A preview of spring & summer 2026 in historical fiction

It’s already been a long winter. The weather here in east central Illinois has perked up a bit recently, which has me looking forward to spring and summer. (My commiserations with those back east who are still digging out from the huge snowstorm; winter isn’t over here yet either.) In terms of historical fiction, the coming months offer a good variety of upcoming novels. Below are sixteen that looked especially enticing. Usually for these previews I feature either ten or twelve books, but I had trouble limiting myself. They’re in order by publication date. I’ve read three of them so far.

The Lost Girl of Craven County, Emily Matchar (Putnam)
Release date: April 14
New Bern, North Carolina, has had a small Jewish community for centuries; I appreciate learning about lesser-known Jewish history via fiction. Set during the Depression, Matchar’s second novel (after In the Shadow of the Greenbrier) is a historical mystery about a young woman from New Bern’s Little Jerusalem and a shocking discovery she makes.

Margery & Me, Maryka Biaggio (Regal House)
Release date: April 21
Biaggio writes historical novels based on real people (see her earlier guest posts on this site: The Risks of Writing about Real Historical Figures and Fidelity to the Truth in Biographical Fiction). Her latest should interest anyone fascinated by the spiritualist movement in 1920s America, as it looks closely at psychic medium Margery Crandon, a woman previously unfamiliar to me, and Harry Houdini’s determination to debunk her.

The House of Boleyn, Tracy Borman (Hodder & Stoughton/Atlantic Monthly)
Release date: April 23 (UK); August 4 (US) 

Have you been noticing a mini-Tudor renaissance in fiction? In a decades-spanning generational saga, historian Borman zooms in on Anne Boleyn’s family story, starting when her determined father arrives at Henry VIII’s court in 1509.

Edmonia, Brianne Baker (Dafina/Kensington)
Release date: April 28
Baker’s debut is biographical fiction about Black-Ojibwe sculptor Edmonia Lewis, a woman whose artistic accomplishments and eventful life and travels deserve greater attention. In mid-February, Lewis was the subject of an article in the New York Times written as a lead-up to a new museum exhibition about her work.

Mrs. Benedict Arnold, Emma Parry (Zando)
Release date: April 28
Literary agent Parry investigates the inner life and motives of Peggy Shippen of Philadelphia, aka Mrs. Benedict Arnold, in a novel that asks how large a role she played in her husband’s treason. Having read and enjoyed Allison Pataki’s The Traitor’s Wife, I look forward to this new retelling.

A Founding Mother, Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie (William Morrow)
Release date: May 5
A timely publication for the semiquincentennial (a word you’ll be seeing frequently this year) of America’s founding, Dray and Kamoie’s latest collaborative biographical novel focuses on Abigail Adams: wife and mother of presidents and a smart political voice in her own right.

Daughters of the Tide, Arianne James (HQ/HarperCollins Australia)
Release date: May 26
A gothic family mystery (and a debut) set in 1920s Tasmania, featuring a seaside mansion and eerie dreams of seals and selkies. It won’t be spring in Australia when it’s released, but it’s expected out in a few months wherever you’re located.

A Fortune of Sand, Ruta Sepetys (Ballantine)
Release date: May 26
The adult debut from an author celebrated for her YA historicals. During Prohibition, Marjorie Lennox, youngest daughter in an eccentric, wealthy family from the Detroit suburbs, stumbles into odd mysteries when she accepts an artistic residency. I’ve just finished this; all I’ll say for now is that I’m glad to have read it early, without having seen any spoilery reviews online.

Land, Maggie O’Farrell (Knopf/Tinder Press)
Release date: June 2
O’Farrell may be best known for Hamnet these days, but Land – her most ambitious novel – is different in scope and more personal. It covers, primarily, the decades after Ireland’s Great Hunger and centers on the uncanny aftermath of a quiet man’s mapmaking trip to western Ireland.

Children of the Wild, Kevin Powers (Harper)
Release date: June 9
WWII novels proliferate; there are noticeably fewer WWI novels. This work of literary fiction tells the story of three young people from the mountains of rural Virginia whose lives, overseas and at home, are altered with the world at war.

Daughters of the Sun and Moon, Lisa See (Scribner)
Release date: June 9
See writes gorgeous novels about women in Chinese and Chinese American history. Her new novel opens in Los Angeles in 1870, when anti-Chinese prejudice was pervasive, and follows three different women beginning new lives there.

Mrs. Dickens, Emily Howes (Phoenix/W&N UK)
Release date: June 11
Posterity hasn’t always been kind to Charles Dickens’ wife, Catherine (Kate), whom—after a loving start to their marriage and many children—he left for another woman and tried to have committed. Howes’ (The Painter’s Daughters) second novel illuminates Kate’s viewpoint as a wronged woman and cookbook author. Per the author’s website, recipes are included. No US edition that I could locate, though I’m happy to be corrected.

Consider the Ravens, Cressida Downing (No Exit Press)
Release date: July 16
This first in a new series set on Holy Island – Lindisfarne, off England’s northeast coast – in the late 15th century features a female scribe, her secret past, a monastery, and murder. Lindisfarne is a beautiful, memorable place that I’m eager to revisit via fiction.

The Story Keeper, Kelly Rimmer (MIRA)
Release date: July 21
Rimmer’s dual-period Australian gothic centers on a crumbling mansion called Wurimbirra, the modern art restorer who purchases her childhood home, a long-lost manuscript, and the family secrets it dredges up. Its title is The Midnight Estate in Australia and the UK. 

Runner, Ashton Lattimore (Ballantine)
Release date: July 28
Lattimore’s debut novel, All We Were Promised, was a fast-moving tale of Black women’s friendship in 1830s Philadelphia. In Runner, set during Prohibition, a young Black woman turns rumrunner along the northeastern seaboard, taking her father’s place after his suspicious death.

The Ladies Hall, Vanessa Miller (Thomas Nelson)
Release date: August 11
The origin story of three future civil rights leaders—Black women of different backgrounds who became classmates and friends while attending Oberlin College in the 1880s. Based on a true story. After reading the author’s previous novel The Filling Station, about two sisters in the aftermath of the Tulsa Race Massacre, this one is on my list.

Back in Kansas, darkly: a review of Gordon McAlpine's After Oz

Sequels to classic literature can vary in quality. At one end is lightweight fan fiction that pales in comparison to the work it continues. On the other, we find clever gems that honor the originals while leading us in unconsidered directions … novels that affect what we take away from the stories they’re based upon.

Gordon McAlpine’s After Oz is one of the latter. It’s a grimly atmospheric tale, a rural noir that opens in one genre and spirals into another, thanks to the foresight of one of its main characters. Some of the twists it takes are unexpected, but its most surprising aspect may be that Dorothy Gale, the delightful eleven-year-old girl who was front and center in L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (and the movie adaptation), has little on-page time.

