestseller lists of both the Globe and the New York Times, not surprising given Follett's past successes, and it's a great sign for historical fiction as a whole.  Anyone here who's in the midst of reading it, or planning on reading it soon?

My current read is Joan Naper's Beautiful Dreamer, set in Chicago in 1900, and I hope to have a review posted later in the week.  Also on deck is my pick for the letter U in the alphabet challenge, as well as Kate Morton's The Distant Hours (another enormous galley, but it can't compare to the Follett).

A Canadian historical fiction showcase

After posting about Mary Novik's Conceit last week, I went on a mini shopping spree at Amazon Canada, discovering a number of other historical novels not readily available in the US.  The per-shipment postage charge is expensive, so it pays to buy in quantity.  That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.  (I didn't buy all of these, but wanted to.)

What's interesting: it's very selective as to which Canadian authors' books are picked up in the States. Some of these novelists will be familiar to US readers, who may not realize that the authors have new books out (or will soon).  As far as I can tell, none are available in the UK or in other English-speaking countries, either.  The historical settings are wide-ranging, from ancient Egypt to Renaissance Venice to 17th-century New France to 19th-century Japan.  Because it's been over a year since I've been to any Canadian bookstores in person, I'm sure I'm missing other relevant titles; to recommend others, just leave a note in the comments.  Enjoy.





The first volume of the Alford Saga, which will chronicle over 200 years of Canadian history beginning with the stories of the country's pioneer settlers in the early 19th century.  The author is one of Canada's major preeminent film and TV directors.  Not quite an epic, though, at 248 pages. McArthur & Co, September 2010.




In 1669, Laure Beausejour and her best friend, Madeleine, are sent from Paris to New France as filles du roi, young women transported overseas to help populate the colony.  In Ville-Marie (Montreal), she faces numerous challenges, from the region's harsh conditions to her marriage to a brutish French soldier.  The plot reminds me somewhat of Clare Clark's Savage Lands, but set in Canada rather than Louisiana.  I'd enjoyed the setting of the latter but didn't warm to any of the characters, and I've read next to nothing set in New France, so am eagerly anticipating this debut novel.  Penguin Canada, January 2011.




Publication of the third volume in Pauline Gedge's King's Man trilogy has been postponed a few times.  This volume begins as Huy, a renowned seer, becomes scribe and counselor to the young pharaoh, Amunhotep III. The first two books are The Twice Born and Seer of Egypt.  Penguin Canada, March 2011.




A literary ghost story about the nature of artistic inspiration and womanhood, set in present-day Washington, DC, and in 19th-century Japan.  Rebecca must discover why O-Ei, daughter of one of Japan's great artists and perhaps his equal in talent, vanished from her own time and from history.  Govier's earlier novels Creation and Three Views of Crystal Water appeared in the US, but no sign yet of this one.  I found an article by Govier at More Magazine that illuminates her travels in pursuit of her character, a historical woman.  HarperCollins Canada, May 2010.




I read about Freda Jackson's For a Modest Fee last week at January Magazine, who wrote that it dealt with gender equality on the Canadian prairies.  Elizabeth Evans, nurse and midwife, travels with her father to Aspen Coulee, Alberta, in 1907.  After he dies of a heart attack, she and other local women are left to transform the fledgling pioneer town into a more civilized place.  TouchWood, September 2010.




In returning to Labrador to investigate a millennia-old mystery, Shannon Carew delves into the region's complex, multi-layered history, from the ancient Inuits through the Vikings and to the tragic history of the Beothuk in more modern times. This is the author's first adult novel.  Cormorant, August 2010.




The publisher describes Roberta Rich's The Midwife of Venice (originally titled The Moneylender's Wife) as a rollicking historical thriller set in 16th-c Venice and Malta.  Hannah Levi, a midwife in the Venetian ghetto, risks her life to render aid to the dying wife and unborn child of a Christian nobleman.  Then she discovers the baby's own life is at risk from greedy relatives, and her real adventure begins.  Sound intriguing?  Read more at the author's website.  Doubleday Canada, February 2011.




