Man of Sorrows by M.N. Stroh details an unusual romance from early medieval Ireland

This first in a four-part series takes place in a scrupulously researched mid-10th century Ireland amid warring clans and Danish invaders. Subtitled “a medieval Christian romance,” Man of Sorrows centers several families and two different love stories, each of which is daring for its time and for the genre.

Mara, a fifteen-year-old shepherdess, receives divine visitations that predict the future (like her late mother’s demise) and direct her to marry a man who will “humble himself by the sign of the cross.” After she sees a sign that her proposed husband is her best friend Áine’s brother, Marcan, she knows she’ll have trouble convincing him: Marcan is a pious monk at the Cill Dálua community who transforms vellum into beautiful, illuminated manuscripts.

Because he thinks he unwittingly caused his mother’s and brother’s deaths, Marcan accepts the abbot’s harsh rule. His father, needing Marcan to tend flocks at home, had waited to give him to the church, as he was duty-bound to do with his firstborn, and Marcan feels God is punishing him for the delay. The second romance involves the cross-class relationship between Áine and Davan, nephew of Chief Cennedigh of the Dal Cais, in a subplot that offers multiple surprises.

In this short novel, Stroh proficiently interweaves multiple viewpoints and plot threads without losing the reader’s attention. The characters and their religious beliefs feel period-appropriate. Mara’s steadfastness is admirable, and Marcan’s internal pain is evident as he struggles to determine God’s purpose for his life. The writing style ranges from smooth to overly formal and cumbersome (“I exist but to guard his means so that he might dote upon you”). The novel also needs a stronger copyedit. With the trials they undergo, Mara and Marcan deserve a happy ending, and it’s rewarding to see how they achieve it.

Man of Sorrows was published by Olivia Kimbrell Press in 2022; I wrote this review for the Historical Novels Review's August 2023 issue. The next three books in the series, which feature different characters from this book and are set two decades later, in the 960s, are Rise of Betrayal, Lord of Vengeance, and Stone of Division. Cill Dálua is now known as Killaloe, a town and parish in County Clare.

The Island of Doves sweeps readers away to historic Mackinac Island

My father’s family are Michiganders, going back to the state’s rustic pioneer days in the mid-19th century. When I was growing up, we spent many summer weeks visiting my grandmother and other relatives, and some of these excursions involved trips to Mackinac (pronounced “Mackinaw”) Island, a picturesque isle sitting in the middle of Lake Huron, between Michigan’s Lower and Upper Peninsulas. The romantic time-travel film Somewhere in Time, set in 1912 and decades later, took place there.

Kelly O’Connor McNees’ The Island of Doves is also set on Mackinac, quite a bit earlier – in the 1830s, when the small piece of land was loosely populated by Odawa Indians, French settlers and traders, Métis families who were the descendants of both, and white Presbyterians relocating to Michigan from the east. One of its main attractions are the beautiful images of Mackinac’s unspoiled wilderness and waterscapes, and the depictions of life on the frontier: tending gardens, producing maple syrup, sewing moccasins, traveling by sled dog and canoe.

McNees’ two heroines are easy to warm to. As the wife of one of Buffalo’s leading business moguls, Susannah Fraser has no material wants. Her husband Edward is physically and emotionally abusive, though, and Susannah, being a proud woman, tries to endure the pain on her own, preferring to spend her days tending plants in her greenhouse. Magdelaine Fonteneau, an adventurous widow in her forties of part-Odawa, part-French heritage, lives permanently on Mackinac but has amassed a small fortune as a fur trader. Having lost both her younger and older sisters decades earlier – in particular, young Josette had been killed by a jealous suitor – she opens her home to Susannah when she needs a safe haven. Susannah’s maid and a kindly nun in Buffalo arrange for her escape via steamboat. The trials on the voyage force Susannah (who now uses the last name Dove) to confront life’s unsavory side but also go far in teaching her self-sufficiency.

The plot centers on relationships and character growth, as Susannah gains independence and Magdelaine learns to accept that her adult son, Jean-Henri, has a calmer personality than that of his ambitious, risk-taking late father. The story dwells more on religious differences, particularly those between Protestants and Catholics, than race relations at the time. I had hoped for something deeper in that respect. The story is rewarding, though, with the writing as smooth and clear as the pristine waters near Magdelaine’s home. It’s a pleasant journey into a little-known aspect of America’s past. The author’s notes reveal that Magdelaine is closely based on a historical figure, and her story is also worth knowing.

The Island of Doves was published by Berkley in 2014. I read this book (from my own collection) at the start of the pandemic, wrote a review, then got distracted and forgot I hadn’t posted it! So I thought I would do so now. 

Alys Clare's mystery The Cargo from Neira leads its physician protagonist into the 17th-century spice trade

The bustling, cutthroat spice trade forms the enticing backdrop for the fifth volume in Clare’s mystery series featuring country doctor Gabriel Taverner in early 17th-century Devon. If you haven’t read the previous four books, no need to worry, since it stands alone well. Banda Neira, the place of the title, is a remote Indonesian island that was the world’s main source for nutmeg, a spice in high demand in Europe for its food preservation and reputed medicinal properties.

In February 1605, Gabriel gets drawn into a mystery when the coroner’s manservant fetches him to view a body on the banks of the river Tavy, with the hopes he’ll conceal it was a suicide since these victims would be damned for eternity and their family penalized. The poor soul is a woman, single and six months pregnant, which could explain her desperate circumstances.

To Gabriel’s shock, the woman soon revives. Gabriel tends to her at Rosewyke, his home, but she’s petrified, unhappy to be alive, and unwilling to talk. Then a second body, a man’s, turns up in a cesspit in a seedy quayside alley of Plymouth with several costly nutmegs in his mouth. Gabriel feels the two incidents must be connected, especially after an attempted break-in at Rosewyke that terrifies his patient and gets him firmly into sleuthing mode.

The principal cast are a congenial bunch whose close-knit relationships contrast nicely with the danger stalking them. Gabriel’s sister, Celia, is a sharp-witted young widow, while housekeeper Sallie prepares comforting meals at a moment’s notice. Most intriguing are the changes within Gabriel as his investigation proceeds. A former ship’s surgeon now living shoreside after an injury, he starts feeling a strong pull to return. While abrupt, the viewpoint switches prove enlightening, and the mystery’s resolution, which offers surprises for Gabriel and the reader, is admirably well-plotted.

The Cargo from Neira was published in May by Severn House, and this review also appears on the Historical Novel Society website. I'm looking forward to reading both the earlier volumes in this series, and later ones as they appear.

How I wrote a true story as a novel, a guest post by Julia Park Tracey, author of The Bereaved

Historical fiction and historical nonfiction are interrelated and can be based on the same material. But when an author gets an idea for a new project, how do they decide which route to take?  Read about Julia Park Tracey's experience below, and many thanks to the author for her thought-provoking essay!

