Category Archives: Historical Fiction

Great story about 18th C Scotland – The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley

The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley

My knowledge of British history gets very high level after the death of Elizabeth I in 1603, and if truth be told, lately I’ve read far too many fiction novels about Tudor times.  So it was a refreshing change to read The Winter Sea, a terrific time slip tale by Canadian author Susanna Kearsley, which swept me to Scotland in 1708, a year after the Union with England.

In The Winter Sea, Kearsley uses “genetic memory” to draw the link between the two main characters – Sophia Paterson, visiting Cruden Bay and Slains Castle in 18th century Scotland and Canadian author Carrie McClelland, visiting the ruined castle and nearby town to research and write her new novel.  Carrie is writing a fictional story of the failed Jacobite uprising in the spring of 1708, when French and Scots soldiers nearly succeeded in landing  James Stewart (would have been James III of England/James VIII of Scotland) in Scotland to reclaim the Scottish crown.  She is not long in Cruden Bay before she discovers that her plot and characters track startlingly close to historical fact as she accesses ancestral memories.

It is a compelling tale of difficult choices, conflicting loyalties, and strength of character – even in defeat – and true love.  Even though it is a love story (actually two love stories), it is not romantic historical fiction with prescribed heaving bosoms.  Sophia’s love interest, Mr. Moray does not even make an appearance in the first quarter of the novel—but when he finally does, it is well-timed.

Its emotional highs and lows are told beautifully, and with restraint – the more impactful because of it.  This is one of the first time slip novels in which I actually liked the main character in both time periods, though admittedly Sophia, with her quiet strength, captivated me a bit more.   Both love interests — Moray (18th C) and Graham (21st C) were perfectly drawn. The supporting cast of characters – in both time periods – were sharply memorable and even a little unexpected.  I loved the Countess Erroll, who was decisive and forthright, without being a caricature.  I had the sense that Kearsley met some real characters in Cruden Bay and weaved them into her story as Jimmy and Stuie Keith and Dr. Weir.

We all know the uprising didn’t end well for James Stewart and his supporters—yet in an unexpected twist, Kearsley turns tragedy to triumph in the ending, which hits the romantic high note of the book.  It is a beautiful ending.

If I had any complaint it is that Kearsley captured the dialect of the area so closely that I found it a distracting from the storyline.  Advice I have been given on a similar issue is to go light on dialect.  But it was a minor distraction and others may really enjoy it.  Kearsley does a wonderful job of putting you on the East Coast of Scotland, probably because she did her research – much like her character – by staying in Cruden Bay.

I can’t claim to be Scottish, although both my parents were born and raised in Fife.   I did spend most of the summers of my childhood and many, many weeks as an adult in Scotland, especially on the coast of Fife, so I know when an author has captured the spirit of the place. At one point, Kearsley describes the wind coming off the sea – the cold East wind – and I thought, “Yes, that is exactly how it feels.”

I’m going to Scotland in a few weeks, on a long-awaited trip to visit sites for my novel about Mary, Queen of Scots.  The Winter Sea transported me there ahead of the jet—it is a great story, well told.  Highly recommended–loved, loved this book!

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Enveloped in Egypt–Loved Erskine’s Whispers in the Sands

Whispers in the Sand by Barbara Erskine

Someday, I hope to cruise the Nile and visit the sights of ancient Egypt, following a similar route that Barbara Erskine’s characters travel in Whispers in the Sands, a time-slip historical fiction novel that weaves the majesty and mystery of ancient Egypt that connects the lives of two women, Anna Fox and her great-grandmother Louisa, through a cursed glass bottle from a Pharaoh’s tomb.  In Anhotep and Hatsek, the priests whose spirits inhabit the glass bottle, Erskine invokes the legends of old Egypt, who wreak havoc on the lives of Louisa and Anna.

Despite the 150 years that separates their stories, Anna and Louisa share common traits and tribulations.  Both women seek escape in Egypt after the end of their marriages; both have artistic talents – photographer and painter respectively, that find an outlet in the vistas of ancient Egypt.