Sometimes, completely serendipitously, two or more authors come out with historical novels on very similar subjects.  Joan Thomas's Curiosity tells the story of Mary Anning, a cabinet-maker's daughter turned fossil hunter in 19th-century Lyme Regis, England.  I'm far from the first person to group it together with Tracy Chevalier's Remarkable Creatures, as reviewers from the Vancouver Sun and Toronto Star have done the same. The books interpret the same character very differently, so the reviews say, so why not try both?  McClelland and Stewart, March 2010.




Jack Whyte moves from his trilogy about the mysterious Knights Templar of the medieval Middle East to Scotland in the late 13th and early 14th centuries.  The life of William Wallace ("Ye canna take our freedom!" per a certain Mel Gibson flick) is rendered with a greater eye for authenticity in this first book of the Guardians trilogy.  Books 2 and 3 will cover Robert the Bruce and the Black Douglas, respectively. Viking Canada, September 2010.




I'm a fan of Richard Wright's Clara Callan, a multi-award winning saga of two sisters living in small-town Ontario during the Depression.  Why Mr. Shakespeare's Bastard isn't published in the States is a mystery to me, as it has the elements American historical fiction readers crave: a marquee name, a setting of Elizabethan London, and the promise of secrets to be revealed about a beloved historical character.  I can't resist poking fun at popular reading tastes, but Wright's latest novel did get a very positive review in the Globe & Mail a few weeks ago, which convinced me to buy it.  Kailana of The Written World recently reviewed it as well.  Phyllis Bruce Books (HarperCollins Canada), September 2010.

T is for Thomas

It's unusual—and daunting—to take on a novel from a small press that arrives complete with glowing commentary from novelists such as Bernard Cornwell and Cecelia Holland. At its conclusion, I was relieved to find myself in complete agreement.

In A Bloodline of Kings, a historical epic about Philip of Macedon, the story begins with one birth (that of Philip himself) and ends with another (his son Alexander, later called the Great). In the intervening pages, Sundell takes us through the life of an extraordinary man, Philippos of the Makedones, whose brilliant military career during the 4th century BC was overshadowed by that of his more famous son.

It is Philippos who earns Macedon a place on the political playing field of the ancient Hellenes and makes it the equal of powerful city-states such as Athens and Thebes. This is not only a military saga, however, for the women are as strong and ambitious as the men. In fact, some of the most emotional moments occur as Kleopatra, former Queen of the Makedones and Philippos' great-grandmother, secretly trains her young charge to be a future leader, not knowing that his older brothers' early deaths will make her wishes come true.

The author's research is well evident; its thoroughness is, in fact, astonishing. As the novel does not always wear its research lightly, newcomers to the period may find it intellectually challenging, but the education they receive as a result will make their efforts worthwhile.

I reviewed Thomas Sundell's A Bloodline of Kings for the Historical Novels Review in 2002, when it first came out, and part of this post was taken from my original writeup.  I spotted the novel on my basement shelves while doing some book shifting this afternoon (happens a lot around here) and decided to feature it for the letter T in Historical Tapestry's alphabet challenge.

Because it's been a while since I first read it, I thumbed through it again to see if I still had the same opinion.  One thing I neither remembered nor remarked on back then: it's written in the present tense.  This didn't feel artificial or faddish then and it didn't after a reread of the first chapter.  It surprises me that I didn't mention it in my original review, but I guess that means that it didn't bother me. Also, it's self-published, and slightly more expensive than other hardcovers of similar length, but there's a lot of action, characters, and story packed into its near-500 pages.  For readers who enjoy well-rounded depictions of the ancient world, this one's worth seeking out.

Thomas Sundell's A Bloodline of Kings was published by Crow Woods in 2002 at $28.50 (484pp, hardbound). It's still in print and available.

An interview with Susan Holloway Scott, author of The Countess & the King

Today I'd like to welcome Susan Holloway Scott back to Reading the Past to talk about her latest novel, The Countess and the King, which recounts the dramatic early life of Restoration-era royal mistress Katherine Sedley.  While Susan's most recent biographical novels focused on mistresses of Charles II – Barbara Palmer (Royal Harlot), Nell Gwyn (The King's Favorite), and Louise de Keroualle (The French Mistress) – Katherine was closely associated instead with the Merry Monarch's brother, James, Duke of York, who ascended the throne in 1685 as James II. 