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How I Wrote a True Story as a Novel

Julia Park Tracey

I first started writing The Bereaved (a novel) as nonfiction. I'm a journalist by trade, and that means I look for facts and figures and actual quotes and information. I had just finished editing the second of two books called The Doris Diaries, about a teenager flapper in the Roaring Twenties. They were my great aunt’s diaries that I had inherited after she died. I had done a ton of background research, everything from teenagers in society, what were they eating and drinking, cars and technology, social upheaval, medical practices, clothes and fashion, and so on. I wrote a long introduction, several appendices, and indexed both books.

As a journalist and a part-time scholar of women’s history, I fully intended to take the story of The Bereaved—the true story of my third great grandmother and how she lost four of her children to the Orphan Trains, and how she tried to get them back—and tell it as nonfiction. In fact, I was excited at becoming known as a writer of women's history and telling untold stories.

I knew all of the facts of this story. But I wasn't quite sure how I was going to tell it. I laid it out chronologically and looked at the details, and I read several books of creative nonfiction about historical events. I took my outline with me to the Community of Writers at the Olympic Valley in Lake Tahoe and shared it with my group. The other writers gave me a lot of great ideas—for how to write a novel. So did the male leader of my group in my one-on-one meeting.

I was outraged. Are they saying that women should write novels instead of serious history? I spent a lot of time in the next two months raging internally about the misogyny inherent in that idea. But at the same time, I wanted to know what it was like to be Martha Seybolt Lozier.

So I bought some fabric and I bought a pattern for a Civil War dress; I cut it out and started sewing by hand. I sat in that wicker chair by the window and stitched lace and facings and top-stitched. I continued my hand sewing, between bouts of further research into her days and her era, while thinking about Martha and her children.

And as I sewed, I started thinking about all the things that Martha knew.

She knew how a pound of butter felt in the hand. How an old hen’s pulse beat against her fingers before she twisted its neck. How the feathers made a thin wet pop as she pulled them from the cooling skin.

That was the first paragraph that I wrote: Some of the things that Martha would know from living on a farm. And I knew that the language of living on a farm was what informed her character. I kept hearing Martha in my thoughts—what she might think about things and what she might have to do.

Managing the eggs: They need to be wiped but not washed. They’ll keep for weeks, but store them away from onions, fish, the smokehouse.

Ducks rose from the water loud with their honking voices, their clumsy splashing, the rapid beat of wings. How did Canada geese make flight so graceful, while ducks just seemed late and worried and fatigued? Like herself.

I kept writing what I was thinking about. And then when November rolled around and it was time for NaNoWriMo, I took advantage of the thirty days of enforced writing and coughed up a 50,000-word draft. Later, I went back through and wrote it again, adding another 40,000 words. Martha took shape, and so did her children, and so, too, The Bereaved.



Instead of writing in a journalistic style, I was writing a close third person, telling Martha’s story and (gasp) filling in the details that I imagined, that I invented: The color of her hair, her eyes. Her relationship with her in-laws. The terrible thing that made her flee from the farm. And so on—breaking the sacred journalism rule that Everything Must Be True.

I reality, there are many facts I don’t know about Martha. I have not yet seen a photo, if any exist. I found her burial site but not when she died. I have seen her signature but I don’t know her voice or anything she might have said directly. All of my quotes are imagined.

For a journalist like me, that was hard to do—but Martha and her story are worth it.

The Bereaved: A Novel—Historical fiction by Julia Park Tracey; Sibylline Press, August 2023; 270 pages; ISBN 9781736795422. $18.

Julia Park Tracey, a journalist of 40 years, is the author of seven books. Her latest is The Bereaved, historical fiction about a destitute widow who takes her children to an aid society in New York City for safekeeping, but the agency sends them out on the Orphan Train, and the bereaved mother must find her children again (based on the story of her third great grandmother). Find her online, any platform, @juliaparktracey.

Mona Susan Power's A Council of Dolls evokes Dakota women's survival across three generations

Power, an enrolled Standing Rock Sioux tribal member, has penned an original saga detailing how forced colonization impacts three generations of Dakhóta women. She writes sensitively from each young protagonist’s viewpoint while also showing how their childhood ordeals affect them and their families over time.

In the 1960s, Sissy grows up in Chicago with her loving father and troubled mother, Lillian. We then learn Lillian’s history in 1930s North Dakota as she and her sister, Blanche, are sent to an Indian boarding school in Bismarck, where their cruel assimilation into white culture leads to a tragedy Lillian can’t recover from. In the 1900s, Lillian’s mother, Cora, travels to the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania and survives the attempted stripping of her heritage.

Each girl has a doll who feels fully alive to her, serving as her confidant and protector. The final account, where an adult Sissy analyzes the dolls’ roles, processes her ancestors’ pain, and reclaims their power is beautifully healing and hopeful. This heart-wrenching account of inherited trauma and resilience is perceptively told.

A Council of Dolls was published by Mariner/HarperCollins on August 8; I wrote this review for Booklist. Not easy to encapsulate four separate stories into a 175-word review! There's much I had to leave out or only hint at.  As Susan Power, the author has also written several other novels, including The Grass Dancer (1997), a saga spanning generations that's set on a reservation in North Dakota and likewise reflects her Sioux heritage.

Isabel Allende's The Wind Knows My Name draws parallels between stories of child migrants in modern history

In her compassionate novel, Allende draws powerful parallels between child migrants in 1938 Austria and at America’s southern border in 2019, evoking the tragic universality of war’s innocent young victims.

Samuel Adler is only five when his desperate mother, her home and world destroyed during Kristallnacht in Vienna, places him on a Kindertransport train to England. The antisemitic violence his family experiences feels visceral and immediate on the page.

Decades later, in 1981, Leticia Cordero arrives in the United States with her father, the sole survivors of their immediate family after a massacre in their El Salvadoran village. Later, in 2019, seven-year-old Anita Díaz and her mother, Marisol, are victims of the Trump administration’s family separation policies after they cross from Mexico into Arizona, fleeing a threatening home environment in El Salvador.

All these stories converge during the pandemic, starting when social worker Selena Durán gets lawyer Frank Angileri to take Anita’s case pro bono and help reunite her with Marisol, who may have been deported. By then, Samuel is an 86-year-old widower in San Francisco, and if anyone can relate to Anita’s plight firsthand, he can.

Frank’s rapid transformation from suave would-be seducer (he finds Selena very attractive) to conscientious human rights defender is too convenient, and their conversations about immigration policies seem designed to feed readers background information. But all the viewpoints alternate smoothly, and Allende has a particularly delicate touch in depicting children.

Samuel’s journey from Austria to England to America intertwines with his love for music, while young Anita, who is blind, retreats into an imaginary world to cope. Not only does Allende depict the heroic acts people undertake to help underage migrants, but she underscores the courage of those who do so at great risk to themselves.

The Wind Knows My Name was published by Ballantine (US/Can) and Bloomsbury (UK/Australia). It was translated into English by Frances Riddle. This review was cross-posted to the Historical Novel Society's website.