How would the residents of an insular Kansas settlement, circa 1896, react when an orphaned child raised by an elderly couple mysteriously reappears on a neighbor’s property, unharmed, four days after a destructive tornado swept through the prairie? McAlpine took this question for his premise and ran with it, crafting an edgy story about small-town prejudice and harmful delusions.

Dorothy doesn’t waver from her story of meeting talking animals and visiting an emerald city. She speaks of befriending a good witch and killing a wicked one, completely by accident, by throwing water at her. The girl’s nonsensical remarks have the townsfolk, especially the local reverend, concerned about her state of mind—especially when she proclaims, blasphemously, that “not all witches are bad.”

Things worsen after a reclusive spinster in her fifties—a crotchety woman nobody much liked—is found dead in her home. Hearing Dorothy’s comments about having “melted” a witch, the authorities get involved, and all’s not looking good for the young girl. Not only does she have visions they find demonic, but she may be a murderer.

The narration alternates between an unnamed resident of Sunbonnet, Kansas, who hardly emulates the Christian values he espouses—or maybe the collective voice of many such residents; it isn’t clear—and a 28-year-old psychologist from back East, Dr. Evelyn Grace Wilford. She arrives in town to interview Dorothy for her research after learning about her case from her cousin, a Chicago-based newspaper reporter. Readers of classic literature should recognize his name.

There are no chapter headings to distinguish their sections, but there’s really no trouble telling the two voices apart. With Dorothy’s Aunt Emily ill after a stroke, and her uncle taking to the bottle after his farm was obliterated, Evelyn realizes she’s the only person who can save Dorothy from permanent institutionalization—and the only way to do so is discover who killed poor Alvina Clough herself.

And so we find ourselves in a murder mystery with Evelyn as detective, sorting through whatever clues she can discern. Not a simple task as a woman and an outsider in an unfamiliar, close-knit place, but she willingly takes up the role she needs to play. Those with malign intent, of course, fail to recognize their villainy. Many villains don’t.

Part of the ending is a bit far-fetched and doesn’t feel necessary, but among literary sequels, this stands out for its complex plotting and originality. Sadly, the author passed away three years before his final novel, After Oz, was published.

Gordon McAlpine's After Oz appeared from Crooked Lane in 2024 (reviewed from a personal copy).

Gish Jen's genre-bending novel about her Chinese immigrant mother (and herself), Bad Bad Girl

As she details in the beginning of her fictionalized memoir, the author, Gish Jen, was constantly scapegoated by her mother, Agnes, who was born into a well-to-do banking family in Shanghai in 1925 and died in New York during Covid. Why did a woman treated so dismissively by her own mother, and who endured difficulties throughout her life, act so harshly toward Gish, her American-born daughter?

“Bad bad girl! You don’t know how to talk.” This refrain echoes from one generation to another, directed toward females too outspoken to be controlled.

Within this book, Jen performs an extraordinarily generous act, seeking to understand the circumstances that shaped Agnes and the origins of their troubled history. She invents storylines and motivations when needed, since her mother remained tight-lipped about much of her background.

Through Jen’s first-person voice, her mother’s story unfolds, interspersed with imagined conversations between them: Gish gently probing for explanations, and Agnes reacting to her writing choices— “tactful as a sledgehammer,” judgmental, and silently vulnerable in turn.

Named Loo Shu-hsin, her mother grows up knowing her sex is a disappointment. She adores books and receives an education at a modern Catholic school, where she’s renamed for St. Agnes. Her childhood nursemaid’s abrupt firing remains a traumatic memory.

She bravely boards a ship for America in her twenties, alone, to pursue a PhD, never returning to China; overwhelmed with childcare soon after her marriage, she also never finishes her doctorate, a constant regret. Abandoning her past isn’t easy, since letters from her family, wanting money and trapped during the Communist takeover, frequently arrive, using discreet language for their self-protection.

Some later sections, breezing through years at a stretch, read rather dry. But this unique account, which is pointed and unguardedly honest, shows how fiction can illuminate truths too complex and deep-rooted to be spoken.

I reviewed this novel originally for the Historical Novels Review.  You may be wondering about the original cover design. Having read the book, I think it perfectly captures the novel's themes: two individuals, intertwined with one another in a difficult relationship they can't escape. Yet both still exult in their own freedom of thought, as shown through the lines of a Tang Dynasty poem spoken by the novel's characters:

Goose, goose, goose!
You lift your neck to the sky and sing--
White down bobbing on the green water,

Red feet pedaling the clear waves.

Gish Jen's Bad Bad Girl was published by Knopf in October 2025. The UK publisher is Granta.

The historical fiction winners at ALA's Book & Media Awards for 2026, and more

At the end of January, the American Library Association and its RUSA (Reference & User Services Association) division announced the winners of their Book and Media Awards. I’ve posted about these awards annually. The judging is done by librarians, and many historical novels usually land in the winners’ circle. I haven’t participated on committees for these awards, but friends and colleagues have in the past.

The Reading List honors works of adult fiction within eight genre categories. The 2026 winner for Historical Fiction is These Heathens by Mia McKenzie (Random House). I loved this book (read my earlier review) and am excited to see it receiving this accolade. These Heathens is a coming-of-age story in which a Black seventeen-year-old girl from 1960s rural Georgia has her eyes opened to civil rights activism and the wide diversity of life experiences when she travels to Atlanta to seek an abortion.

At the time I posted my review last August, I’d added: “I haven't heard much about this novel in the online historical fiction community and wanted to highlight it.” This award should give the book some well-deserved attention.

On the shortlist for Historical Fiction on the Reading List are these four novels:

Eleanore of Avignon by Elizabeth DeLozier (medieval France)
Happy Land by Dolen Perkins-Valdez (contemporary and late 19th-c North Carolina)
The Last Witch by C. J. Cooke (15th-century Austria)
The Pretender by Jo Harkin (late 15th-century England)

All five (!) were published by Random House imprints.

On ALA’s Notable Books list, among many other works, is Milo Todd’s The Lilac People (Counterpoint), focusing on the queer community in postwar Germany, people who were persecuted by the Nazis, and then, after the war, by the Allies.

The 2026 Sophie Brody Medal, which recognizes Jewish literature, was awarded to Allison Epstein’s Fagin the Thief (Doubleday), which reimagines Dickens’ Oliver Twist through the eyes of Jacob Fagin.

On the Listen List for excellence in audiobook narration is The Buffalo Hunter Hunter by Stephen Graham Jones (S&S), narrated by Shane Ghostkeeper, Marin Ireland, and Owen Teale – a historical horror/vampire novel set on the Blackfeet reservation.