Although she was born the only daughter of a wealthy family – her father is one of the king's dearest friends – Katherine is known simply as "Miss Sedley," for she bears no title herself.  A woman of average looks amid a sea of great beauties, Katherine develops a talent for bold repartee at a young age; while this makes her popularity rise at court, it also earns her others' enmity.  The relationship between Katherine and the Duke of York puzzles other courtiers, who can't fathom the attraction between a plain-faced Protestant commoner and the king's unpopular, Catholic, and less charismatic younger brother. But opposites have a way of attracting, and Katherine stands by him during a period of intense political and religious turmoil in England. 

I enjoyed being able to observe the Restoration court through a different set of eyes; Katherine has a unique perspective on her lover, James II, who hasn't exactly gone down in history as the most popular or successful monarch.  Katherine makes for an appealing heroine, and I can imagine her clever banter (the girl has quite a mouth on her at times!) was as fun to write as it was to read.  I couldn't resist asking Susan about this aspect of Katherine's character, as well as her research methods, the historical background, and details on other personalities who played significant roles in the courts of Charles II and James II.

The Countess and the King was published by NAL in September ($15.00, 384pp), and the publisher has provided me with a spare copy for a giveaway.  (Thanks!)  I hope you'll enjoy the interview, and please read to the end for details on how to win yourself a copy.  Because I've managed to squeeze this interview in on the last day of September, I'm also making this my entry for the letter S in Historical Tapestry's alphabet challenge (S is for Sedley or Susan – take your pick).

Katherine's barbed, ribald wit is especially shocking when you consider her youth. You don't hear much about the children who grew up around Charles II's bawdy Restoration court, which made me wonder if her childhood was unique in that respect. Was it? How did you go about researching such a topic?

Researching Katherine’s childhood – and, really, her entire life – was a challenge. There has never been a full-length biography written about her, nor have her letters been collected and published. If she kept a diary or journal, it has been lost. Like most women of the past, Katherine remains defined by the men in her life, and as a result, most of my research began with them: her father, poet, dramatist, and courtier Sir Charles Sedley; her most famous lover, James II; and the various other gentlemen who were her friends, enemies, and suitors. It’s a true testament to the strength of her personality that when she does appear in their letters, diaries, or biographies, she often quite steals the scene.

While I don’t doubt that 17th c. folk loved their children as much as modern parents do, the pattern for English aristocrats was to have their offspring raised by nursemaids and tutors, often in the healthier country. Yet because Katherine was an only child with distracted parents, it seems that her education and supervision were scattered at best. While few noble-born girls received much schooling (even the royal princesses, Mary and Anne, were woefully undereducated), Katherine’s haphazard upbringing, and the unusual freedoms that her indulgent father granted her, were considered quite scandalous at the time. And a good thing, too. If people hadn’t been shocked, they wouldn’t have written about Sir Charles’s wicked small daughter, and she would have been entirely forgotten 300 years later.

Along the same lines, I found Charles Sedley to be a curious character. I wasn't sure what to make of him, and I imagine Katherine could have felt similarly. Though a doting father at times, he was also rather immature and, considering his own marital arrangements (so to speak), hypocritical in his reaction to Katherine's role in the Duke of York's life. Did the nature of his character puzzle you as well?

Everything I read about the relationship between Sir Charles Sedley and Katherine as a girl reminded me of certain Hollywood versions of parenting: the child as an amusing accessory, a sidekick rather than a daughter, a pet to be carried about rather than a child who needs discipline and guidance because, really, I’m too cool to be a real father. By the time Sir Charles remarries (bigamously, but that’s another story) and becomes that most tedious of creatures, a Reformed Rake, it was much too late for the wild adolescent Katherine to become a meek and dutiful daughter. Instead Katherine continued to act up (and out) for the rest of her life – perhaps unconsciously hoping to regain her father’s attention, or perhaps simply behaving as he, too, had as a younger man. I agree that Sir Charles’s disapproval of Katherine’s place as a royal mistress did seem hypocritical, but more likely I suspect that he didn’t wish her hurt; he’d seen court politics first-hand, and knew all too well the perils of dallying with kings.

