It was a beautiful day for a drive, so I took the Fife Coast Road up through Dysart, East Wemyss up to historic St. Andrews.  Bit ashamed to admit this was my fourth visit to St. Andrews—I am even photographed at the St. Andrews Cathedral ruins with my grandmother when I was 18—but I felt today like it was my first visit.  Maybe because I have some context for the history there and so the ruins are now, well, more than ruins.  And no, my golfing friends, I did not—this trip—go to the Old Course, there just was not enough time.

Mary, Queen of Scots visited St. Andrews on her first progress through Scotland after her return on 17 August 1561.  According to John Guy in Queen of Scots: The True Life of Mary Stuart (must read for Queen Mary fans), by the third week of September, Mary and the Maries amused themselves by “playing house, banishing the symbols of royalty and doing their own shopping.”  It is a cute story.

More interesting is the history of the Scottish Reformation at St. Andrews, in particular the uprising participated in by, among others, Kirkcaldy of Grange in retaliation for the death of religious reformer, George Wishart.

Wishart traveled Scotland denouncing the errors of the Papacy and abuses in the Roman Catholic Church, until he was seized on the orders of Mary Beaton’s cousin, Cardinal David Beaton, Archbishop of St. Andrews and burned at the stake on 1 March 1546.

Two months later, on 29 May 1546, the conspirators, including William Kirkcaldy of Grange, murdered the cardinal in his own castle of St Andrews, mutilating the corpse and hanging it from a window (nice).  The suggestion is that Henry VIII egged on the conspirators, because Cardinal Beaton was an obstacle to his Scottish policy—which was to marry Mary, Queen of Scots to his son, Prince Edward.

The murderers holed up in the castle at St. Andrews for nearly a year—until French troops sailed into the Forth and bombarded the castle.  John Knox, who had joined the defenders as a preacher, was among those arrested and sentenced to work on galleys.   As I stood on the wall facing the sea, I could imagine the French ships arriving and the sinking feeling of those inside the castle.

Cathedral of St Andrew, Fife

I spent more time today at the ruins of the Cathedral of St. Andrew, which in the day of Cardinal Beaton and Mary, Queen of Scots must have been magnificent.  Even in ruins, the sheer size is impressive.  I could understand how pilgrims looking to worship at the shrine of St. Andrews (supposedly holding relics/bones of St. Andrew) would be in awe.

Loch Leven Castle: Mary, Queen of Scots escaped in 1568 using Mary Seton as a body-double.

On to Loch Leven Castle in Kinross, down the North Fife Road through some spectacular scenery – the Lomond Hills and Bennarty Hill in the distance to the East.   I love driving through the countryside, which is so green and lush (from all that rain).  Every so often a field of bright yellow rapeseed or some deep golden gorse bushes break up the landscape.  Yes, it really is as picturesque as you see in the postcards.

Loch Leven Castle is the scene of a fantastic Mary, Queen of Scots story.  In June 1567, Mary was imprisoned there and forced to abdicate in favor of her son by several Protestant Lords, including her brother James, Earl of Moray.  The Castle was her prison, and pretty hard to escape from, being in the middle of a lake.   It is small castle, but then, they brought the big stones over the water so the building might have been slim for that reason.   Much of it is in ruin, but I did get the general sense of it.

Loch Leven Castle

Mary would have been imprisoned on the top floor.  It must have been the lowest point in her life—she lost her crown, her son James, had a miscarriage and was shut away from the world.  One of the few people with her in her prison was Mary Seton—and I love this story about Seton.  It is not clear who formed the escape plan, but at some stage Queen Mary formed a bond with Willie Douglas, one of the young men on the island.  Willie helped her escape by rowing her across Loch Leven, meanwhile Seton dressed up as Mary and walked around the upstairs window so people would think she was the Queen.   Mary escaped and met Seton’s brother on the other side…but no one says much about the hell Seton must have caught when they discovered she was not the Queen.

It was a great, great sightseeing day, though not without mishaps.  The Garmin GPS/SatNav Lady and I got on just fine, but my DSLR camera took it into its head to stop working (it is new, and really? now?) and I’m faced with finding a repair centre over in Edinburgh—or making do.  These photos were taken by my Lumix, which is a great camera—just not a DSLR.