Congrats to all of the awardees!

Compared to previous years, fewer historical novels were among the winners for 2026, so I thought I’d use this space to highlight something else that’s RUSA-related. RUSA has a section called CODES (Collection Development and Evaluation Section), for issues related to collection development, readers' advisory, and publishing. Librarians love their acronyms.

For many years, RUSA CODES has had an annual award for book reviewing, the Louis Shores Award. (Which is slated for potential discontinuation due to ALA’s plans to streamline its operations for financial reasons, but that’s another sad story.) I’ve been involved with the Louis Shores Award at multiple levels: initially as a grateful recipient (2012), then later as a multi-year selection committee member (2019-21) and more.

Adding to his list of recognitions, Ron Charles, longtime book critic for the Washington Post, received the Louis Shores Award in 2018. The committee made an excellent choice. I’m a admirer of his witty, entertaining, and astute reviews, which I always enjoy even if some of the books reviewed wouldn’t ordinarily have matched my interests. As many in the literary community have learned, with shock and sorrow, he and the entire staff of the WaPo’s books section were laid off, along with 300 other journalists with the paper, on Wednesday morning. This is a big loss to literary culture; WaPo’s Book World and Ron Charles’s weekly Book Club newsletter are very highly regarded by so many readers, librarians, authors, publicists, and more. He’s making a new home at Substack, and I’ve subscribed there. He and other fine writers let go from the paper will be getting the support I once gave to my now-lapsed WaPo subscription. If you appreciate high-quality book reviews and commentary, I recommend his site. 

Are we ready for historical fiction set in the '80s?

Because publishers and many readers have already gone there.




In the last couple of weeks, a couple of emails about forthcoming books hit my inbox, prompting the subject of this post. I saw this novel, May Cobb’s All the Little Houses, on Readworthy from BookBub’s List of the Best Historical Mysteries for January:



The same day, Penguin Random House sent out a website link with their Most Anticipated Historical Fiction for 2026. The books offer an assortment of time periods and locales, including Colson Whitehead’s latest, due out in July.



Both are described as set in the 1980s.

A 50-year rule is often used to define historical fiction (that is to say, fiction set at least 50 years before the time of writing), but individual readers may prefer a shorter (or longer) window. The Goodreads Readers’ Choice Awards have been working with a different definition for some time; while I don’t know exactly what their limits are, their Historical Fiction category winners and nominees have included books set in the ‘80s (Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Atmosphere, 2025 winner) and even the ‘90s (Janelle Brown’s What Kind of Paradise, 2025 nominee; Taylor Jenkins Reid’s Carrie Soto is Back, 2022 winner).

The people making those categorizations are probably from a younger generation than I am.

Technically, even if you do go by the 50-year rule, the 1980s are approaching fast in historical fiction’s rear-view mirror. The year 1976 was fifty years ago. At the same time, going by the comments on a post I’d written last summer about a current historical fiction trend, for some of those who lived through and remember the ‘60s, it can be hard to accept that that era now fits within the standard HF umbrella.

Along these lines, I read a recent post on Leigh Stein’s Attention Economy Substack with great interest. She writes how today’s readers are seeking escape (given current events from 2026, who can blame them?), and editors at publishing houses want to deliver. And their desire for when to escape to can be generational. To quote:

The historical fiction market is evolving. The next time you’re in Barnes and Noble, count how many historical novels you can find. The golden era of World War II novels with covers depicting women walking away with planes overhead is over […]

When I think of historical fiction, I am always thinking of the age of the reader, and whether she’s reading to understand the era that shaped her mother, or whether she’s reading for nostalgia. A baby boomer in 2015 picked up a World War II novel to read about a time when her parents were young adults. The younger boomers and the older Gen Xers are reading Lessons in Chemistry and Kristin Hannah’s The Women.

Aging millennials have Atmosphere (set in the 1980s, when our moms were our age!) and they are also experiencing the onset of nostalgia: see Deep Cuts, which opens in 2000. I know it’s painful to think of the 2000s as “historical” because you’re still twenty-seven in your heart, but as millennials proceed through their forties, we’re going to see more nostalgia for the 2000s and 2010s.

For me, a solid Gen Xer, the 1980s would be my “nostalgia” decade. There are many disastrous events of national or international significance from that time; the '80s included the AIDS crisis, Chernobyl, and the Challenger explosion (sadly 40 years ago this week; I was one of many kids home from school that day who saw it live on TV). But when it comes to the pop culture that characterized the '80s, I can understand “nostalgia” better. We had mixtapes, MTV, great movies, video games that seem so rudimentary compared to what we have now, the freedom to play outside unsupervised as long as we were home by dinner (my friends and I rode our bikes for miles), Flashdance-style sweatshirts and leg warmers, the days of BITNET (a precursor to the web) when everything was text-based and took forever but was still fun since it was so new. The big hair, shoulder pads, and peer pressure are things I kind of hated, but they’re hallmarks of the time for me, like it or not.

(One reason the '80s will never die is because of all the hair spray holding them in place.)

I can understand the appeal of reading novels set in the '80s even though, mixed in with all the fashion excesses and pop culture, fiction for adults—rather than the YA I was back then—tends to deal with more complex topics. Like the bigger political and social events mentioned above. Plus we have the winding down of the Cold War, which caused widespread optimism at the end of the '80s; the ups and downs of yuppie culture; the early '80s recession; and women gaining political power.  Back then, Roe v. Wade was still in effect, we had little to no digital presence to be constantly tracked, and we weren't glued to our cell phones.  In short, times were very different.

A few months ago, I’d reviewed a novel, Tamar Shapiro’s Restitution, that moved between the 1950s, 1989, and the early 2000s, about a family both before and after the fall of the Berlin Wall. It was eye-opening to see that middle period – which I lived through but didn’t impact me personally – through a new lens.

This is all worth considering when envisioning the factors that drive trends in historical fiction. Even if they don’t seem all that long ago, the ‘80s are coming for readers, and they’ve already started to land. Do you feel ready?

A woman of the New World: Sandra Freels' biographical novel about early American colonist Anneke Jans

Anneke Jans (1605-1663) was an early settler in the Dutch colony of New Netherland. Born in Norway, she voyaged to the New World with her husband Roelof, originally a sailor, and their two daughters. After landing at Fort Amsterdam, they headed north to Fort Orange (near Albany), where Roelof was commissioned to run a farm on the land of patroon Kiliaen van Rensselaer, prominent director of the Dutch West India Company.

The growing family later relocated back to New Amsterdam, where Anneke, who married twice, would have had a firsthand view of the new colony’s development and expansion – including contentious relations with the Native tribes and with the English.