The View from Half Dome, set in the 1930s, evokes the splendor of Yosemite National Park

This lovely tale of coming-of-age and intergenerational friendship takes place against the spectacular natural backdrop of Yosemite National Park during the Depression.

Isabel Dickinson’s dreary life provokes immediate empathy: just sixteen in 1934, she attends high school, cooks, cleans her dingy San Francisco apartment, and watches over her nine-year-old sister while her overworked mother struggles to support the family after Isabel’s dad’s unexpected death. Isabel envies the freedom of her older brother, James, who took a job with the CCC at Yosemite and sends money back to help them pay bills.

After Isabel’s attempt to claim some personal independence ends terribly, she asks a friend to drive her the long distance to James’s campsite, desperate for a new start. This creates some awkwardness – the CCC doesn’t permit visitors – but Enid Michael, the park’s only female ranger and naturalist, offers her a room in the small apartment she shares with her husband, the assistant postmaster.

Enid, a historical figure, led an extraordinary life cultivating Yosemite’s public wildflower garden, writing countless articles about the park that shaped its public perception, and leading popular tourist walks, all under the eye of a sexist supervisor who looked for excuses to fire her. In this novel, Enid’s in her early fifties, an active mountain-climber who shares her considerable knowledge with Isabel.

Enid’s personal story is so interesting that readers may find their attention drawn away from Isabel, but Caugherty sets up a good dynamic between them. While Isabel admires the older woman’s spirit and determination, she dislikes her habit of lavishing food on birds when people elsewhere are starving.

Isabel’s steady path to emotional maturity feels convincing, and the scenes evoking Yosemite’s beauty are poetically described and spiritually invigorating. Young adults will especially enjoy The View from Half Dome, and so will any reader who thirsts for the great outdoors.

This novel was published by Black Rose Writing in April, and I reviewed it for the Historical Novel Society, where it's cross-posted to the HNS website.  

Read more about Enid Michael in an article from Backpacker: "The Story of Enid Michael, Yosemite's First Female Naturalist." I'm glad to have had the chance to meet her in the course of reading this novel. And if you'd like to travel-by-novel to Yosemite of nearly a century ago, you'd do well to pick up this book!

In I, Julian, Claire Gilbert creates a fictional autobiography for medieval English mystic Julian of Norwich

What would motivate an ordinary medieval woman to withdraw from the world and become an anchoress, vowing to live out her remaining years in a small cell attached to a church and devote her time to spiritual contemplation?

In her first novel, I, Julian, Claire Gilbert re-creates the spiritually rich, life-affirming voice of Julian of Norwich, the 14th-15th century mystic whose writings are the first known works by a woman in English. Little is known about the particulars of her life, including her birth name, and Gilbert has filled in the gaps with this marvelous historical reconstruction.

At age 30, having narrowly survived a bout of severe illness, Julian began seeing visions of the Passion of Christ and dedicated her remaining days to soul-searching, prayer, and the sharing of what she glimpsed, realizing the importance of her knowledge for others.

Gilbert imagines a plausible autobiography for Julian, from her quiet childhood with her loving parents in a smallholding outside Norwich, through the tragic years of the Black Plague, the steady encouragement of her mother and others, the terrible grief and guilt she endures, and the transformative experience of her visions, or “showings.” Her words are taken down by a trusted Benedictine monk called Thomas.

It becomes an interesting paradox (addressed in full in the story) that Julian’s physical retreat from the world means complete reliance on others to provide for her needs: food, medical help, and the regular supply of writing materials. The author writes beautifully about Julian's religious life as well as her humanity. Through a window from her anchorhold into the church, she gives her confession and participates in religious services; through a curtained window to the outdoors, she converses with spiritual seekers, friends, her maid, and others whose purpose is less benevolent.

In the late 14th century, the followers of John Wycliffe are amassing, seeking to make the Bible more accessible via English translation, and Julian must tread carefully so as not to be associated with the controversial movement (even while quietly pondering its merits). Throughout her long life, both enclosed and not, Julian remains curious and eager to learn more about God’s feelings toward humankind, which she comes to learn is eternally loving.

Readers of Mary Sharratt’s Illuminations and Revelations (about Hildegard of Bingen and Margery Kempe, respectively) will especially want to pick up I, Julian, and it’s also recommended for anyone interested in the lives of accomplished historical women.

I, Julian was published by Hodder Faith in April in the UK; it will be released next month in the US.  You can read more about how the author came to write the book in her interview for Jesus College, Cambridge.

Coincidentally, this morning I received Mary Sharratt's latest newsletter in my email; Julian of Norwich is a character in her novel Revelations.  Mary will be participating in the Julian650 lecture series on September 2, presenting a Zoom session (free) on "how her research into women’s hidden histories inspired her to showcase Julian and Margery in her acclaimed novel."  See more and register here.

Alison Weir's The King's Pleasure looks at Henry VIII's life story from his own viewpoint

He was a ginger-haired second son, the athletic, charismatic “spare” to his overly serious elder brother. Henry VIII wasn’t born to be king, but he has come down in history as a larger-than-life monarch, known for his marriages and role in the English Reformation.

In her mammoth biographical novel, royal expert Weir explores the viewpoint of this towering figure, beginning with the passing of his beloved mother, subject of her previous The Last White Rose (2022). The youth nicknamed Harry inherits a wealthy kingdom and indulges in tourneys, feasts, and luxurious clothing, evoked in detailed scenes of jaw-dropping extravagance.

In well-paced fashion, readers view his transformation from fun-loving Renaissance man consumed with his glorious image to an aging, tyrannical king desperate to ensure the succession. Weir meticulously illustrates his significant relationships, not just with his six wives but also his political allies and rivals and his shrewd advisers, like Wolsey and Cromwell.

Readers of her Six Tudor Queens series won’t find unexpected revelations here, but this believable tale is a solid choice for historical-fiction devotees.

The King's Pleasure was published in May by Ballantine, and I wrote this review for Booklist. The novel's called Henry VIII: The Heart and the Crown in the UK and is published by Headline Review. It's second in the Tudor Rose series, after The Last White Rose; a third novel, about Mary I, is forthcoming.

Doesn't the fellow on the cover resemble Prince Harry considerably? The similarities in the backgrounds of the two Harrys are clear early on, but quickly diverge once the novel gets going. 

Decades ago, Norah Lofts wrote her own novel called The King's Pleasure, and its focus was Katharine of Aragon, Henry's first queen. Prolific royal chronicler Jean Plaidy also wrote a novel with this title, focused on Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard; it was later retitled Murder Most Royal.