All of your previous Stuart-era heroines make appearances in The Countess and the King, though some don't make the best impression! Katherine finds Sarah Jennings (later Churchill) to be an odious woman, for example. Have you ever discovered new things about your previous heroines in the course of writing about them from a rival's perspective?

Oh, all the time! With each book I’ve discovered new things about the history as well as the people that I’d wished I’d known earlier. Research is an on-going and never-ending process. Fortunately, publishers don’t let authors rewrite books once they’ve been published, or I’d never move forward.

But I do enjoy the changing points of view with each book, and how it affects the story. As you noted, the Sarah Jennings in The Countess & the King is a very different animal from the one who’s the heroine of Duchess – but then the Katherine Sedley in Duchess isn’t nearly as charming as she is in her own book, either. *g*

You've made it easy for readers to picture Windsor Castle, the Palace of Whitehall, and their multitudes of richly decorated rooms. Do you do any of your research on site? With regard to Whitehall -- which I understand burned down (for the most part) in 1698 -- did you find it any more of a challenge to re-create in fiction?

Alas, I’m not one of those fortunate writers who can afford to travel for research – kids in college take care of that! On the other hand, many of the places that my 17th century characters visit are very different today, or, like Whitehall Palace, have been lost entirely. Charles II spent most of his reign repairing and remodeling the interior of Windsor Palace into an English version of Versailles; by 1800, almost all of his efforts were gone, obliterated by successive remodeling. Even the modern Thames is a much-changed river from what it was during the Restoration. So while I do study modern photographs and videos, I rely much more on contemporary drawings and descriptions of buildings and places to create an accurate version of the past.

James, Duke of Monmouth, Charles II's illegitimate son, comes across as an overconfident, misguided soul who gambles on his uncle's forgiveness and pays the ultimate price. Do you share Katherine's opinion of him? How do you think Monmouth would have fared if his father had lived longer?

Monmouth is one of the more maddening personalities in 17th c. England, and also one of the most tragic. I suppose he could also be called another victim of bad parenting. The illegitimate son of the teenaged Charles Stuart and his mistress Lucy Walter, Monmouth was born while his father was in exile. As soon as Charles was restored to the throne, he brought the boy to court, made him a duke, and gave him an heiress for a wife. Charles continued to spoil Monmouth, always excusing his often outrageous behavior and forgiving him even when his misbehavior reached the point of treason. It didn’t help that Monmouth wasn’t very bright, nor that he could be easily led by others. Charles sadly understood this, too, and even indulgent royal fathers have their limits. I suspect that after Monmouth’s involvement in the Rye House Plot to assassinate both Charles and James, his banishment would have been last, even if Charles had lived longer. Monmouth had simply gone too far, and when his less tolerant uncle James became king, his foolish ambitions cost him his life. (One of my favorite historical novels tells Monmouth’s story: The King’s Touch by Jude Morgan.)

I don't want to ask if any of your royal mistress heroines are your favorites (an impossible sort of question to answer!) but are there any whose dialogue you especially enjoyed writing?

You’re right: it would be impossible to choose one lady over another. But I will admit that I’ve really enjoyed writing the dialogue for the ones known for their wit and bawdy humor: Nell Gwyn in The King’s Favorite, Barbara Palmer in Royal Harlot, and Katherine Sedley in The Countess & the King. The Restoration was a great time to be clever. Charles II liked to be amused, and he enjoyed – and admired – smart, funny women. I loved the challenge of incorporating their surviving quotes with my own sense of these women, and creating dialogue that I hope was worthy of them.

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Thank you, Susan, for taking the time to reply to my questions!  For readers who'd like the chance to win a copy of her latest novel, simply leave a comment on this post.  Deadline is next Friday, October 8th.  This giveaway is open to international readers.

What's Donne is done

Over the past two weeks, I've finished not one but two historical novels centering on the love affair between metaphysical poet John Donne and Ann More, the teenage noblewoman whom he married secretly and against her family's wishes.  Both are well worth reading, rich in period detail and channeling the spirit of Donne's works throughout the text, but they're quite different in terms of style.  I purchased them separately, about a year ago, one from a UK bookstore and the other on a trip to Canada.