What an eventful life she must have led! She left an extensive legacy: not only descendants that number in the millions, but also a famous, centuries-long land dispute centering on a 62-acre farm in the heart of Manhattan that she inherited from her first husband.

Pub. by She Writes (2026, 185pp)

Sandra Freels’ debut novel Anneke Jans in the New World, appropriately described by the author as a fictional biography, brings us into the day-to-day life of this notable figure and the political and social turmoil she lived through. Anneke is a likeable woman: amiable, practical, and always with an eye on how to improve her family members’ lives. This includes accepting the fact that, as a widow with multiple children, she must quickly remarry after Roelof dies at a tragically young age.

Her second husband Evert Bogart – who’s allowed to call himself Everardus Bogardus due to his university education (and does) – is quite the colorful character. Anneke holds her own against his forceful personality. Though being the wife of a dominee (minister) of the Dutch Reformed Church doesn’t come naturally to Anneke, she amusingly rehearses for the role so the community will find her facial expressions believable in church.

Freels enhances Anneke’s life with detailed descriptions of period customs, such as women’s experiences of the birthing chair, and her children’s celebrations of Christmastime, or Sinterklaas. Anneke also forms a friendship with a woman of the Native tribes (who the Dutch called “Wilden”) and recognizes the importance of trading gifts with her and her people.

However, Anneke isn’t given to much self-reflection. Many scenes are recounted in summary rather than shown firsthand, which diminishes the novel’s emotional engagement. Also, the sections that step away from Anneke’s viewpoint to show the larger political sphere from different perspectives are informative but feel out of place. A stronger developmental edit could have smoothed out the novel’s many bumps.

Even if her emotions aren’t as open to the reader as they could have been, Anneke’s confidence increases as she ages, making her seem even more admirable. Rich in land but not money, Anneke does what she must to ensure her descendants’ livelihoods. She and Evert, different as they are, make a good match.

While characters’ winks to modern knowledge don’t always work in historical fiction, it does feel natural for Evert to joke to the Director of New Netherland before his wedding that sure, Roelof’s farm “is going to be worth a fortune someday.” Who would have known back then that this undistinguished plot would become prime Manhattan real estate? The characters’ abilities to tease one another and do their best to adapt during trying times make them appealing company throughout this flawed but edifying novel.

My thanks to the book's publicist for providing me with an ARC.

A dance of love and power: Kelly Scarborough's Butterfly Games

Might you be interested in reading about a tender friends-to-lovers romance between two attractive young people, the complicated repercussions of their secret affair, and a damaging whisper network spreading rumors amongst their families and the country’s royal court – all set in the sparkling world of the early 19th-century nobility?

There’s even a meddlesome Queen Charlotte in the background.

If you’re picturing Regency England and Bridgerton, think again – and head northeast. Butterfly Games centers on the forbidden love story between Countess Jacquette Gyldenstolpe and the young man once known as Oscar Bernadotte, now the heir to Sweden’s newly elected crown prince.

It’s based in history, with reasonable liberties taken to fill in gaps.

As historical fiction fodder, this story offers ample material. In her author’s note, Kelly Scarborough reveals how she came up with her subject after reading Annemarie Selinko’s classic Desiree – about the unlikely rise to prominence of Prince Oscar’s mother – and how she immersed herself in the history and culture of Napoleonic-era Sweden to write Jacquette’s story. The result is a thoroughly engaging work of biographical fiction that digs deep in revealing her protagonists’ vulnerabilities and how larger political forces shift the course of their connection.

Jacquette and Oscar first meet in 1811 on the grounds of Drottningholm Palace, the royal household’s summer residence near Stockholm. Though only fourteen, Jacquette already knows she hates court life. She comes from a family of scandalous women, including her mother, Aurora, whose divorce has set the tongues of the queen’s maids of honor (the “Chatterati”) atwitter – and Jacquette’s unhappy about being left with them while Aurora’s away traveling with her lover, Chancellor Wetterstedt. Born a French commoner, Oscar, two years younger, has all the cheekiness and emotional uncertainty of a typical adolescent and none of the airs of a prince.

Jacquette and Oscar commiserate about their broken families and share unguarded views on political notables. In exchange for his keeping a confidence, she agrees to his one request: “Always tell me the truth.” Both are bright and well-meaning, yet naïve, since truth and trust are rarities in a court where secrets and “butterfly games” – short-lived dalliances – are de rigueur.

Four years later, when their friendship turns into passionate love, they learn, with painful firsthand experience, how the predatory royal court strips away everyone’s innocence.

Jacquette is engaging from the start. Royal mistresses are commonplace in history and in fiction, yet her personality shines with her youthful exuberance and, later, her determination to keep her head above water and protect her closest secret. While her mother seeks to exploit Jacquette’s closeness to Prince Oscar for the family’s benefit, Jacquette does find several allies, including her outspoken maid, Brita, and her stepfather, Wetterstedt, surprisingly a better father figure than her own father ever was. The author’s use of close third person to evoke Jacquette’s mindset is very effective, so the move into Jacquette’s first-person voice just for Part Four is jarring. The move into present tense afterward is less noticeable, but still feels unnecessary.

Political intrigue, ever-present, adds suspense. The former Crown Prince Gustav has been living in exile since boyhood, when his father was deposed. His potential return is desired by some, and dreaded by others. Because we stay within Jacquette’s viewpoint – knowing only what she knows and hears, as appropriate – we get a sufficient amount of knowledge about the current vs. former rulers of Sweden. On the other hand, for anyone curious about the complex circumstances that led Sweden to reject their monarch and elect one of Napoleon’s generals, Oscar’s father Marshal Bernadotte, to become heir presumptive to the throne as Crown Prince Charles Jean – you may want to do some outside reading.

One of the pleasures of reading this novel lies in seeing the many subtle channels through which power can flow, and in rooting for Jacquette as she develops the maturity to judge how best to react to them. The Swedish setting for Butterfly Games, an unusual one for Napoleonic-era fiction, has its own definite appeal.

Butterfly Games is published by She Writes Press this week; I read it from a NetGalley copy.

A dual-timeline Tudor novel: what worked and what didn't

Anne Brandon, eldest daughter of Henry VIII’s best friend and brother-in-law, was one of many aristocrats whose lives were torn apart by the king’s quest to divorce Katherine of Aragon. Turning the focus on Anne, as Alexandra Walsh does in her latest dual-timeline novel, illuminates a little-known story of marital strife, revenge, women’s resilience, and lasting love.

Anne grows up in the affectionate household of her Papa, Charles Brandon, and her stepmother, Mary Tudor. Her social position means she must marry a nobleman, and the partner chosen for her is Edward Grey, Baron Powis, even though Anne has always loved another. Edward’s taunts escalate to cruelty after Anne fails to give him a child.