Murder Under a Red Moon mixes family and detection in a mystery set in 1921 Bangalore

Even with a devoted husband and a police captain ally, establishing yourself as an amateur detective in 1921 South India isn’t easy when your socially conservative, grumpy mother-in-law—who resides in your home—disapproves. Fresh from her crime-solving success in the series opener, The Bangalore Detectives Club, Kaveri Murthy has been finding new clients and increased name recognition in Bangalore. To say she’s surprised when her athe (mother-in-law), Bhargavi, requests her help is an understatement, but Kaveri welcomes the opportunity for them to develop a stronger relationship.

But this new case is complicated. Bhargavi’s cousin, Mrs. Shanthi Sharma, and her husband, who own a large mill, are losing money and suspect embezzlement, potentially by their future son-in-law. Kaveri finds herself trapped in a giant family mess, and one terrible night, tensions escalate into murder.

Despite the seemingly limited list of potential killers, the plotting is even stronger in this second book. Besides her obligations to Bhargavi and the increasing danger for her personally, Kaveri has members of the Sharma household pointing fingers at each other while worrying that Bhargavi is being taken in by a charismatic swami. The presence of a particularly ugly stray dog lightens the mood, although Bhargavi thinks canines are dirty, so there’s stress there too. Kaveri has an analytical mind (and studies math in secret) but misses one clue that readers should catch onto more quickly.

The story offers abundant color, literally so, like Kaveri’s beautiful saris and the rangoli peacock design she creates on her doorstep from different hues of rice flour. Full of details on customs, tempting recipes, and social expectations for women, which Kaveri works around in her own shrewdly gentle way, this series is recommended for fans of Sujata Massey and historical mysteries in general.

Murder Under a Red Moon was published in late March by Pegasus; I wrote this review for the Historical Novels Review's May issue. The link for "rangoli" takes you out to a New York Times article showing some of the beautiful designs of this "ornate floor art."

Paris, Marseille, Banyuls-sur-mer—Scenes from a Novel, a guest post by Linda Joy Myers

Linda Joy Myers, author of The Forger of Marseille, is here with an essay about her on-site research for her novel—which is published today by She Writes Press. 

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Paris, Marseille, Banyuls-sur-mer—Scenes from a Novel

Linda Joy Myers

There’s nothing like the thrill of approaching Paris on the train and seeing the Eiffel Tower rising into the sky. Finally, I’ve arrived to “research” my book in the City of Light. This is work? I chide myself as I pay the driver who stopped at my hotel in the Marais. Yes, I need to see and feel and smell Paris, and imagine it eighty years earlier. Paris is a city that speaks of history and centuries of traditions on every block, and I’m all in. Three locations are on my list to research my book The Forger of Marseille: Paris, Marseille, and a coastal village at the edge of the world, Banyuls-sur-mer, near the border of France and Spain where the shoulders of the Pyrenees rise from the sea into the sky.

My story is about three characters who find their way to Paris in 1938-39 as WWII ticks up toward conflagration. Cesar, a Spanish Republican, knows the gritty ways of survival having escaped over the border into France dodging machine guns wielded by Franco’s soldiers.

Sarah, a young Jewish art student and her father figure, Mr. Lieb, escaped Berlin just before Kristallnacht and feels safe in Paris. But the threat of war means they’re in danger again. In August 1939, France rounded up all “enemy aliens,” refugees who were from enemy countries, to be herded into internment camps.

Because of a chance meeting in a Paris café between Cesar and Sarah, he’s able to help them avoid that fate. Cesar knew that roundups were imminent and gave them forged identities just before war was declared. In May 1940 when the Germans threatened to occupy Paris, the three fled to Marseille located in the “Free Zone.” But nothing is free in Vichy France.

Linda Joy Myers
(credit: Reenie Raschke)

Through my research, I learned about the terrible danger to refugees, especially Jews, in the collaborationist Vichy government run by Phillippe Petain. And I learned there were heroes who risked their lives to save the refugees. One of those men was an American, Varian Fry. He arrived in Marseille with $3000 taped to his leg and a list in his pocket. His job was to save the crème de la crème of European intellects, artists, and writers, but once he arrived, thousands of desperate refugees lined up outside his hotel. Most were “stateless” and had no papers, in danger of arrest and internment. The underground and the rescuers were trying to save refugees, which meant they needed forgers to produce papers. The best forgers were artists who knew how to render and wield a pen.

As a fiction writer, on-site research invites me to enrich the story. I explored cobblestone back streets of the left Bank and felt the spiritual balm of the Notre Dame cathedral. Watched the sun set on the Seine. Ate baguettes and drank wine at Le Deux Magots café as an accordion played nearby.

Paris was the site of Part I of my book, then Marseille, and finally, the village of Banyuls-sur-mer. There, in the early part of the war, courageous rescuers risked their lives to guide refugees over the Pyrenees and out of France.

St. Charles train station, Marseille

Another thrill was arriving in the Marseille train station and looking out over the city. The Mediterranean sparkled shimmery blue beyond the Vieux Port at the bottom of the main street, the Canabiere. From my research I knew how frightening it must have been to arrive in Marseille where passport control and police were on the lookout for anyone whose papers were not in order. Even if they were able to get into Marseille, how would they escape France? Soon after France fell, all the ports were closed, but people still clung to hope that at the edge of the world in Marseille, they’d find a way to escape. The underground helped them get the necessary papers, and Varian Fry, among others, provided safe houses, money, and food. Guides would lead the refugees over the Pyrenees, and in Lisbon they’d eventually get a ship to America.

My heart beat hard as I stood on the sidewalk in front of the Hotel Splendide where Varian Fry first set up his rescue operation. A few months later he moved to offices at 62 Rue Grignon. Tears came to my eyes as I witnessed this place. I stood at the doorway where crowds of desperate refugees had begged for help.

The train to Banyuls-sur-mer follows the same route it did in 1940. With stops at Montpellier and Perpignan, I imagined how the breath caught in the throats of refugees, knowing that at any moment the police could haul them off the train. Finally, we arrived at the village, with its quiet winding one lane road that led to a safe house in the foothills. It was raining that day, and the slate was shiny, which meant the rocks climbing to the top of the Pyrenees would be slippery.

Safe house at the foot of the Pyrenees

I shuttered my eyelids and imagined the refugees wearing rope soled shoes, following the vignerons as they went up early in the morning to avoid being spotted by the Gestapo or the Vichy police. The wine workers would tend the vines as they had for hundreds of years, and quietly protect the refugees whose lives were being saved. I experienced a moment of reverence and gratitude that there were so many who risked their lives to save others in peril. In that same place where I stood. Witnessing history.

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Linda Joy Myers has always been deliciously haunted by the power of the past to affect people in the stream of time. She has integrated her passion for history and her own struggles with intergenerational trauma into her work as a therapist and writer. The power of the truth to educate current generations about the past led Linda Joy to explore the little-known history of WWII in the weeks following the fall of France—which in turn led her to write The Forger of Marseille. She is the author of two memoirs, Don’t Call Me Mother and Song of the Plains, and four books on memoir writing. She’s also the founder of the National Association of Memoir Writers. You can learn more about Linda Joy’s work at www.namw.org and www.lindajoymyersauthor.com. She lives in Berkeley, CA.