Maeve Haran's The Lady and the Poet takes a more traditional approach to the story, though I don't mean to denigrate it in any way by that.  Ann More, a well-educated young woman of fourteen, first meets Donne when she travels from her father's home at Loseley Park in Surrey to the London house of her uncle, Thomas Egerton, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. Repelled by the sycophantic behavior and hypocrisy at court, Ann has zero interest in taking a position as one of Queen Elizabeth's ladies.  This angers her family, who were hoping to get some mileage out of her closeness to the Queen.  Despite the scandalous rumors that surround him, Ann grows steadily more intrigued by her uncle's handsome secretary, John Donne, both a known libertine and a supposedly reformed Catholic.  Their courtship progresses via secret meetings, penned exchanges, and lengthy separations which make their hearts grow fonder.   

Despite the unabashedly romantic focus, The Lady and the Poet is saved from sentimentality by Ann's assured narrative voice.  Because she and Donne are so often apart, Ann's uncertainty about the character of the man with whom she's fallen in love comes through clearly.  She, like the reader, gets to know him through his poems, which are in turn bawdy and deeply heartfelt.  Haran takes the tack that some of his erotic poetry was directed toward other mistresses with whom he was involved before he met Ann, while his love poems such as "The Good Morrow" (quoted at the beginning) were more obviously inspired by her.

Full of details about late Elizabethan country and city life, the novel unfolds in lively fashion.  While Ann's and Donne's marriage is recorded history, Haran fills in the whys and hows with reasonable supposition (which includes a suitor for Ann who proves unworthy; no big loss there).  The language is overlaid with a slight archaic feel, and the result made me feel like I was indeed breathing the air of another time.  I turned the pages compulsively but not too quickly — it's not that sort of read — and I also found it amusing that it took a novel set away from Tudor court life to reinvigorate my interest in the Elizabethan era.  In that respect, I found in Ann a kindred spirit!

Haran ends her book with Ann and Donne beginning their new life together, having triumphed over society's obstacles and her family's objections, of which there were many.  Donne endured a short stay in the Fleet Prison for her sake, while their marriage was still unproved, and he also lost his position in her uncle's household; Ann lost her father's favor, and the couple wasn't granted her dowry for several years afterward. But there's more to the couple's story, of course, than a tidy epilogue can provide.

Mary Novik's Conceit looks deeper into the relationship between the two, tracing it from its earliest stages through Ann's early death and beyond, examining how the legacy of their celebrated passion impacted the life of their daughter, Margaret, known familiarly as Pegge.  (This is a fictional interpretation, as little is known of the real-life Ann or her daughter.)  It unites the earthy bawdiness of John Donne's earlier poems, and that of mid-17th century London itself, with the solemnity and holiness found in his later works, mingling the sacred and the profane just as Donne himself did. The word "conceit," in a literary sense, refers to a juxtaposition of dissimilar concepts, and Novik makes creative use of the term, conjuring up many vivid and memorable images that take the breath away. One wouldn't expect a fishing expedition on the Thames to be an especially sensual experience, for instance, but the novel makes it so.

The novel opens with the Great Fire of 1666, as Pegge, a middle-aged wife and mother of eight (twelve if you count those who died, as she does), struggles to rescue her father's effigy from St. Paul's Cathedral before it burns.  The timeframe then reverts to her childhood and adolescence.  Pegge wants nothing more than to experience for herself the passion that consumed her parents in their youth, but she finds it not.  Izaak Walton, the young fisherman she adores, is in love with her older sister.  Even her father's love for his late wife, Ann, who died giving birth to her twelfth child in 1617, has muted over time.  John Donne's focus turned toward the religious as he grew older, and although he'd once promised his beloved Ann that their bodies would rest together in one grave, he's since changed his mind and now asks to be buried at St. Paul's among his fellow clerics.  Pegge comes close to losing herself in her pursuit of the secret of desire, as she cares for her dying father, pores over his writings, and sets down words of her own.

Conceit gathers new content from many corners, alternating among the viewpoints of Pegge, John, and even Ann, both in her headstrong youth and as she lies alone in her dingy grave. It's both thoughtful and thought-provoking as it explores the intimate connections between love and death as well as between people, in romantic relationships and within families.  The writing is simply stunning (it's no wonder it made it onto many literary prize lists), and it also made me feel well situated in the heart of 17th-century London: its houses, streets, bookshops, taverns, cathedrals, and even burial grounds, all of the places where the majority of its people lived, interacted, and still remain.