Anna’s 21st Century journey follows the same route Louisa took by steamer ship, recounted in a diary, which recounts Louisa’s journey and the mysterious events that occur.  Both women meet a rich cast of fellow travelers from rogues, harridans, mystics, and of course, romantic interests.   Erskine has done her research well—describing beautifully the 19th century modes of travel, fashion and customs—both English and Egyptian.

The reader feels the heat of the sun and the pace of life in a foreign (in this case non-English) climate – you can tell that Erskine has been to Egypt. She writes with all five senses—the heat of the desert, the sights and sounds of life of the river cruising to Aswan, the smells and tastes of local food.  Above all, you feel her respect for the temples as holy places, inhabited by spirits of the ancient Pharaohs and those who served them.

I really enjoyed this book—though I was less comfortable with Anna’s character arc.  Her journey felt less complete, less transformational, than that of her great-grandmother Louisa.   Erskine deliberately (so deliberately she writes a note to say so) leaves you hanging at the end.  I wish she had given me something more concrete—though perhaps I get to imagine the ending I want for Anna.

I have four dog-eared books by Barbara Erskine, much-loved, read and re-read.  Erskine, who writes paranormal historical fiction, has never disappointed me.  Lady of Hay, her first book, now celebrating its 25th year in print is still my favorite, followed closely by Kingdom of Shadows and Child of the Phoenix.   For those who want more on ancient Egypt, the Ramses series by French author Christian Jacq is compelling, stay-up-all night reading.

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“Princess of Montpensier” – Not Perfect, But Worth Watching

Article first published as Movie Review: The Princess of Montpensier - Not a Perfect Film, But Worth Watching on Blogcritics.

The Princess de Montpensier in French with English subtitles

Not to proselytize for Netflix, but they have refined their film categories to include excellent sub-categories for “Period Pieces” and “Royalty,” to the delight of this History Lady.  First up under “Royalty” queue was “Le Princesse de Montpensier,” a story about love and jealousy set in civil war-ridden France in 1567.

Against the background of religious wars is the story of French noblewoman Marie de Mezieres. Marie is infatuated with her cousin, Henri, Duc de Guise yet is given in an arranged marriage to Philippe, Prince de Montpensier.  At first she is reconciled to the marriage and settles into life in rural France where she is tutored by Philippe’s old teacher – Francois, Count de Chabannes – learning to read, write and studying philosophy.  In the process, Chabannes develops an unrequited love her.

Philippe returns from the war, she tries to make him happy, but he’s a jealous sort and when the Duc de Anjou visits with her former beau Henri de Guise in tow, his flirtatious behavior sets Philippe into a rage. The more Philippe’s jealousy grows, the more Marie succumbs to Henri’s amorous attentions. Henri’s a soldier, most comfortable when he is battling for something – in this case her affections in a rivalry between Philippe, himself and the Duc de Anjou. Marie, condemned by her husband as a flirt, fancies herself in love with Henri and imagines a future with him.

In a film where everyone desires her, no one really loves her except Chabannes – who loves her enough to want to see her happy with someone else. He  helps her spend a night with Henri before she’s sent back to the country in disgrace – and earns himself dismissal from the Montpensier household.  He rides away, and is later killed in a massacre of Huguenots, but has left a letter for Marie, warning her of Henri’s vacuuousness.  She does not listen and leaves her husband, hoping Henri will ditch his fiancé for her.  But he does not, Henri is exactly who Chabannes said he was.

Marie ends up without a lover, a husband or an admirer, having given up on love.  It is not clear if she’s given it all up and will turn to learning, or religion, but in the last scene she realizes that Chabannes love was the truest of them all.  I struggled with the ending, wanting more for Marie than exile and solitude.

What I love about French period films (Seraphine, Tous les Matins du Monde and La Reine Margot are some of my favorites) is their pace – it is slower and more thoughtful than many US—or even UK—dramas, allowing a respite from action to consider the character’s inner conflict.

This film has incredibly beautiful costumes and set design – authentic to the period, and the location shoots are in exquisite country (no CGI here!).  The acting is overall very good–except for the role of Philippe.  Coupled with a nice glass or two of Merlot, it’s a good evening’s entertainment.