The Beasts of Paris by Stef Penney presents a wide-ranging portrait of war-torn 1870s Paris

Despite its significance for the European balance of power, the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 is a neglected historical fiction setting. For her fourth novel, Penney illustrates its impact on Parisian residents.
The story itself isn’t overtly political, instead focusing on daily life amid the chaos and deprivations of war, the humiliating French defeat, and the subsequent rise and fall of the Paris Commune.

Canadian photographer Lawrence Harper works at the portrait studio of the Lamy family while wondering if an intriguing male artist returns his affection. Anne Petitjean, a half-Haitian ward girl at the Salpêtrière hospital, finds respite at the Paris zoo, where assistant veterinarian Victor Calmette cares for the menagerie. The privileged Ellis Butterfield, former U.S. Civil War surgeon, is a realistic mix of bravado and vulnerability.

Journeys of self-discovery and survival unfold alongside a heartfelt love story. Penney presents a sweeping look at Paris under siege while showing how innocents, human and animal alike, suffer during wartime. Well-rounded characters and brisk pacing are strong points in this involving tale about a volatile time.

The Beasts of Paris was published by Pegasus in the US in July 2023; I wrote this review for Booklist, and it was published in the March 1 issue.  The UK publisher is Quercus.

Scottish writer Stef Penney has chosen many intriguing settings for her historical fiction, including the 19th-century Arctic for Under a Pole Star [see my review].  Her first novel The Tenderness of Wolves takes place in 1867 Canada, while The Invisible Ones is a contemporary private eye novel. In an interview for Amazon, she wrote: "I definitely do feel a pull toward people and places that are far from my own life." 

She's currently writing an as-yet-untitled novel nicknamed "The Book of Nordland," which will  commemorate the city of Bodø in northern Norway being named a European Capital of Culture in 2024. Residents of the county of Nordland are asked to contribute stories that could be incorporated into her writing process.  Fascinating!  The book is slated to be published next year, and you can read more about it on the author's website.

Shelley Read's Go As a River, a poignant coming-of-age story set in wild, rustic 20th-century Colorado

Read creates an alluring sense of place in her coming-of-age story for protagonist Victoria “Torie” Nash, whose life takes a detour after a chance meeting with a handsome boy.

In 1948, Torie is seventeen, a young woman who had assumed her late mother’s household chores after a tragic accident five years earlier. Her family has a farm in the ranch town of Iola in western Colorado, along the Gunnison River, where they’ve grown the region’s finest peaches for generations. I lingered over these scenes: the rocky inclines and deep valleys, the bright yellow aspens, the cool mountain air scented with sage and ripening fruit.

The downside is the human element. Prejudice against nonwhites is pervasive, and Wilson Moon, the dark-eyed drifter who becomes Torie’s rescuer and lover, is Native American. While he cares for her, Torie’s undemonstrative father keeps his distance. Her Uncle Og, disabled from his WWII injuries, is a sour presence, and her younger brother, Seth, is actively hostile.

When Torie’s romance with Wil turns heartbreaking, she’s forced into a drastic form of independence. Through much adversity and hard-won acumen, Torie finds a way to thrive economically, but her personal pain stays with her.

Despite the stunning atmosphere, some plot elements felt not-quite real to me. A small circle of stones Torie creates, in remembrance of a life-changing moment, remains undisturbed outdoors for years; some metaphors try too hard; and there are several other contrivances.

The novel’s principal truths lie in people’s relationships with the land and each other, and Torie’s realization of the courage needed for approaching life’s unknowns, which arrive “mapless and without invitation.” America’s wars play a larger role than one might expect initially, and the actual history of Iola, flooded in 1966 to build a reservoir, adds poignancy. While not completely immersive, this is an eloquent debut.

Shelley Read's Go As a River was published in March by Spiegel & Grau, and by Doubleday in the UK. It's been compared to Delia Owens' Where the Crawdads Sing for its lyrical style and focus on the main character's immersion in the natural world. The novel was based on the true history of the forgotten small town of Iola, which re-emerged into sight during a drought several years ago. 

This review is cross-posted to the Historical Novel Society website. This is my 1800th blog post!

The Devil's Glove, set in Maine in 1688, reveals the historical backstory to the Salem witchcraft trials

"John Alden says that for some, fear is profit. My mother says that for many, fear is purpose. The union of the two is deadly. An unholy marriage indeed."

Back in 2002, I read Mary Beth Norton’s In the Devil’s Snare, her nonfiction book about the 1692 Salem witchcraft trials. This groundbreaking text demonstrated connections between the victims and accusers dating back to their earlier lives on the violent frontier of northern New England (now Maine).

Lucretia Grindle mines this same rich vein of research in The Devil’s Glove, first in a promised trilogy about Salem and the circumstances that led to the tragedies, a time when the Devil was said to walk in Massachusetts.

The story has a mix of fictional and real-life characters, including Captain John Alden, above (son of the Mayflower passenger of the same name). While Salem history buffs will perk up at some of the other names, I won’t spoil the details for readers who haven’t heard of them – aside from saying that the heroine, seventeen-year-old Resolve Hammond, is the author’s invention. She and her mother, Deliverance, a native of the Channel Island of Jersey, are herbalists who tend to the village women of the tiny settlement of Falmouth. They live alone, with Resolve’s father away for two years on a trading mission.

In 1688, when the local minister calls for Mistress Hammond to tend to Goodwife Hobbs, a dying woman, Resolve’s mother whispers to herself, “Why did they not use charcoal?” She quickly recognizes what others don’t – that Avis Hobbs, who is with child, was poisoned – and she wonders why the antidote wasn’t used. Unfortunately, it’s too late to save the poor woman. The Hammonds secretly suspect that Abigail Hobbs, the victim’s oddly unchildlike ten-year-old daughter, dispensed the poison, but who would believe them?

The Devil’s Glove isn’t a crime novel or a thriller, although Grindle’s previous novels fit these genres. I’d call it a historical novel with strong overtones of psychological suspense that arise naturally from the milieu. The author knows the forces that motivate people to commit dark deeds, particularly the fear that gripped the populace in this remote place. The Indians who attacked the villagers years beforehand, the French, the Catholics – all are seen as threats to the Puritan community. For this reason, Resolve and her mother, who sheltered with the sachem Ashawonks and her people during King Philip’s War, keep their knowledge, affinities, and French ancestry to themselves.

With firm roots in the complex historical politics of the region, this is an atmospheric read with a haunting sense of place and unsettling twists in the character arcs. You don’t have to be a Salem witch aficionado to read the book, but if you are, you’ll appreciate the detailed backstory to the infamous events that happened there.

The Devil's Glove was published by Casa Croce Press in May. I picked it out from NetGalley as a Read Now title.