I did buy some souvenirs — a contemporary thistle necklace by Aldona Juska in Artery Gallery, and a 16th Century map of Scotland at Loch Leven.

I drove to Burntisland this morning to visit Rossend Castle, where Mary, Queen of Scots stayed February 1563.  It was at Rossend where Pierre de Bocosel de Chastelard, a French messenger (some say spy) and poet, hid under Mary’s bed and surprised her.  Supposedly he was dying of love for her, but he had a knife and this was the second time he’d comprised Mary’s reputation—Mary’s detractors, especially John Knox, made mileage out of the scandal.  Mary took a hard-line and executed Chastelard at the Mercat Cross in St. Andrews.  His last words fueled the scandal:  “Adieu, most beautiful and cruel princess in the world.” Chastelard is the subject of a play by Charles Algernon Swinburne, in which he is a warrior-poet who is also Mary Stuart’s courtier and lover.   The twist? Mary Beaton also loves him.   This is all fiction of course, but it gives a writer some ideas…

Rossend Castle, shades of former glory. Here in February 1563 Mary, Queen of Scots found Chastelard hiding under her bed.

The castle was a disappointment.  The stone walls are now covered in pebble whitewash (horrors), which is more period 20^thCentury than anything else.   The grounds were a mess, but then I understand it was—or is–up for sale. A postal worker happened by and I asked him about the area, and he pointed the Keeper’s house out to me (or what he believed had been), the exterior of which was a bit more of what I was expecting.

Keepers House, Rossend Castle, stone facade intact

The only other place of note personal – the castle overlooked the Burntisland Shipyard where my grandfather Donnelly worked as a plumber’s mate from about 1941-1970.

I made my way up the A921 through Kirkcaldy to Falkland, which is not all that far – about 15 miles.  But the roads are very windy here and I nearly came to blows with the Garmin SatNav!  It sent me back and forth through Kirkcaldy to the point where I was sure there was a real person behind the Garmin just messing with me.   Finally I stopped listening to the Garmin woman and made my own way to Falkland without any trouble.

Falkland Palace, East wing. The King’s and Queen’s Rooms would have been here

Falkland is a beautiful town set at the foot of the Lomond Hills–exactly where you’d expect to find a royal hunting lodge.  Falkland Palace was a favorite hunting long of the Stewart monarchs, especially James IV, James V and Queen Mary.

Keeper’s House, Falkland Palace–Mary Beaton’s Grandfather and Father would have lived here.

It was also the home of Mary Beaton’s grandfather and father, who were Keepers of the palace so it was exciting to see where young Beaton would have been born and where she would have visited her family when she was not with Queen Mary. I entered through the Keeper’s residence, long renovated by the Bute family but there was enough effort made to give several rooms at 16^th Century feel, and plenty of portraits around of the Stewarts.   I could very much picture Queen Mary galloping across the fields with the Four Maries, playing tennis in the court (the oldest tennis court in the world, I’m told).   Unfortunately, I could not take any photographs inside.

Lomond Hills behind Falkland Palace, where Mary, Queen of Scots and her predecessor Stewart monarchs hunted

Headed off to St. Andrews with a quick stopover to see my dad’s aunt who was in Glenrothes at a nursing home.  But as I got in the car to leave, I noticed the right front tire was flat as a pancake, which scuppered my plans for St. Andrews and I spent the afternoon dealing with car matters—very frustrating.

Oldest tennis court in the world at Falkland

Kinghorn Beach looking west

We had a near-perfect spring day here yesterday in bonny Fife, with sparkling sunshine and crisp breeze.  I woke up to a perfect view of Inchkeith and could see up and down the Firth of Forth to the iconic Forth Rail Bridge.  Since you never know how long the good weather will last in Scotland, I headed down to the beach and met my uncles for a walk.

I’m in Kinghorn—a small town in Fife on the East coast of Scotland. Kinghorn’s a wee place – population about 2,800.  Kinghorn is a Royal Burgh, a right granted back in 1285 by Alexander III, which allowed the town to hold a market and mint coins.  Poor Alexander III was good to Kinghorn, and stayed here often.  It was en route see his wife, Queen Yolande, in Kinghorn on the coast road from Burntisland that he fell off his horse, down the cliff to his death, ending the Canmore dynasty.  I suppose this event gave Edward Longshanks reason to believe he could annex Scotland…enter William Wallace and Braveheart, but I digress.