The parallel narrative, set in 2024, features Caroline Harvey, whose reclusive late grandfather had authored a massively bestselling science fiction series. In researching the history of the remote Pembrokeshire woodlands that served as his writing nest, Caroline finds the ruins of a place called Hanworth House and investigates its provenance. In the process, Caroline reconnects with two old friends and deals with (or has her agent deal with; she’s a very wealthy woman) a difficult ex and his new girlfriend, who are squatters in Caroline’s London flat.

While Caroline’s narrative is interesting enough to hold attention, its ties to Anne’s story are loose—Caroline doesn’t make discoveries we don’t already know—and it’s frustrating to know that the author is withholding secrets about Caroline from the reader. For anyone who prefers historical over contemporary narratives, Anne’s tale can easily be enjoyed on its own. It offers a strong plot and a rewarding character arc for Anne, from her changing observations about the scandal-ridden royal court to her complex relationship with her charming, flawed father.

Alexandra Walsh's The House of Echoes was published by Boldwood Books (UK) last January.  I reviewed it initially for the Historical Novel Society and thought I'd expand upon my reaction a bit more.

Novels with parallel narratives set at different points are time are popular, and some intertwine their storylines more closely than others.  Anne Brandon's life story, which I hadn't known before, is a real find for the historical novelist. The modern storyline here is also fully fleshed out.  All good.  But in this case, the strand featuring Caroline didn't feel structurally necessary.  

In addition, Rebecca Makkai's Substack post "Hold the Withholding" hit my inbox after I'd finished writing my review, and her comments crystallized my thoughts about why one aspect of the novel bothered me.

Makkai explains in detail what many writers hope to achieve through narrative withholding, and gives instances when (and why) it can be a problem. 

The modern storyline of The House of Echoes is told in third person from Caroline's viewpoint, and we're open to her thoughts... except about some major secrets she's keeping.  We're reminded about these secrets periodically, and we don't learn what they are until the big reveal at the end.  The intent may have been to create suspense, but this technique was too irritatingly coy for my taste.

That said, if you're interested in lesser-known Tudor stories, the novel's worth reading for that aspect alone, and I'd recommend checking it out.

A romance with Egypt: Katherine Kirkpatrick's To Chase the Glowing Hours

When your life’s most transfiguring experience occurs at age 21, where do you go from there? Do you spend your remaining years seeking to recapture its essence, or can you realistically move ahead, pursuing happiness in other directions?

And are you able to acknowledge the ethical quandaries tied to that shining moment and your family’s very involvement in it?

Pub. by Regal House (Sept. 2025)

Katherine Kirkpatrick’s To Chase the Glowing Hours addresses these themes beautifully in her portrayal of Lady Evelyn (Eve) Herbert, daughter of the Earl of Carnarvon, who was her father’s companion-assistant on his archaeological trips to Egypt.

In 1922, alerted by his longtime archaeologist, Howard Carter, to an impending major discovery, Carnarvon travels with Eve from their home at Highclere Castle in Hampshire, England, to Cairo and then to the Valley of the Kings, where they’re present as the splendor of treasures from the tomb of King Tutankhamun, buried underground for over three millennia, is revealed.

If the novel lingers over these descriptions, it’s no more than they deserve. As Eve glimpses a golden throne appear under her torchlight in the intense desert heat, sees a figurine’s glass eyes reflect as if alive, and detects the exquisite scent of oil preserved in alabaster vessels, we’re there alongside her, feeling her amazement and elation.

Eve also begins falling in love with the man who made it all happen. The handsome, much older Carter is notoriously moody and antisocial, and he treats her with alternating affection and formality. Of the two, only she is unaware that a relationship between them would never work.

The outside world soon intrudes in the form of a governmental inspector assigned to the excavation, Egyptian nationalists wanting the British ejected from their country, and a particularly pushy journalist (since Carnarvon gave his competitors at The Times an exclusive). Eve’s father, too, is obviously ill. In addition to having his costs recompensed, Carnarvon’s prior agreements regarding the tomb would have half the artifacts coming directly to him—which he’s counting on—a typical colonialist sentiment of the period.

An aristocrat eager to support her beloved father, Eve feels this is only fair; the idea of Egyptian treasures belonging solely to Egypt is utterly foreign. Her feelings shift at a sensible pace for someone of her upbringing. Once back at Highclere, she also starts having unexpected feelings for her brother’s friend, Brograve Beauchamp, a potential suitor who sees things differently.

In terms of excitement, Eve’s Downton Abbey-style life at Highclere (the model for the estate in the TV show) can’t compete with her adventures in Egypt, but that’s likely the point. Though her life in either locale is far from what most of us will ever experience ourselves, the medium of fiction brings us into her world as she copes with multiple losses and develops a mature outlook that will stand her well in the future.

To Chase the Glowing Hours was published by Regal House in September 2025, and I reviewed it from a NetGalley copy. This is one of several recent novels about Lady Eve, including Gill Paul's The Collector's Daughter (2021) and Marie Benedict's Daughter of Egypt (2026).

New Year, new platform - Reading the Past is now also on Substack

Best wishes for a good upcoming year, as well as great reading to all of you for 2026! Thanks for following my posts. I always enjoy hearing from everyone, so please feel free to comment or reply with your own thoughts and reading recommendations.

For the last few months, I’ve been pondering the future of Reading the Past and where I’d like to take it. While I appreciate that the platform has been free, the Blogspot/Blogger interface has become antiquated and limiting. I haven’t been able to update the layout for years without risking the loss of important content. It’s not mobile-friendly, and it takes messing with HTML to get pictures and text to center correctly. I’m also under no illusion that Google will keep Blogger around forever. In addition, the Mailchimp software I use for email subscribers, which stopped being free around a year after I adopted it, is functional, but more cumbersome than it needs to be for admins.

About a year ago, I opened an account at Substack since many of my email subscriptions were on that platform, and I wanted to keep track of them all. I claimed a domain there since it asked me for a name, but I didn’t do anything as far as publishing on Substack. Until I had some downtime over the recent holiday break and got to exploring the options a little further. Before, the idea of migrating to a new platform, maybe paying $$$ for a redesign, had been daunting… but according to their Help files, Substack could automate the migration from Blogger.

So I tried it, and within a few hours, most of my 1,969 posts, covering the past twenty years, were copied over to Substack. (All but 53 of them. I don’t know which 53 are missing, which will haunt me, but I’ll learn to live with it.) I love the colorful new layout and its ease of use for subscriber management, and I’m getting familiar with the posting process.