Crow Mary by Kathleen Grissom evokes the viewpoint of a heroic Indigenous woman in 19th-century North America

Through fiction, authors can grant little-known historical figures a deserving spotlight. Revealing the astonishing heroism of an Indigenous woman she’s wanted to write about for years, Grissom’s luminous third novel accomplishes this superbly.

In 1872, sixteen-year-old Goes First of the Crow people agrees to marry a “Yellow Eyes” (white) fur trader named Abe Farwell. The alliance benefits her tribe, and he needs a Native wife to help make his planned trading post successful.

The narrative delves into the trying realities of their cross-cultural marriage, which begins so promisingly. They relocate from Montana to western Canada’s Cypress Hills, where “Crow Mary” (her English name) single-handedly rescues five Nakoda women from a violent, drunken gang following a horrific massacre, an event with momentous repercussions.

Via her eloquent first-person voice, readers experience her world intimately: family life, nature’s changing seasons (early October is “the moon when the redwing blackbirds gather”), and the vast cultural differences she encounters. Through many trials and heartbreaking indignities, Goes First remains true to herself in this empathetic, indelible portrait of courage and integrity.

Crow Mary was published by Atria/Simon & Schuster on June 6th. I wrote this review for Booklist's historical fiction issue, which came out on May 15. The real Crow Mary's great-granddaughter wrote the foreword to the novel. This is Grissom's third historical novel, after The Kitchen House and Glory Over Everything.

Sandra Worth's epic novel Tomorrow We Will Know presents the swan song of imperial Constantinople

Sandra Worth has established a literary career around historical novels about real people during the Wars of the Roses and early Tudor period. Now, ten years after the publication of her last book, she pivots partly around the world with a stunningly detailed historical epic about the final years of imperial Constantinople in the mid-15th century.

All three of the main characters once lived, although one whose early life isn’t well documented is given a different name (you can read more in the comprehensive author’s note).

At first glance, Zoe Notaras has an illustrious life ahead: she’s the beautiful auburn-haired daughter of a high-ranking noble family in the Eastern Roman Empire, her father is immeasurably wealthy, she’s a talented musician, and she’s well-versed in literature. But she has the misfortune to be her mother’s least favorite child, for reasons she doesn’t know, and since childhood she’s had a crush on Constantine of Mistras, the emperor’s younger brother and heir, who’s destined for a marriage of state.

Constantine, over twenty years older than Zoe, has been widowed twice and bears a heavy mental load after his brother dies and he ascends the imperial throne. Though bolstered by fortified walls, Constantinople’s geographic position makes it vulnerable to attack by the Ottoman Empire; the city is also heavily reliant on outside support. Also, with his people bitterly divided about potential union with the Pope in Rome, Constantine XI finds himself in a no-win situation with a dwindling range of options.

The historical circumstances are nimbly revealed through the characters’ experiences. Although undoubtedly devoted to his country, and to Zoe – whose love he eventually returns – Constantine makes several key misjudgments and fears that a famous prophecy (implying his reign will be the empire’s last) will hold true. The arrival of a Genoese nobleman named Justiniani Longo who vows to defend Constantinople seems the answer to his prayers, but Justiniani falls in love with Zoe, complications ensue.

Worth has devoted extraordinary attention to her settings, creating a banquet for the senses on the page, from the glittering palace décor to the lemon-scented breeze along the shoreline. Zoe may seem somewhat idealized at times, but she remains easy to root for; her main fault is that she’s too trusting and romantically inclined, which leaves her unable to see flaws in others. The 53-day siege of Constantinople, which extends through much of the book’s second half, takes you step by step through the military decisions of both Constantine’s forces and those of Mehmet, the Ottoman Empire’s young and ruthless sultan – and their personal consequences.

Replete with human passions and deep-rooted courage, Tomorrow We Will Know brings readers front and center into a major turning point in history.

The novel was independently published in February; thanks to the author for the e-copy.

State of the historical fiction industry: a report on this #HNS2023 conference panel

In between numerous work commitments, I’ve been spending the last week attending (virtually) the Historical Novel Society’s conference, which has been taking place in person down in San Antonio, Texas, and via Zoom. I was up bright and early on Saturday morning for the 8am State of the State: Publishing in All Its Forms panel, aka the editor/agent panel – in which four representatives from the industry responded to questions about trends and current issues in historical fiction relating to traditional publication. The panelists were Amy Durant, editorial director at Sapere Books in London; Shannon Hassan, agent at the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency; Marcy Posner, agent at Folio Literary Management; and Mitchell Waters, agent at Brandt & Hochman, all of whom work with historical novelists. The moderator was author Maryka Biaggio, HNS conference board member and editor/agent liaison.

This was a plenary session, very well-attended in person, and with around 70 virtual attendees at the highest point. While the panelists were enthusiastic about historical fiction and its potential to reach readers, the overall tone relating to the industry was sobering. Publishers are understaffed, and aside from a few chosen titles, books aren’t getting the editorial or marketing attention they used to. Agents are overworked and taking on additional tasks to get authors the support they need. Authors should get their manuscripts in as close to publishable shape as possible before submitting their work. They should also realize that they’ll need to take on many marketing activities themselves.

With all that said, let’s look in more detail at what was discussed on the panel.

Regarding trends in historical fiction: Mitchell Waters feels authors should write the book they need to write but also look around at what’s being published currently: “If you haven’t seen any books on a certain period, ask yourself why that is.” It’s hard to anticipate trends, but there are enduring themes and topics. He’s found that some editors are reluctant to go back too far in time with historicals, like before the mid-19th century. Marcy Posner said it’s hard to chase trends because they will change, and editors can be fickle; she echoed Waters’ comments that authors should write that they want and write it well. Amy Durant looks for consistently popular subjects: Tudor, medieval, Victorian, and military fiction (naval and aviation). Shannon Hassan underscored the importance of contemporary relevance for historical fiction subjects, using an example of recent novels about the Trojan War.



What about World War II? This question has reappeared at the last several conferences. I dare say many of the attendees were curious whether it was still hot or not. Waters admitted to feeling fatigue with the number of submissions dealing with WWII and the Holocaust, and there was a sense that some publishers were pulling back from the era, but with this topic and others, he emphasized the importance of a fresh approach: that there must be something to interest readers other than the quality of the writing.

On editing and marketing: it’s definitely the case (as mentioned by Marcy Posner) that less effort is being placed on these aspects by publishers, compared to years past. Some top books receive a great deal of attention, while others don’t; publishers are making choices about which titles to devote most of their time to. Authors and their agents must pick up the slack. Shannon Hassan said that coming to this conference gives authors a great start (my own thoughts on this: it can help them not only learn the craft but establish a network that helps them navigate the industry). Mitchell Waters noted that he has to spend less time on revisions with authors, that they need to have their books “closer to ready to go.” He cited an example where he once spent 18 months getting a manuscript ready for publication, but he can no longer do that since the volume of work has “increased exponentially.” He described a manuscript he missed out on acquiring (and which later got a good book deal), which he regrets, because he was too busy. Shannon Hassan echoed that she doesn’t have time to provide detailed feedback on queries, and it may not even be appropriate if she doesn’t fall in love with a book. Marcy Posner echoed this, saying she’s now doing the job of five people (relating to editing, marketing, counseling authors, etc.). The gist: editors and agents are swamped, something authors should keep in mind when querying.