“Le Princess de Montpensier”

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Review: Found it Hard to Like “The Lady of the Rivers” by Philippa Gregory

Article first published as Book Review: The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory on Blogcritics.

The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory

“The Lady of the Rivers” is Philippa Gregory’s third novel in her “Cousins War” series about the English Wars of the Roses. Through the eyes of Jacquetta of Luxembourg we experience the events leading up to the fall of the Red Rose (House of Lancaster, Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou)—and the rise of the White Rose (House of York, Edward IV).

Happily, I don’t know much about this period of history, so I read unencumbered by how much license Gregory might have taken, or not, with historical facts.   Moreover, I understand few historians have researched Jacquetta, so this was an opportunity to create exciting fiction around real historical events.  Sadly for me, because I am a Philippa Gregory fan, this book lacked the excitement I expected.

The novel begins in France with the capture and immolation of Joan of Arc, whom Jacquetta has befriended while Joan awaits sentencing.  Joan is used to introduce the gift of Sight and scrying talents Jacquetta inherited from her water-goddess ancestor Melusina, and serves as a warning that no good comes to those who hear voices or see into the future.

In Gregory’s first novel in the trilogy, “The White Queen” she introduced Melusina, the water goddess, much to my annoyance because I just did not see the need for it and I felt it took away from the plot,  even though both the Jacquetta and her daughter Elizabeth (the White Queen) are supposedly descended from said mythical woman.   In “The Lady of the Rivers” I made peace with Melusina and her mystical water goddess powers—only because I decided Jacquetta’s superstitions and beliefs were reasonable in context of the 15th Century.  But just as I got comfortable and acclimated to it, Jacquetta became uncomfortable with her gift and this discomfort somehow made the gift, the witchcraft, the alchemy–all things I’d love to read more about–less compelling.

Jacquetta’s marriage to the Duke of Bedford, uncle to King Henry VI, brings her to the England.  Upon the Duke’s death, she marries for love, to his squire Richard Woodville.  They spend much of the book apart with Richard engaged in defense of Lancaster in Calais.  He comes home from war, she gets pregnant, he leaves…comes home when baby is born, gets her pregnant again…in sum, once they marry, the entire relationship loses its dramatic tension and this great love that she married “beneath her station” for feels matter-of-fact.

This period of history is full of rebellion, lies, betrayals and good old-fashioned skullduggery, to which Jacquetta bears witness as the BFF of Henry VI’s increasingly war-hungry wife, Margaret of Anjou.  Jacquetta trails Margaret up and down England as the two factions – York and Lancaster – square off, primarily at Margaret’s instigation.  Margaret is driven by love of the Beauforts and especially Edmund Beaufort—and schemes right down to foisting her lover’s child on Henry VI as his heir, or so the book implies.  I’m not sure why it merely implies, but there you have it. Anyway, Jacquetta was not horrified enough for me.

I did not fully buy into the friendship between the two women.  Jacquetta was loyal, but I did not feel she held real affection for Margaret until Jacquetta said so at the end of the novel.   Margaret, on the other hand, definitely thought she had a friend.

In fact, I understood Margaret of Anjou better than I did Jacquetta.  Margaret’s character arc is much more pronounced – you see her transition from a simple bride to a hard-headed, unyielding ruler who in refusing to include the Yorkist faction in governing the realm, loses it altogether and plunges England into wars lasting two generations.  Margaret was fierce, decisive, and honest in her loves and hates. Jacquetta was a woman in love and standing by her family in the beginning of the novel and in the end – she did not evolve much.

I’ve read nearly everything Philippa Gregory has written—and have ten of her novels on my bookshelf as I write.  I did not care for the Wideacre Trilogy recurring incest theme.   I loved the “The Other Boleyn Girl,” “The Queen’s Fool”, “The Boleyn Inheritance” and “The Constant Princess” yet have been so-so about everything since “The Other Queen.”  As I think about why, it is likely because the Tudor novels were a fresh take on well-known historical figures—interesting perspectives, plausible plot lines, even if historically inaccurate.  The “Cousins War” series goes into less charted territory, but is more straightforward with it.   I like my Gregory novels with a bit more of the unexpected, which I hope I’ll see when I buy the 11th one. Philippa I have not given up on you!