Pettycur Bay looking at the Bass Rock

Pettycur Bay-There was likely a castle on the hill above.

According to the Kinghorn Historical Society guidebooks, there have been two castles in Kinghorn, though neither remains.   The first was likely near Pettycur Beach—near where I am staying—and was possibly a ruin even in Queen Mary’s time.  The later castle was in the town center was built in 1543, but besieged by Kinghorn’s most famous son (as far as I am aware) William Kirkcaldy of Grange.  Kirkcaldy played a large role in Mary Stuart’s story.

Since Mary Stuart did not return to Scotland until 1561, she would not have stayed at either castle in Kinghorn.  She did stay three miles away in Burntisland, and might have traveled the coast road (currently the A921) en route to St. Andrews.   She also visited Inchkeith, one of several islands dotting the Forth, in 1564 and she would have been ferried over from Kinghorn Beach.

Inchkeith, where Mary, Queen of Scots reviewed French troops in 1564

Kinghorn is perhaps not as picturesque as some of the towns like Crieff and Crail further up the coast, but it is my mum’s hometown and as close to a hometown as I get.  Last night, gathered with my Donnelly family we spent hours laughing about going into the freezing cold Forth at Kinghorn Beach.  I actually offered $50 to anyone who would go in the sea right there, then – it was high tide and there’s a beach at my doorstep, quite literally.  For a moment, my younger brother wavered and I could see he was tempted, but the water is a chilly 9 degrees C (50 degrees F), which actually sounds warmer than I remember it (I remembered turning blue with cold).

You can tell I love Kinghorn, love walking around its quiet street with the wind in my face, tinged with salt and the smell of a coal fire in the air on a chilly night.  I am going to allow myself a tiny bit of historic license and Stuart or one of the Maries will spend some time here.

Tomorrow I’m off to Rossend Castle in Burntisland and Falkland Palace, which was Mary Stuart’s hunting lodge.

Inchkeith Viewed from Pettycur Road Kinghorn. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Mary, Queen of Scots sailed into Leith Harbor on 19 August 1561, returning to her native Scotland after 13 years in France. She was just 19 years old.  One year earlier she’d been Queen of France, but the death of her husband —Francois II—left her a young widow and, for multiple reasons, she decided to return to Scotland.

Among Queen Mary’s companions were her four closest friends, nicknamed the Four Maries (Mary Beaton, Mary Seton, Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston).  The Maries fascinate me enough to write an entire novel about them and their loyalty to Mary, which withstood enormous strains, particularly upon their return to Scotland.  And that is why I am here—to do a bit of field research.

As I flew into Edinburgh this morning for my own return to Scotland after a long absence (19 years), some of my own experiences may have echoed Queen Mary and the Maries.  They arrived in Leith surrounded by fog, which obscured their first view of Scotland.  Similarly, low clouds shrouded my view of Scotland until a minute before landing, frustrating my eyes eager for a glimpse.  I’m sure Mary and the Maries felt the same sense of anticipation that I had and the same frustration with the weather.

I’m shortly to be enveloped by my mother’s family, scattered across Scotland but coming together this weekend.  We do not see each other very often, but we are family and the bond is close and deep despite our geographical distance.  I expect to laugh till I cry about things only others in my family find funny, like the phrase “there’s thousands at the beach,” which was my Nana’s battle cry as she kicked my siblings and I (“the Americans”) out of the house to find playmates.

The Queen and the Maries would also have been excited – they had grown up in France without their parents and most of their siblings, and while not unexpected for the time, they would surely have been pleased at the coming reunion.  They were likely thinking less about changes in their family–who had grown up, married, died, but like me, just glad to reconnect in person.

For me, it is all roses – two weeks to research and write and spend time with my family.  Not so for the Queen and the Maries.  First, or rather still, there was trouble with the English.  Elizabeth I had refused Mary safe-conduct through English waters and threatened her with warships.  When those warships came upon Mary’s two galleys and two accompanying ships, they saluted her.  But the reminder of that the English did not make for good neighbors may have stirred up childhood memories of fleeing in the night from Stirling Castle to escape the Duke of Somerset and of the disastrous defeat at the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh—where Fleming’s father Alexander and Livingston’s brother John were slain.   For Queen Mary herself, she must have had some misgivings about the nobles she would rule, nobles who had rebelled against her mother, Mary of Guise, who had ruled Scotland as Regent in her daughter’s absence.