My posts, now on Substack

 

The plan is for my Substack to act as a mirror of the Blogger version of Reading the Past going forward, so if you subscribe via email, you now have options. If you prefer to stick with your current newsletter format, you’re good. It isn’t going away. But if you’d prefer to move to Substack, you can unsubscribe from this site (I won’t judge you) and sign up there at:

https://readingthepast.substack.com

 
If you’re already subscribed to Reading the Past on Substack, even though there wasn’t much to look at until a few days ago, thank you! For those currently subscribed to both, you'll probably want to unsub from one or the other since, apart from the post you’re reading now, you’ll get duplicate content in your inbox if you don’t. Either way, my posts will remain free to read.

Thanks again for reading, and wherever you plan to join me, I’m glad you’re here and look forward to sharing more reviews and historical fiction news in the coming year.

An intrepid female reporter investigates crime in Victorian Bristol in The Emerald Shawl

In 1864 Bristol, England, Miss Helen “Nelly” Brooks, first female reporter at the Courier, yearns to dig into meaty investigations but is limited to writing domestic pieces for the women’s page. So when she gets a note from a woman claiming knowledge of a “dreadful murder,” Nelly feels she’s struck gold.

Seamstress Eliza Morgan, huddled in a green shawl in the saloon bar where they meet, tells a fantastic story that feels like a scam: a prominent man’s wife and newborn have been killed, but she won’t reveal their identity to Nelly, or the woman’s secret diary, without being paid. Eliza also has a healthy appetite for gin and claims to have seen the murdered woman’s ghost.

Pub. by Boldwood Books 

The next day, Eliza’s body is found floating in the harbour: had she fallen in drunk, or was she offed by the man she claims was following her? Now there are three people for whom Nelly feels pressed to seek justice.

Douglas draws on Nellie Bly’s real-life story—Nelly’s American counterpart from a generation later—while creating a kaleidoscopic tour through Victorian fiction tropes. We have séances, body snatching, mistreatment of women by powerful men, Upstairs/Downstairs relationships, and a manor house full of secrets. Many character names (Mr. Snitch, Mrs. Augur) feel rather Dickensian. Unlike Miss Bly, who went undercover in an asylum, our Nelly has survived one, having been incarcerated for a decade by her parents after bearing her lover’s illegitimate daughter.

The novel is highly derivative of many sources, but when it homes in on the central mystery, the plot grabs hold, continuing through its surprising resolution. While reckless at times (accompanying your main suspect into his carriage isn’t super smart), Nelly’s determination to regain her child is laudable, and the setting—Bristol rather than the typical London—adds originality.

The Emerald Shawl was published by Boldwood Books (UK) in July.  Douglas is a prolific author of mysteries and Gothic novels, though this is the first of her books I've read.  

In the shadows of great art: Rembrandt's Promise by Barbara Leahy

This beautifully composed debut by Irish writer Leahy plunges readers into the world of Geertje Dircx, a nursemaid in Rembrandt’s household who became his lover after his wife’s death and challenged him in court after he abandoned his pledge to marry her. Geertje was treated poorly by her male contemporaries, her reputation tarnished while Rembrandt’s continued to rise. With richly textured detail, Leahy re-creates Geertje’s life and milieu, revealing her perspective and handling her story with the utmost respect.

It’s March 1642 when Geertje’s brother, Pieter, delivers her, a poor widow in her early thirties, to the wealthy artist’s Amsterdam home to tend to his infant son, Titus. She settles well into her new life, loving Titus as she might have loved her own son had he lived, and establishing a rapport with other servants. She also cares for her pretty, high-born mistress, who suffers from ill health.

Geertje admires her talented master from a distance, but after Rembrandt’s wife dies from tuberculosis three months later, she succumbs to the pull of connection and begins an affair with him, against her family’s warnings. She remains his secret mistress for years, believing his word that he’ll make her his wife, until a new maid, Hendrickje Stoffels, supplants her in his affections.

Notably, for a novel with a celebrated painter as a major figure, Rembrandt’s work isn’t centered. However, Geertje observes her surroundings with her own artistic eye. We feel the prickliness of her straw-filled bed tick, see the bustling trade along the canal, hear the regular chimes from the Zuiderkerk. She’s outwardly a reserved woman, making her heartbreak over the failed affair more profound.

Her female friends, including her outspoken, take-charge cousin Trijn, a wonderful character, provide moral support following all the betrayals she endures. Despite everything, Geertje remains determined to fight for what she’s owed. A transfixing read.

Rembrandt's Promise appeared from Eriu, the Dublin-based imprint of Bonnier Books UK, in March 2025.  I reviewed it from a personal copy for the Historical Novel Society.  Interestingly I have another novel on my shelves, still unread, which may serve as a counterpoint to this one: Rembrandt's Mirror by Kim Devereux, the story of Hendrickje Stoffels.  If you've read either, let me know what you think!

Lorena Hughes' The Queen of the Valley takes an entertaining trip to 1920s Colombia

Martin Sabater, owner of a cacao plantation near Cali, Colombia, in 1925, has disappeared after organizing a fundraising gala to support his old boarding school. His absence creates hardships for some, and opportunities for others.

After months pass without the cacao bean shipments that supply her chocolate shop, Maria Purificacíon de Lafont, called Puri, travels from Ecuador to find out what happened to her friend and former lover. Following circumstances on the way that are both terrible and kind of wacky, Puri arrives at her destination wearing a nun’s habit. She decides staying in disguise is her best hope for learning the truth.

Pub. by Kensington (2023)

In his absence, Martin’s hacienda has been transformed into a hospital, and everyone avoids conversations about him. Even more, Puri seems to have landed into a smoldering pit of tension, one stemming from jealousies, family resentments, and love affairs gone wrong. Living in and around the place are its purported new owner, Arab Colombian physician Farid Manzur; his sister Camila, an actual nun caring for cholera patients; and photographer Lucas Ferreira, boyhood friend of Martin and Farid, who still carries a torch for Camila.

That’s just a sampling of the goings-on in this entertaining concoction of a novel. Between all the relationships and flashbacks, keeping track of the nested subplots demands focused attention, so it doesn’t help that the three first-person voices (Puri, Lucas, and Camila) sound too similar. The energetic storyline keeps humming along, though, amid Puri’s snooping around and faking her way through nunhood. Plus, the earthquake that hit southwestern Colombia at the time literally shakes things up.

This was written as a sequel to the author’s The Spanish Daughter (see my review), which you don’t need to have read, but if you want the scoop on Puri and Martin’s past history, it’s worth checking out first. As always, Hughes mixes comedic and tragic moments without diminishing the impact of either. Life being what it is, there are times when it doesn’t work out, but you also get the sense she wants to give her characters happy endings whenever possible.