Maryka Biaggio then asked the panelists about the issue of cultural appropriation – writing outside your own ethnicity – which generated conversation in the virtual chat room. The topic comes up frequently at HNS conferences; audience members have asked the same question of speakers at this conference, and I also remember it being asked at the in-person 2019 conference and the virtual event in 2021. The responses from industry representatives have been consistent, and I agree with the Zoom chat comment that it feels like writers (those not from the cultural group they want to write about) keep asking the question as if they’re hoping for a different response.

From Amy Durant: it’s important for writers to be sensitive to these issues, do their research, think carefully about their characters, and also question whether they’re the best person to be telling this story. Mitchell Waters tackled the issue from a marketing standpoint as well, in asking writers to consider if people will be interested in them as the author of the book, if the characters’ experiences are too far away from their own. Generally: write the best story you can, do diligent research, approach your subjects with sensitivity. For a related question dealing with depictions of LGBTQ characters in history, since there’s increased industry and reader interest in marginalized lives, Marcy Posner mentioned the importance of showing the joyful aspects of these characters’ lives, not only the struggles they face.

I didn’t make notes about the question dealing with why people might want to leave an agent, or vice versa, or the number of authors they signed from conference meetings, although the latter was a small number. Other notes from the Q&A: Waters shared some of the positive aspects of historical fiction: that people have an underlying reason to want to read it, aside from whatever beautiful writing they come across: it offers a rich canvas about a wide range of time periods (though he acknowledged some are trendier than others). The ‘60s and ‘70s are popular settings, which provides a sense of nostalgia. Advice for midlist authors: they should realize they’ll be responsible for doing additional work before submitting and after publication. He mentioned Rosamunde Pilcher’s The Shell Seekers as the author’s breakout book. She’d written many earlier novels, but The Shell Seekers was a more substantial book in many ways (in terms of scope, setting, and length – my thoughts) that allowed her to break out of the midlist. However, her situation is unusual, especially today, with publishers having less time to devote to books. Also, the phrase “fictional novel” or “fiction novel” (redundant!) looks bad in a query letter.

On prologues: These insights were especially interesting and on point. Waters mentioned they’re so frequent now because “readers have no patience” and “need to know from the first page what the stakes are.” Prologues can be a useful way of signaling to readers about events later in the plotline and can motivate readers to continue. There’s been considerable debate in the industry about whether they’re helpful. Regarding marketing strategies, Amy Durant commented that it can be hard to market an author with just a single book, so she looks for the potential for a series. (Sapere publishes many novels in series.) A question from the audience on artificial intelligence and synopses: the panelists discussed the pushback against AI (such as the model clauses for publishing contracts newly developed by the Authors’ Guild, as mentioned by Hassan). Amy Durant mentioned AI could be used as a tool for synopsis ideas, but writers should take care to write them in their own words.

So there you have it. Optimism about historical fiction, tempered with realism about the industry. The recording isn’t up yet, so this writeup is based on two pages of scribble. My fellow attendees: if I missed anything important or got anything wrong, please drop me a note or comment!

Katherine Reay's A Shadow in Moscow shows two courageous women's lives in Russia during the Cold War

There are some historical settings most comfortably observed from a safe distance, like the pages of a novel. We can be simultaneously gripped by the characters’ world and relieved we aren’t living through the same dark, pressure-laden environment. Such is the case with Cold War Russia, where Katherine Reay’s A Shadow in Moscow takes place.

The story alternates between two women in different eras, both of whom risk their lives in spying against the Soviet regime.

In 1980, Anya Kadinova is a senior at Georgetown University through her home country’s Foreign Studies Initiative, enjoying a romance with a fellow student, a spring break trip, and the freedom to read English-language novels. But her “case officer,” an upwardly mobile young man with the KGB, keeps a close eye on her movements and meets with her monthly to exchange news. After Anya returns to Moscow, she intends to emulate her parents and conform to the Soviet ideal, but when the KGB targets her good friend, she’s compelled to reach out to the CIA.

A second plotline set years earlier features Ingrid Bauer (not her real surname), a native of Vienna, who grows up in a household full of secrets she doesn’t always understand. A decade after her world was shattered during WWII, she weds Leo, a Russian man she barely knows, and settles into life in Moscow, knowing she must keep her maternal British heritage to herself. As her husband’s career expands (Ingrid suspects he’s with the KGB), their lifestyle becomes more opulent while the family’s sense of paranoia increases. No one suspects that she, a model Soviet wife and much-admired hostess and museum worker, could be passing secrets to the British.

The dialogue-heavy plotline ensures quick pacing for the story, which immerses us in the ultra-tense environment of a totalitarian regime where the state takes primacy over individual freedoms or thought. Homes and public phones are frequently bugged, and the steps the protagonists take in the “dry cleaning” process – losing any enemy agents on their trail – are elaborate and time-consuming.

Although Ingrid’s astonishing success (she comes to influence world politics at the highest level) feels far-fetched at times, the novel does demonstrate the clandestine heroism of the two women, whose roles are kept so closely guarded by their handlers that they aren’t aware of one another except by code name. The setting, within the living memory of many people today, is chilling and makes one admire the courage of anyone who dared to reach out from behind the Iron Curtain.

A Shadow in Moscow will be published by Harper Muse on June 13. This review is part of the book's online tour coordinated by Austenprose PR.

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AUTHOR BIO

Katherine Reay is a national bestselling and award-winning author who has enjoyed a lifelong affair with books. She publishes both fiction and nonfiction, holds a BA and MS from Northwestern University, and currently lives outside Chicago, Illinois, with her husband and three children.

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Interview with Stephanie Cowell about her new historical novel The Boy in the Rain (and giveaway)

Please help me welcome novelist Stephanie Cowell to the blog. Her newest novel, The Boy in the Rain, focuses on the enduring love affair between two young men in Edwardian-era Nottinghamshire and London: Robbie Stillman, an art student; and Anton Harrington, a banker who later achieves prominence as a socialist speaker. Because of the brutal legal punishment for homosexuality at the time, as well as the social opprobrium, the two must conceal their intimacy from the world.

I've known Stephanie for many years through the Historical Novel Society and am happy to see the novel she's worked on for so long appear in published form at last. It's out from Regal House today. 

I'm offering a giveaway at the end of the post since I wanted to give another historical fiction enthusiast the opportunity to read it. I'll be arranging for the novel to be sent directly from a bookseller to the winner's address (via either Amazon or Blackwell's, for non-US readers).

Thanks for Stephanie for doing a Q&A for my site!

How did the complex love story between Robbie and Anton capture you to such a degree, compel you to tell it, and get it out into the world?