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“Anonymous” Suspends Belief

Portrait of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxfor...

Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

Before I went to see Roland Emmerich‘s “Anonymous” I did a bit of research on the film’s premise, which is that Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford was the author of Shakespeare’s plays.  Indeed, there exists a whole De Vere  Society going back some 200 years whose members believe Shakespeare was a fake, apparently Shakespearean actor Kenneth Branagh among them.  Who really knows?  Feeling comfortable about the movie’s premise—from an historically plausible sense, off I went this afternoon, on my own (because some people who I’ll refrain from mentioning refused to join me based on the NY Times movie review).   The NYT called the film “a vulgar prank on the English literary tradition, a travesty of British history and a brutal insult to the human imagination.”  I won’t go that far, but I did start muttering “what tosh” not far into the film.

On many levels, the movie is excellent theatre. I expect to see Academy Award nominations for set, costume design, and make-up, most of which was extremely accurate to the period.  The acting was very good—Rhys Ifans stands out as De Vere and erased from my memory (almost, some things are too funny to forget) his tour de force performance in “Notting Hill” as the goofy Welsh roommate.  I enjoyed both Redgraves, Vanessa and daughter Joely Richardson, as Elizabeth I, and I got a kick out of Shakespeare’s cockney accent and slang (which, given he was from Stratford-upon-Avon he would not have had, but details!).  David Thewlis makes an excellent William Cecil.  Jamie Campbell Bower does a creditable job as the young De Vere—much better than his work in the mini-series “Camelot.” But why was the most excellent Shakespearean actor Derek Jacobi given a bit part?  I’ve seen Jacobi as Richard III (front row seat, she bragged) and having him introduce the film and disappear until the end was a giant tease.

Then there’s the plot—ah, there’s the rub.  Let me first say something nice.  What writer Christopher Orloff did well, and which I have not seen in other historical films, was to set up the Cecils pere et fils (William, Lord Burghley and Robert) as the villains of the piece, pursuing fanatical Puritanism at the expense of arts and culture.  Knowing something of how William Cecil plotted the downfall of Mary, Queen of Scots, I could buy this.  The film also did a nice job of portraying the real animosity that existed between Robert Cecil and the Earls of Essex and Oxford.  Orloff ‘s Cecils are master playwrights, and everyone, even Queen Elizabeth, are merely actors on the stage that is England.

Much of it was historically accurate.  Most of Edward De Vere’s life—including  killing a member of Burghley’s household–was true, as was De Vere’s estrangement from his wife.  Essex’s rebellion was fairly accurate, though the role of the play in his downfall—which was actually Richard II not Richard III—was overstated.

If they’d only sailed closer to historical winds of fact, this would have been a great film, especially for 16th C history aficionados. But, Orloff took some, er, creative license, that had me squirming in my seat through much of the movie.  The Earl of Essex AND the Earl of Southampton were Elizabeth’s children—Southampton her child by the Earl of Oxford, who was ALSO Elizabeth son.  Now, I’m sorry, but I could take one fictionalized bastard of Elizabeth I—many a good historical fiction novel was published about the rumor she had a child.  But three, and one the product of incest? This is where belief is suspended and fantasy fiction takes over. Elizabeth might as well have been a shape-shifter or a werewolf.  I do hate it when facts are flung out the window, because so many people will watch the film and believe Elizabeth did have multiple children and an incestuous relationship.  Hollywood. *Sigh*

I did enjoy the movie, although if it had stuck to its premise and worked a bit harder to be believable, it could have been a great film.  Was De Vere the “real” Shakespeare?  If, after seeing the film, you’re curious to learn more, head to the De Vere Society. But if you think it is bunk, then here are a few NY Times articles (“Hollywood Dishonors the Bard” and  ”Wouldn’t It Be Cool if Shakespeare Wasn’t Shakespeare“) as grist for your mill.  In contrast, the UK’s Guardian review was much kinder.