Maeve Haran's The Lady and the Poet was published in 2009 by Pan (UK) at £6.99 and by St. Martin's (UK) in 2010 at $25.99.  I bought the UK version, with its rich red cover, before I knew the US edition would appear (heavy discount alert on this one at Amazon).  Mary Novik's Conceit appeared in 2007 from Doubleday Canada at $29.95 Canadian; the paperback is out at $21.00 (both discounted at Amazon Canada).

Bits and pieces

Calling all historical fiction readers!  Jerome de Groot's English students at the University of Manchester are interested in learning more about your views and reading preferences.  Visit the Meet the Readers site to take a short survey.  Keep an eye on that page, too, since student projects will be posted there over the next month or so.

If you live in or will be visiting NYC between October 13 and December 5, you'll have the opportunity to see the world premiere of "Banished Children of Eve," a dramatic production of the Irish Repertory Theatre based on the bestselling historical novel by Peter Quinn.  A short synopsis:  "Against the backdrop of the dangerous, sweltering Civil War summer of 1863, the Bowery explodes with racial tension and the City of New York rushes headlong toward the fatal July draft riots. Moving to the music and rhythms of these dangerous times, a diverse band of characters is drawn together in a net of intrigue and violence."  Head on over to the IRT site for show times and to purchase tickets.

At NPR, Mary Sharratt recommends three novels to take you back to the Italian Renaissance.

The Death Instinct, Jed Rubenfeld's sequel to The Interpretation of Murder, is out in the UK... but not yet in the US, where it will be published on January 20th by Riverhead.  Rubenfeld is an American novelist writing about early 20th-century New York, yet his literary thrillers have attracted more attention from the British reading public. Perhaps this new one, about a real-life terrorist attack in the center of Manhattan in 1920, will change that?  He's interviewed in The Independent.

Hey, I just realized this was my 500th post.  I've been buried in reference desk work, review editing, and grant proposal reading, but I hope to have more reviews and forthcoming title info posted soon.

Remembering Judith Merkle Riley (1942 - 2010)

Some very sad news to report:  Judith Merkle Riley, author of six delightful historical novels including the Margaret of Ashbury trilogy, passed away on September 12th after a lengthy illness. I'd like to extend my sympathy to her family and friends, and thought I'd use this space to add my own recollections.

I got the chance to meet Judith in person at the 2005 Historical Novel Society conference in Salt Lake City, where she was a special guest.  Ann Chamberlin, Claire Morris, and I made up the organizing committee, and when Claire suggested we invite Judith as a speaker, Ann and I immediately agreed.  She'd written some of our favorite medieval novels, and we knew she'd be a perfect choice to fill some gaps we had on the program.  We were thrilled when she accepted.  Judith spoke on several panels, but the highlight was a standing-room-only workshop she gave on applying primary source materials to one's research.  She used examples from The Book of Margery Kempe, speaking eloquently of how she extracted details about medieval women's daily lives from the writings of this 14th-15th century Englishwoman and mystic, the author of the earliest known autobiography in English.  Throughout the event, Judith was extremely gracious and down to earth, finding time to speak with all of the attendees who considered themselves fans of hers - of whom there were many, myself included.

It was also exciting to be present when Judith first met Rachel Kahan, her editor at Crown/Three Rivers Press.  Rachel was another guest at the conference and, as it so happened, the editor who would be responsible for bringing three of Judith historical novels back into print and for publishing another, The Water Devil, in English for the first time.  (Before 2007, The Water Devil, the final volume of her Margaret of Ashbury trilogy, had been available only in German, a fact lamented by many an English-speaking historical fiction reader!)  Just before the conference, my husband and I had picked Judith and Rachel up at the airport in our rented van, sharing an enjoyable literary conversation with them on the long drive over to the conference hotel. 