The two men came to me in a sort of vision while walking down the outside wood steps of an old country house and haunted me from 1984 until I sold the novel a few years ago. I would put it away for four or five years at a time. I did not know if they came from some deep mystical place inside myself or had really lived in the past.

Reading the novel, and immersing myself in the viewpoints of Robbie and Anton, was such an intense experience. Their relationship, and how it changes over the years, feels so real and vibrant. How did you go about re-creating the worlds of gay men in Edwardian England?

The world they lived in came gradually in bits as I read many social history books of the times. It was the personalities of the two men which fascinated me and how, though their strengths and needs changed, they still felt their real home was with each other. When I was a young teenager, my mother told me about Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment for two years with hard labor, which he had to suffer for loving another man. It made her so angry. But I couldn’t put in much of the danger of the law against homosexuality in the novel at first, because I have always had a difficult time putting my characters in danger.

When I was writing my last big revision, Covid had arrived. I was alone in my apartment in NYC, the world epicenter of the epidemic for a time, hearing all the ambulances rush below my window. Those months, a real sense of danger came into the novel, the feeling that we didn’t know when we too would catch it. I wondered if it was anything like men’s fear of being dragged from their lives. Actually, Robbie likely didn’t have to hide much with his London artistic friends, but Anton had to be very cautious in his world. The boys’ brothel was based on something I had come across in my research.

George Langstaff, the country vicar who takes in and becomes a guiding force for Robbie, quickly became a favorite person of mine. How did his character come about?

I was raised without religion. At the time I began the early drafts of the novel (1984) I was drawn to the Church of England. At the same time, I was working on my novel Nicholas Cooke in which the main character becomes a priest. I joined an Anglican church in NYC. I think Mr. Langstaff’s character is much drawn from the father of a dear friend who was such a guide to me and who, with his wife, took me in to live when I was 18 and had to leave home. His passionate typing and heaps of books and way of walking and being went into creating George. He played the piano clumsily too. The vicar was also drawn from the small English rector in my own church.

Early 20th-century England was a time of huge political and social change. What drew you to this atmosphere for your setting?

The political and social worlds were not in the novel in the early drafts, though the book contained the story of how Anton had been forced by his father to separate from the penniless girl who was bearing his child. A friend who read the novel then said, “I think a guy like Anton would go up to Parliament to try to change laws to help the poor.” I began to revise that way.

I was also compelled by what I read about poverty in England at that time. I think the first book I read was by Jack London, who went to London and lived among the poor in disguise. It’s called People of the Abyss. It was the oddest thing when the Labour and Liberal parties were trying to get a bill passed to help the poor and aged in 1910, that the King, Edward VII, bullied the House of Lords into passing it. And of course, as a character points out in the novel, these high taxes on the wealthy meant that it would be harder to sustain the lives of the country house owners, such as the Crawleys of Downton Abbey. It was awful back then. Ploughmen would live on twelve shillings a week, and no one in their family had anything but bread and tea. And children of five or six would work in factories and mines twelve hours a day.

I enjoy how your historical novels delve into the lives of artists – painters like Robbie, authors, actors, musicians, and more – and the challenges they face in pursuing their craft. What do you hope readers take away from your work about the role of art in people’s lives, and in society?

I don’t think I ever wrote about anyone who was not an artist in some way! That was my world when I grew up. It was inconceivable to be anything but an artist, writer, dancer, actor. And of course, we all faced difficulties in making a living. Louise, Anton’s ex-wife who lives in a lovely London townhouse and knows people with money, helps Robbie to make a living painting portraits. There was a need for that then, following the footsteps of the great artist John Singer Sargent.

It is an oddity in the book that eventually Robbie is painting the wealthy to support Anton’s political campaign whose aim is to tax the wealthy! I guess I would like to show once again how precarious an artistic life can be. It was in my previous books showing how hard Mozart, Monet and Shakespeare struggled. When I was a single mother trying to make a living from music, we had trouble paying basic bills. The phone was shut off several times. Then I’d have to go down to the payment office to charm and distract them into turning it on again or give them a check that I “forgot” to sign!

In your author’s note, you talk about the lengthy writing process behind The Boy in the Rain and how you kept returning to the story in between publishing other novels. I was glad to have the opportunity to read it at last, and that you persevered! Did you have any favorite parts of the writing process, or key moments in the creation that you’d like to share?

I had to persevere because Anton and Robbie and their friends simply would not let me go. The novel kept almost being sold in earlier versions, and then editors would decide they wanted something easier to market, but its long gestation gave me a chance to develop the complex way the men related to each other. In some odd way they are both parts of me.

~

Stephanie Cowell has been an opera singer, balladeer, founder of Strawberry Opera and other arts venues, including a Renaissance festival and an outdoor arts series in NYC. She is the author of Nicholas Cooke, The Physician of London, The Players: A Novel of the Young Shakespeare, Marrying Mozart, and Claude & Camille: A Novel of Monet. Her work had been translated into nine languages and adapted into an opera. Stephanie is the recipient of an American Book Award.

6/10:  And the giveaway has ended.  Thanks to all who entered, and congrats to Pam! I'll be in touch via email.

Gail Tsukiyama's The Brightest Star shines a spotlight on American actress Anna May Wong

With the recent, long overdue focus on Asian representation in Hollywood, the time is ripe to look back on an industry trailblazer. Following her many previous well-received sagas, Tsukiyama offers a riveting biographical novel about Anna May Wong (1905–61), a third-generation Chinese American whose prominent acting career spanned silent films, early television, and the stage.

Wong’s intimate voice, in this imagined account, rings so clear that readers may be tempted into believing they’re reading an actual memoir. Growing up amid her parents’ laundry business near Los Angeles’ Chinatown, Anna skips school to visit nickelodeons and vows to appear on screen herself. She achieves remarkable success, always striving to give audiences authentic Chinese portrayals, though is stymied by stereotypical parts, anti-miscegenation laws, and paternal pressure to abandon her “shameful” profession.

For greater freedom, Anna travels to Europe, where she befriends Marlene Dietrich and Josephine Baker. With its rich supporting cast, the novel emphasizes the friendships and family relationships that help Anna thrive, while her many disappointments (like losing a leading role in The Good Earth to a German actress in “yellowface”) catch at the heart.

At times, the narrative breezes rather quickly through Anna’s accomplishments, but overall, this stirring story about the drive and courageous spirit of a talented, barrier-breaking American icon works magnificently.

The Brightest Star will be published by HarperVia on June 20th; I reviewed it for Booklist's historical fiction issue, which came out on May 15th. The review was the magazine's Review of the Day on May 17th. 

Wong was recognized with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1960, and the U.S. Mint issued a quarter with her image in October 2022; she was the first Asian American to appear on U.S. currency. Hers is a fascinating story of talent and determination that deserves readers' attention. You can view many of her films (and clips from them) at the Gallery of Anna May Wong channel on YouTube.