But they were young – all about 19 years old – and I have to believe their excitement would have overwhelmed most other concerns, at least on their arrival.  At 19, you have high hopes and the future almost always looks bright.  Certainly, chroniclers report Queen Mary’s high spirits, despite the weather and a decided lack of ceremonial welcome due to the ship being early. I feel her enthusiasm!  I did not, as I like to say, come to Scotland to get a tan, so no amount of rain or clouds will dampen my spirits.

As I said, my own return to Scotland comes after an absence of 19 years—hard to believe time has flown so much since we buried my maternal grandmother and I left to re-emigrate the US. Scotland is my home—or at least it is where my parents were born and raised (in Fife) and I spent so many summer months as a child in Kinghorn on the Fife coast, and as an adult many more weeks on holiday. I do still feel like it is home, though I am not sure many would call me a native daughter!

But then, I have always considered a bit of a foreigner in my native land. As a child I was “that American Lassie,” the US accent and cultural leanings branding me as “different” in the same way that Mary’s overwhelmingly French persona caused a stir—and some resentment—upon her return.  I am pretty sure I took more grief for my accent that Queen Mary did!  I was acutely aware that no matter how familiar everything felt this morning, even after such a long absence, that every time I open my mouth I am pegged for a foreigner, which I suppose only matters to you if you don’t feel in your heart that you are!

Tonight, I write from Kinghorn in Fife, with a magnificent view of the lights in Edinburgh and the flashing lighthouse on Inchkeith.  As a child, I used to look out my grandmother’s window at this view, dreaming big, praying hard, and wondering about life.  I’m long years away from that child, but tonight not so much.

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 18^th 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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Against this background, a few weeks ago I read Julian Barnes’ The Sense of An Ending  and it is still so much with me and has had me talking and thinking about it like a raving fan – one book I know I will not forget.

This was my first novel by Barnes, which I bought because it won the 2011 Man Booker prize and I always feel the winning novel must be worth a read.  (Last year’s winner was Wolf Hall, by Hillary Mantel).  And I’m glad I did – this short and simple yet elegantly crafted novel has captured and held me long behind the last page. This must-read might be one of my favorite novels of the past decade.  I’ve thought about it over and over in the last weeks since I read it, and I will certainly re-read it.

Barnes’ chief protagonist Tony Webster is a middle-aged man who has lived a very average sort of life and is quite content to look more forwards than backwards, accepting his lot.  That is, until a death bequest from someone he thought he barely knew rips open his past, sending him back to feelings and misgiving from his halcyon teenage years with his first “real’ girlfriend.  It turns out nothing is as he thought (no I won’t spoil it for you.)

Reading award-winning literary fiction is, sometimes, frankly above me.  [Case in point – last year I read A.S. Byatt’s The Children’s Book and came away feeling “meh” – and that I was probably not clever, or well-read enough to understand all the literary allusions in it.] Not so with The Sense of an Ending, which was so well done and of such emotional depth that it evoked a wave of introspection about endings and misgivings from my own college days and about how as Barnes protagonist Tony says “what you end up remembering isn’t always the same as what you have witnessed.”  Ain’t that the truth.

Read it, come back and tell me if you enjoyed it as much as I did.

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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 21^st 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 19^th 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 25^th 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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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”

• Director: Bertrand Tavernier
• Stars: Mélanie Thierry (Marie), Lambert Wilson (Chabannes) and Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet (Philippe), Gaspard Ulliel (Henri) and Raphaël Personnaz (Duc de Anjou)

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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!

Related articles

• The one about Joan of Arc, the Virgin and the Unicorn… (misfitandmom.wordpress.com)
• Best Selling Author of The Other Boleyn Girl, Philippa Gregory – Live – discusses ‘Goddesses, Witches & Queens: Looking for the Real Women in History’ (prweb.com)
• The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory + The Women Of The Cousins’ War (booktopia.com.au)
• Lady of the Rivers – Review (knittingskeet.wordpress.com)
• Truth, lies and historical fiction; How far can an author go? (theglobeandmail.com)

Usually I commemorate Veteran’s Day by posting on Facebook the poem “In Flanders Field” by John McCrae, (from “Some Corner of  a Foreign Field-Poetry of the Great War“) but instead I’ve linked to it.  Today, I think in particular of Louie Zamperini, who is 93-years-old, a veteran of WWII and the subject of the most beautiful, difficult, wonderful biography I’ve read in a long time.  Louie, Happy Veteran’s Day—for all the horror you saw and endured—I hope there’s a beautiful day ahead for you.  I hope veterans of our current wars can find peace as you did. 