Judith Merkle Riley was that rare author who proved that historical fiction need not be grim and dour even when dealing with serious subjects.  She focused on supposedly average women from the Middle Ages and Renaissance, interweaving her compelling character sketches with insights into religion, art, literature, and people's belief in the supernatural (fantastical creatures play more than passing roles in some of her books). Present throughout was evidence of her dry wit; her characters were always able to find humor in themselves and in the world around them.  Her 1996 novel The Serpent Garden (link to a review I wrote for this site) is a great example of this.  My personal pick among her work is A Vision of Light, in which an illiterate 14th-century woman, Margaret of Ashbury, hires a priest to take down her life story.  Her website provides details on all six of her novels, and they should go far in convincing you to read (or reread) her work if you haven't done so already.

In addition to being a critically acclaimed historical novelist, Judith was an accomplished academic.  Her colleagues at Claremont McKenna College, where she was an associate professor of government, have posted their own In Memoriam piece on the school's website, with details on where donations in her memory can be sent.

Added later:  Her obituary from the Los Angeles Times.  Also, a wonderful tribute written by her friend (and mine), Christopher Gortner, at his blog Historical Boys.

The "medieval fiction" panel from Salt Lake, 2005, Judith Merkle Riley at far right. 
(Photo credit: Richard Scott)

I'm guest blogging today...

Pop on over to Michelle Black's excellent blog to read about my personal picks for novels set in the Victorian West.  Michelle's site is entitled "Victorian West: A Writer's Notebook," and I love how that phrase conjures up images of society and manners on the western frontier in the 19th century.  Having thoroughly enjoyed all three of Michelle's Eden Murdoch mysteries at the time they were published, I was really pleased to accept her invitation to write about other novels incorporating this fascinating setting.  If you have other favorite novels to recommend, please leave a comment there!

Update on Kathleen Herbert, and her fourth (as yet unpublished) novel

Connie Jensen, a friend of historical novelist Kathleen Herbert (Bride of the Spear, Queen of the Lightning, Ghost in the Sunlight), left a comment at the end of my post about the Georgette Heyer Historical Novel Prize that I thought I'd bring to the forefront here, as I know Ms. Herbert still has many fans.  Connie has established a blog at http://conswords.blogspot.com for those who would like to follow along with the path to publication for Kathleen Herbert's fourth novel.  Queen of the Lightning won the Heyer Prize in 1983.  I wish them the best of luck!

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Hello- I have just come across this fascinating blog while doing research on Kathleen Herbert. I am so pleased to see she has some current fans. I may have some good news for you: as well as being an admirer of Kathleen's books, I have been a personal friend for many years, and she has entrusted me with finding a publisher for her fourth and sadly, final novel. She completed Moon in Leo about ten years ago, and then had a very severe stroke. In the years of struggle since, she has been unable to gather the book together and get it published. She has suffered increasing anxiety over this but finally managed to give me the manuscript in two large carrier bags. The pages were all out of sequence and very badly typed, but after hours and days of work, my husband and I managed to get it into order and scan it. It is now ready and I am looking for an agent. Kathleen's former agent now only deals with tv scripts.

Here is a short extract from the synopsis to whet your appetites:

A time and place much like our own. Hardship up and down the country. People turned out of their homes; others living rich beyond the dreams of the dispossessed. Above all, religious hatred sending groups into hiding; feeding constant fear of plots and threats and rumour. Terrorist packmen roam the remote parts of the country. Celebrity and Royalty parade in a public sexual carnival.
This is England in the last years of the Stuarts; England in the days just before Monmouth’s rebellion; England at the time of the “Popish plot”; England of Restoration Comedy romps.
In these dangerous times how can a naïve girl live? It’s harder to find a safe path through the thickets of treason and bigotry than through the rip-tides and quicksands, solid routes and sanctuary in the sand of Morecambe Bay.
Her occultist father’s body burned; her brother pronounced dead from the deepest dungeon of Lancaster Castle; she fears herself threatened with marriage-by-rape to a predatory Placeman.

I am now in the process of submitting details to several agents, including at least one American agency; Kathleen is a quintessentially English writer, but I believe has many American fans. If anybody knows of an agent and/or publisher who might be interested, please let me know. In any case, I will try to keep readers of "Reading the Past" informed about the progress of Moon in Leo. I hope that, if it is a success, the earlier three novels will be republished.