The Queen of the Valley was published by Kensington in 2023.  I'm continuing with my quest to review older NetGalley requests with the goal of getting my ratio up to 90%.  Slowly getting there!

Canticle illuminates the life of a female religious visionary in medieval Flanders

In her debut, set in late 13th-century Flanders, Edwards brings to glowing life the story of a young woman consumed with desire for God and knowledge, a most unorthodox obsession.

Aleys, “thirteen years old and powerfully odd,” is the daughter of a wool producer in Damme, which sits near the trading center of Brugge (Bruges). She grows up enraptured by her mother’s illuminated psalter. After her Mama’s tragic death in childbirth, Aleys learns to read Dutch to help with the family business, but Aleys seeks to know Latin, the language of scripture. Through her friendship with Finn, a dyer’s son, she achieves this, and her education and Catholic fervor attract the attention of a Franciscan preacher, Friar Lukas, who wants a woman to establish a new order.

When her father forces her betrothal to a wealthy merchant to save their fortunes, Aleys runs away to Lukas. During her novitiate, he settles her with the Beguines, a group of lay religious women rumored to be wanton. Aleys’ vow of obedience chafes, since her soul yearns to fly.

The prologue foretells a devastating end for Aleys, drawing curiosity about what led her there. It takes talent to write accessibly about religious ecstasy and the impact of faith while preserving their mysteries, and Edwards achieves this through many gorgeously written passages, beginning with the opening scene.

Though slow in parts, the novel evokes a little-depicted yet decisive time, when people sought closeness to God through unauthorized translations, wandering Franciscans sought new recruits, and religious women—Beguine communities, mystics, and anchoresses—were carefully watched by church authorities.

Aleys’ journey from prideful teenager to visionary is powerfully moving as she discovers the rules of men are too narrow to admit her abilities. Fans of Mary Sharratt’s literary historical fiction about women and faith will especially welcome Edwards’ new novel.

Canticle was published this week by Spiegel & Grau; I reviewed it for the Historical Novel Society in November.  Read more about the background to the novel at the author's website.  Canticle made it to the LibraryReads list for December 2025 (the top 10 adult fiction and nonfiction picks chosen by public library staff from around the country). This would make a great book club pick.

What a laptop can't do: Why a notebook is essential to my storytelling life, a guest post from Ginny Kubitz Moyer

In today's essay, historical fiction author Ginny Kubitz Moyer explores the benefits and pleasures of writing down her thoughts longhand.  My thanks to Ginny for contributing her post!

~

What a Laptop Can't Do: Why a Notebook is Essential to My Storytelling Life

Ginny Kubitz Moyer

More than thirty years ago, as a college student visiting London, I was thrilled to see the handwritten draft of Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs. Dalloway on display. It was fascinating to see how Woolf had crossed out certain words and written others above them, trying out various options before settling on the right one. As I left the exhibit, it struck me that with the advent of personal computers, writing a first draft has changed dramatically. A sleek font now stands in for an author’s penmanship, and a delete button has erased the need for a handwritten strikethrough. I remember feeling a certain romantic nostalgia for the old days, when a notebook and pencil were the primary materials of an author’s toolkit.

Back then, I didn’t know that I’d end up being a novelist myself. I didn’t know that I’d depend upon a laptop to write my stories, that I’d be lost without its ease and convenience. But I also didn’t know that in addition to my trusty Mac, I would always—always!—have a notebook and pencil at the ready.

Although I don’t use it for drafting my novels, a notebook—specifically, one of those composition books with the speckled covers—is an essential part of my writing life. It’s a safe space dedicated to play, exploration, and writing without pressure. It’s the low-stakes laboratory where I can mix words and see what results.

For one thing, the notebook is where I warm up at the start of the writing day. In her famous guide The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron recommends a daily practice of three longhand “morning pages” to clear the air. I don’t always do three pages, but I do find it valuable to scribble a description of what the day is like, what I see out of my window, what’s in my thoughts. It’s a helpful transition from morning coffee into a creative frame of mind.

Notebooks are also where I figure out what will happen in my novels. This is essential, because one quirk of mine (shared by many authors) is that I cannot plot in advance. Try as I might, I can’t come up with a story idea in the abstract and draw up a scene outline before I begin. For better or worse, I have to write my way into it.

So I start with a general sense of who I think my main character will be. I’ll take a prompt from one of my writing books (usually something vague, like “write about a sunset”) and I’ll freewrite, with the character in mind. The more scenes I write, the more I get to know my protagonist and the setting. Other characters will appear in the freewrites, and conflicts too, and sometimes I’ll stumble upon insights that end up being the thematic heart of my story. It’s like being in a darkroom and watching a negative develop: from dim shadowy outlines, the details gradually emerge. Often it takes months of freewriting before I know the plot well enough to begin writing my first draft.

Sometimes I do this freewriting on my laptop for expediency’s sake, but more often I do it in my notebook. Writing by hand is liberating; the words don’t look perfect, so they don’t have to be perfect, not yet. When I’m fumbling my way into a new novel, I need to remove all expectation that it’ll be smooth and polished. Paper and pen are brilliant for that.

Pub. by She Writes Press, Dec. 2025

In the last few years, my notebooks have taken on another role as well: that of mood board or visual library. Because my genre is historical fiction, I’m constantly looking up clothing, interior design, and other images to spark my imagination. I have Pinterest boards for visuals that remind me of the time period or look like the characters, and that’s helpful, but not as helpful as having them before my eyes as I freewrite.

So a few years ago, it occurred to me that I could print out the pictures and paste them right into the notebooks. I love doing this, because it adds another layer of playfulness to my writing life. It’s fun to tap into my inner child by using scissors and glue, and once the images are there it’s like a little gift to turn the page and be greeted by a picture that I chose weeks before. (Sometimes, there’s an almost spooky connection between words and images: once I was writing about a character on a hill looking over the horizon, and turned the page to find a picture of a young girl standing on the top of a peak!)

I’ve got over twenty notebooks by now, and while they do take up a fair amount of bookshelf space, I can’t imagine my writing life without them. For something so modest and unassuming, those notebooks are precious. In that safe space between the speckled covers, anything can happen … and that’s the magic of being an author, in any generation.

~

Ginny Kubitz Moyer is the author of the novels The Seeing Garden and A Golden Life (named one of Kirkus Reviews’ Best Indie Books of 2024). Her upcoming novel, The World at Home, is published in December 2025. She lives with her family in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can learn more at www.ginnymoyer.org.

The historical fiction cover art trend I wouldn't have predicted

When you think historical fiction, the color neon pink doesn't immediately spring to mind.  (Or green, purple, blue, or yellow.)  But there's no denying that the lettering on these novels makes a statement.  Their covers juxtapose historical images with electrically bright typefaces.