The title says it all: Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. Many, many others have reviewed this book, notably the NY Times—where the book reached no. 3 on the best seller list–and countless bloggers.  I suppose their reviews compelled me to buy and read it—and I’d encourage you to do the same.  It is quite simply the most moving story I’ve ever read about the human spirit and triumph over adversity. I defy you to read this amazing true story and not weep buckets.

In Unbroken, author Laura Hillenbrand picks up the themes of perseverance and triumph against adversity that were prominent in her first book, “Seabiscuit.” This time, she  recounts the extraordinary true life of Louie Zamperini, American track star, Olympian, WWII bombardier, and prisoner of war.  Hillenbrand writes with precision and clarity—there is no overblown prose, no emotionally charged adjectives.  They are not needed—this is sharp story-telling that grabs you and keeps you turning the pages in horror, in hope and finally in joy.

Louie Zamperini was a bit of a hooligan in his youth until he found his talent as a track star—eventually heading to the 1936 Munich Olympics.   Pre-WWII, Zamperini was considered to be the runner most likely to break the 4-minute mile.  But when the US entered the war following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Louis enlisted in the Army Air Corps and became a bombardier, flying in the Pacific theatre.

In May 1943, the B-24 Liberator carrying Louie crashed into the Pacific. Louie survived, and spent 47 days on a raft before landing on Wake Atoll—and being captured by the Japanese.  His time as a Japanese POW-singled out because of his former notoriety in the Olympics—is difficult and emotional reading.  Louie and his fellow POWs endured truly unspeakable torture.   And even though I knew from the start that Louie Zamperini would survive, I could not imagine in what kind of mental or physical state.  This is non-fiction that you wish was fiction, because the truth pushes the bounds of believability—both of what one human being will inflict upon another, and what a human being can endure.  Indeed, Louie copes post-war with flashbacks, trauma by turning to alcohol.

Olympian Louis Zamperini carrying the Olympic Torch

When Louie finds peace post-war, by forgiving his captors and torturers, that is when the tissues come out.   I cried the last third of the book.  But it is beautiful, and moving, and I cheered for Louie’s humanity and spirit.

As Louie’s story unfolds Hillenbrand includes fascinating research on the war in the Pacific, bombers statistics, POW facts—and this background gives the reader context understand both the enormous risks taken by bomber planes in WWII, and the widespread torture tactics, yet also how much more extreme Zamperini’s treatment was as a POW.  You realize how miraculous Louie’s survival from the bomber plane crash was, let alone his survival of the events that unfold.

Louie’s WWII story is not unique—hundreds, maybe thousands, of planes crashed into the Pacific.  Thousands of allied troops were captured by the Japanese and faced torture and hardship.  Louie’s return from the war, his alcoholism and PTSD were also not unique–they are widespread today.  What is unique is Louie’s high profile pre- and post-war and his ability to overcome tremendous adversity.  The miracle is that Louie survived to tell his story and speak for many who did not.

I love a good WWII story-though admittedly I’ve read less non-fiction than fiction (Charlotte Gray, Atonement, Sarah’s Key, among great historical fiction reads).  I also love WWII movies—”Bridge over the River Kwai,” “The Great Escape”, “The Eagle Has Landed,” “Guns Of Navaronne”…and I can watch endless episodes of  “Band of Brothers.” When Universal makes “Unbroken,” I’ll be first in line, Kleenex at the ready, for this epic story about the endurance of the human spirit and its capacity for forgiveness.

Related articles and reviews: 

• www.LouisZamperini.com
• Unbroken: Never Give Up on What God Can Do (richardburkey.wordpress.com)
• Unbroken (deborahbahr.wordpress.com)
• REVIEW: Unbroken (brilliantdisguisebooks.wordpress.com)
• Check Out: The Great Zamperini (heididecoste.wordpress.com)
• A Fool’s Takeaways on Life and Leadership With Louis Zamperini (fool.com)
• Another inspirational story: Jim Leonard of Wisconsin