Review: “Elizabeth I” by Margaret George is a Thoughtful Novel

Margaret George’s latest novel, Elizabeth I, is not a book that could have been conceived of, or written by, a young woman.  George’s insight and understanding of what it is to grow old (according to Wikipedia she is 68 years old) is what sets this novel, which focuses on the last thirty years of Elizabeth’s life, apart from the several hundred others about her (at least 50 of which are in print as I write) because you have to be aware of your own mortality to understand it enough to write about it.

The book opens with England facing invasion from the Spanish Armada.  The battle is inevitable, and Elizabeth is prepared.  This Elizabeth really is married to England, and you feel this throughout the novel. When Elizabeth narrates, the voice is regal.  Physically, she’s suffering through hot flashes, aching bones and is a bit forgetful, but she keeps the “show” alive—fantastical dresses, amazing jewels, and pageantry.  She’s wise—she’s the sum of life experiences about her legitimacy, scandalous affairs (Thomas Seymour, Robert Dudley), rebellion and Reformation and war with Spain.  She is old, burying her closest confidantes – Robert Dudley, Blanche Parry, William Cecil, Henry Carey, Francis Walsingham—and realizes she’s next.

Many authors paint Elizabeth as the vain, older woman who believed in a love affair with Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, a much younger man—but George’s Elizabeth is smarter than that.  She sees Essex for the egotistical man he is, tolerates his foibles and failings, seeing him as harmless until it is nearly too late and he mounts a credible rebellion.

Because few authors have focused on the last years of Elizabeth’s reign, not many realize the challenges she faced at home and abroad.  She dealt with poverty and famine and continued religious strife between Catholics, Protestants and Puritans, rebellion from the Earl of Essex and of course, death.  Abroad, she faced down the might of Spain, quashed rebellion in Ireland, and founded colonies in Virginia.

So many books about Elizabeth revolve around the love story between her and Robert Dudley.  This is not that kind of novel—it is a thoughtful book, not a love story—unless you consider it a love story between Elizabeth and England.   And, though it took me a while to make up my mind, I like this Elizabeth who is more disciplined, less romantic than most portrayals.

The novel is narrated in two voices:  Elizabeth’s—regal, sometimes cynical, always shrewd; and the more earthy, sensual and desperately ambitious voice of her cousin, Lettice Knollys (granddaughter of Mary Boleyn).  Lettice is Elizabeth’s alter ego—she is the sum of choices Elizabeth did not make, i.e., to be a wife, mother and lover.   Her promiscuity stands in sharp contrast to Elizabeth’s virginity.  She looks like the Queen, only younger and still attractive enough to attract Elizabeth’s long-time love, Robert Dudley, and when the two marry Elizabeth banishes them from court, but Lettice craves reinstatement—missing the limelight and boisterous court life.  Lettice pins her hopes for reinstatement at Court on her beautiful, gifted but rash son Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex.  Those hopes end with third husband and her son being executed.  I can’t say I liked Lettice very much, but as a foil, almost a doppelgänger to Elizabeth, her character is perfect.

I’ve now read most of Margaret George’s novels and this one ranks up there with The Autobiography of Henry VIII and Mary, Queen of Scotland and the Isles as a favorite.  I read this book twice, and liked it even more the second time, when I understood the plot and could follow the depth and nuances George brings to her characters. It is beautifully researched, evocatively written and a satisfying, thoughtful read.  Like Elizabeth, and George, I’m not getting any younger, and I appreciate a novel that celebrates the older woman and mighty Queen Elizabeth became.

Confession: It was this book that sent me to an e-reader (after I got my autographed hardcover copy from Margaret George). At 688 pages, it is a heavy read – I did not mind the length as much as the weight! When I heard George speak about the book at a reading she talked about how her editors always want her to write shorter novels, but she says she cannot seem to! Perhaps it is because she researches her subject so thoroughly that it is hard to leave anything on the cutting room floor.