This design trend was noted in Elisabeth Egan's New York Times article (gift link) from June 21st, where the images were described as "the new signifiers of stylish literary fiction."  Unlike the examples in the article, the 11 novels below aren't necessarily all literary, and they don't all use old paintings in the background. Some could be described as dark historical fantasy, and the obvious color contrast jolts the senses, preparing the reader for the gothic thrills to be found within. Many are forthcoming for 2026, and there are likely more covers of a similar style in the works.

An acclaimed historical nonfiction author (Light of Days) focuses her fiction debut on the interlinked stories of two Jewish women in inter-war Warsaw, a city of artistic achievement and rising antisemitism.  Dutton, April 2026.

This gothic reimagining of Sheridan Le Fanu's classic vampire novel Carmilla, an inspiration for Bram Stoker's Dracula, is a sapphic romance set in Victorian times. Zando, February 2025.

A "propulsive novel of feminist resistance and rage" moving between modern Los Angeles and 1970s New York, following three generations of women, including some that take the law into their own hands under the moniker "Lady X."  Ballantine, May 2026.

Loyalty, friendship, and violent competition flourish among the girl gangs of late 1950s London in this debut novel. Atlantic (UK), February 2025.  

19th-century Mormon Utah goes gothic in another debut in which a young woman comes to live with her husband and her fellow sister-wives in a haunted Salt Lake City mansion; the characters are reportedly inspired by the author's family history.  Kensington, March 2026.

A young woman of mixed Indian-English heritage with an unerring sense of taste becomes a poison-taster for a French nobleman in the late 19th century, and he could really use her help.  Also a debut novel.  Berkley, June 2026.

Second in the Charlie James series from Australian novelist Manning, this historical mystery has its reporter heroine looking into the odd disappearance of an American tourist in pre-WWII Paris. Vintage, July 2026.

From the bestselling author of Mexican Gothic: a seductive con artist encounters two women who complicate his treacherous plans in small-town Mexico in the 1940s.  Del Rey, July 2026.

In this twisty psychological thriller with an unreliable narrator, a young amnesiac at a psychiatric hospital in 1954 Virginia must decide whether to trust her dystopian visions of the future or the mental health treatment she's told she needs.  Henry Holt, August 2025.

Art, upscale crime, and the allure of wealth mix in this dual-time novel set in modern Paris and the world of Vincent van Gogh's sister-in-law, Jo, who secured his legacy.  Dutton, July 2026.

Literary fiction and sapphic romance set in the Dutch Golden Age, featuring painter Maria van Oosterwijck and her family's servant, Gerta, who became a still-life painter in her own right.  Zando, September 2025.

Inspector Ian Rutledge returns in the post-WWI mystery novella A Christmas Witness

Can a story be haunted and heartwarming at the same time? Just like the holiday classic that inspired it, Charles Todd makes this unlikely pairing work in his latest entry in the Ian Rutledge series.

In late 1921, Rutledge, Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard, gets asked by his superior to take on a case of the utmost sensitivity. Rutledge knows that as a single man with a recent promotion, work must take priority over a planned Christmas with family.

At his home in Kent, Lord Edward Braxton lies recovering after a head wound, claiming he was mown down by a horseman in foxhunting clothes who vanished right afterward. As a colonel in the Great War who served on the personal staff of Field Marshal Haig, a man nicknamed “the Butcher” for the millions of British casualties under his leadership, Braxton poses a challenge extending beyond his impatience and surliness.

As long-time series readers know, Rutledge suffers from PTSD in the form of night terrors and terrible guilt, embodied through the imagined voice of a soldier he was forced to execute for disobeying orders at the Somme. The oppressive shadow of WWI sits at the forefront of this series.

Following his investigation into the mysterious horseman, Rutledge begins wondering if Braxton’s injury affected his memory, but he can hardly ask him that. He senses that Braxton’s devoted wife, Louisa, is hiding something, too.

Rutledge is a methodical observer of his environs, as exemplified by his fine eye for architecture and the step-by-step directions on how his Rolls Royce operates. While interesting from a historical perspective, all these descriptions do slow the pacing down, and suspense is negligible.

Those who read for ongoing character development should be pleased, however. The ending, reflecting the spirit of the season, provides new understandings for both Rutledge and others.

The novella A Christmas Witness was published by The Mysterious Press, an imprint at its new home of Penzler Publishers, in October, and I reviewed it for the Historical Novel Society.  This story can stand alone easily.

Charles Todd, formerly a longtime mother-son writing team, is now authoring his novels solo. Alison McMahan, writing for the Historical Novels Review in May, examined the writing, publishing, and legal complications that arose after the death of Charles's mother, Caroline, in her feature article "The Lost Writing Partner."

In Circle of Days, Ken Follett imagines the lives of the people who built Stonehenge

Follett brings his storytelling prowess to another epic about a marvel of human engineering, illustrating answers to the major questions (who, what, when, why, and how?) about the construction of Stonehenge. 

Pub. by Grand Central (US/Can), Oct. 2025

Circle of Days reflects his trademark style: easily digestible prose combined with a large cast of recognizable yet interesting characters. He keeps the plot spinning with the challenges that different groups face, from severe drought and famine to deep-rooted antagonism, though an immense cooperative effort is what gets the job done.

The time is around 2500 BCE. Seft, the inquisitive youngest son in a flint-mining family, has the ingenuity to put elaborate plans into action. His first goals involve extricating himself from his boorish, abusive father and brothers, and getting to know Neen, an attractive woman from the herder clan. Neen’s younger sister, Joia, has curiosity of her own, which leads her to spy on the priestesses who conduct the seasonal rites at the Monument. These events bring together everyone living around the Great Plain – herders, farmers, woodlanders, flint-miners – for holy purposes (sun-worshipping) and more secular ones (friendship, feasting, sex).

The priestesses hold knowledge about the calendar and mathematics, and they use the Monument and ancestral songs to track the days of the year. But, as Joia recognizes, the wooden circle of the Monument is susceptible to destruction, and so it proves. After becoming a priestess herself, this female visionary ponders her objective of rebuilding it in stone, with Seft as the brains behind the operation, but many obstacles lie ahead… ones that make even survival uncertain.

Follett emphasizes throughout how sophisticated the cultures of these long-ago peoples must have been, both technologically and in the customs of their daily lives. He also imparts a message, not intrusive but definitely there, about how societies that treat women poorly will eventually face a reckoning.

This review first appeared in the Historical Novels Review in November.

Also of note: archaeologist Mike Pitts, one of the consultants for Circle of Days (and whose own nonfiction book about Stonehenge inspired Follett), has an article up on his website about the latest research about the building of the legendary monument, which Follett incorporated into his story.