Connie Jensen
Cumbria
UK

Guest post from Susan Holloway Scott: Historical Queens and Reading Teens

Today Susan Holloway Scott is stopping by to talk about teen girls' increasing interest in historical fiction. Her latest biographical novel The Countess and the King, telling the story of King James II's mistress Katherine Sedley, was published this month by NAL. Her website is susanhollowayscott.com, and she blogs along with Loretta Chase at Two Nerdy History Girls.  Welcome, Susan!

Historical Queens and Reading Teens

By Susan Holloway Scott

One of the oldest forms of literary criticism has been deploring the books that young women read. From the instant that girls were first permitted to choose their own reading material, they apparently chose novels that were decried as being Very Bad for Delicate Young Females. While this might seem like a Victorian form of criticism, it’s still current today, and with the same scolding tone, too, only now it’s directed at vampires and gossip girls.

But I have news. While Bella and Edward continue to have their fans, as do Mockingjay and Harry Potter, there’s another kind of book that teenaged girls are choosing: historical fiction.

Now I don’t have hard facts and complex surveys to back this up. My conclusions are purely anecdotal – I’m a novelist and a mom, not a sociologist or statistician – and I’m basing this on what I’ve heard from booksellers and librarians, from my daughter’s friends, and from the girls I meet at book signings and on-line. But it does seem to be a growing trend, and a heartening one, too.

For some girls, the choice must seem a natural progression, from Little House on the Prairie to The Witch of Blackbird Pond to Jean Plaidy and Philippa Gregory. For them, the past has always seemed an enticing destination and a satisfying fictional escape.

But there’s another group of readers, too, one that’s just now discovering historical fiction. Some come by way of fantasy, making an easy transition from a princess in an alternative universe to one at the court of Henry VIII. Some are lured to it by the packaging of popular historical fiction. I don’t want to play the magpie-card too vigorously, but the current crop of historical novels is being beautifully presented. There’s always a young woman on the cover, and while she may be missing her head (I promise I’m not going there), she will be dressed in a gorgeous gown. Many teenaged readers think the traditional historical romance covers are cheesy beyond words, books aimed at their mothers or grandmothers, but these girls find the often-solitary ladies in their jewels and court gowns enticing indeed.

But what I think attracts these young readers the most are the stories themselves. New historical fiction is largely written in the first person, and that first person voice is usually the heroine’s. While these heroines live in worlds that are vastly different from the reader’s, there is still enough to relate to: difficult parents and handsome young gentlemen, dreams and worries about the future.

Most importantly, the heroines in historical novels are often compelled by circumstances to make difficult decisions with wide-reaching, even life-threatening consequences to themselves, to their families, and their countries. No matter the odds against them, these women are often resourceful, brave, thoughtful, and clever. They remain true to their loyalties and convictions, no matter the personal peril. In short, these historical heroines are strong women who appeal to modern girls. These girls understand and accept the dangers that women of the past faced, and they don’t shy from the harsher realities that were part of their lives; they like reality. While saving a kingdom from a conniving enemy may seem like an obvious escape from learner’s permits and SATs, the historical heroines also offer heady stories of women who dared and achieved – and got to wear the most awesome outfits while they did so, too.

If these readers pick up a love of history along the way, all the better. I’d like to share an email from a sixteen-year-old reader of my historical novels – sent, of course, via a text message on her iPhone:

Dear Susan,
I just wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed your books!!! They are some of the best books that I have ever read and you have opened my eyes to a whole new part of history for me, I'm going to college next year and I'm hoping to major in history and I hope that there is a class on Restoration England :) because I would sign up for it in 2 seconds! Well, I love your books and I hope you keep writing more like them! (especially about Nelly [Gwyn], she's my favorite :p)

Many thanks, Dear Young Reader. I’d say the past will be in good hands in the future!

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Having read Susan's thought-provoking post, I hope you'll comment with your own ideas on the subject.  Have you noticed that historical fiction about royal women is finding a new audience among younger people?  Did you read historical novels as a teenager?  My own experience isn't dissimilar from one of Susan's examples -- my historical novel reading began with Laura Ingalls Wilder and proceeded through Jean Plaidy, by way of The Mists of Avalon and other female-centered fantasy novels.  I don't recall there being much in the way of royal fiction when I was in high school (instead, I alternated between epic fantasy and Sweet Dreams teenage romances - anyone remember those?) but if the offerings were as plentiful as they are today, chances are I'd have been reading them!