Elizabeth I: A Novel by Margaret George was published in April 2011 by Viking

Review: “VIII” by H M Castor Is A Great Read

Much of Henry VIII’s notoriety revolves around his six wives and marital peccadilloes, and it is a refreshing change to find an author who takes the reader back to before Henry was king (when he was Hal, the “spare,” not the heir) as Harriet Castor does in the YA novel “VIII.”  Told in the first-person, the author puts the reader inside Hal’s head for his perspective on life, and we begin to understand the events that shaped him and how he grew from the most celebrated, handsome prince of his day to become grotesque, suspicious, villainous King Henry VIII.

The novel begins with Hal as a boy, fleeing into the Tower of London from The Pretender (not named, but presumably Perkin Warbeck, who claimed he was the son of the Edward IV, and thus the rightful King of England).  You forget—or at least I had—how much of Henry VII’s reign was spent subduing rebels, pretenders, and unifying a country divided after the 100 Year’s War.   Hal grapples with fears for his life and a desire for paternal recognition.  He copes by wrapping his beliefs in a scrap of prophecy, which says he’ll be King someday.  Yet his belief is balanced by a terrifying apparition—one that haunts him all his life—that augurs impending disaster and seems to feed and grow on Hal’s fears, insecurities and obsessions.

The reader comes to understand the overwhelming pull of Hal’s belief in his own destiny, a belief reinforced by events in his teenage years that pave the way to the crown, such as Prince Arthur’s death and Hal’s growing popularity and strength in the tiltyard.  Hal thinks he is a combination of Henry V and a knight of Camelot. He’ll become king, woo and win the Princess Catherine, conquer France and found a dynasty.  He’s got the bravado of a young lion: “I’ll show them all.”

When he becomes King, events unfold as expected.  Hal—now King Henry, anointed by God—wages military and political campaigns to conquer France that seem to bear fruit and  Catherine of Aragon is young and pregnant wit his heir.  But we all know how this ends for him: instead of a paving a glittering future he leaves a trail of death—his unborn sons, his wives, his friends and advisors.

Castor weaves a compelling portrait of how Hal the promising young Duke of York turned into the tyrannical Henry VIII.  It was written for the Young Adult audience, but like many YA novels, it will garner readers from all ages. It is a great read!

“VIII” by H. M. Castor was published in Oct 2011 by Templar in the UK–US publication date pending.  If you can’t wait,  order it via Amazon.co.uk  (I did!) 

Review: Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay

“Sarah’s Key” Kept Me Up Late, But The Ending Left Me Flat
Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay was recommended to me a while ago and yet I let it sit on the shelf because, among other reasons, a Holocaust story involving a four-year-old boy (I’m not giving away the plot it is on the blurb) gave me pause: some things I just can’t read. But, the film is coming out and I got stuck in over Labor Day—and stayed up until 1am to finish it. Anything that keeps me up after 11pm had better be a darn good read. And it was.

The reader follows two parallel stories that eventually converge. The first is of 10-year-old Sarah, taken from her home in a Vichy round-up of Jews in Paris, 1942. The second is 45-year-old Julia Jarmond, living a life perhaps just a tad too cliché’d in Paris, 2002 and on the verge of moving into Sarah’s old apartment.

Of the two storylines, I was more compelled by the story of Sarah—her struggle to stay alive, cope with her guilt, the loss of her family—those were the plot points that kept me turning the page. Paris, circa 2002 with a cheating French husband…not so much. Nor did I think the life/death drama for Julia and her husband—I won’t spoil it for you—was well done. It felt contrived, yet I do understand the author was trying to give some balance to the two storylines. It is hard to balance anything against the apocryphal tragedy of the Holocaust.

When the storylines finally converge, I was on the edge of my seat—and yet I think the author lingered too long. Sometimes, lives do not converge, stories are not neat and tidy—but Sarah’s story and Julia’s merge and are tied up with a pretty bow—a bit too pretty for me. All that said, it is definitely worth a read and I’ll be in line for the movie when it opens, especially because the magnificent British actress Kristin Scott Thomas is playing Julia.