Category: Reviews

The King’s Mother by Annie Garthwaite

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Since reading Annie Garthwaite’s first novel, Cecily, about the life of Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, I have been looking out for a sequel. As the first book ended in 1461 and Cecily lived until 1495, I knew there was more than enough material for a second novel – and here it is, after a three year wait!

Cecily was set during the reign of Henry VI and the early stages of the Wars of the Roses, describing how Cecily’s husband, the Duke of York, led an army against the king and was killed at the Battle of Wakefield. A few months later, Cecily and York’s son, Edward, was more successful, defeating the king’s forces at the Battle of Towton and being crowned Edward IV. The King’s Mother picks up the story as Edward begins his reign and Cecily enters a new phase of her life as mother to the king and therefore one of the most powerful women in England.

This is a complex period of history and I would find it difficult to give a summary of the plot. You may already be familiar with the key points anyway – Edward IV’s unpopular marriage to Elizabeth Woodville; the various threats to his reign and the battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury; his death, leading to the accession of his younger brother, Richard III; and finally, Richard’s defeat by the future Henry VII at the Battle of Bosworth, marking the start of the Tudor dynasty. This entire turbulent period is seen only from the perspective of Cecily, which is slightly limiting as Cecily is rarely at the heart of the action herself and often has to learn about major developments from letters or messengers. However, the story is never boring and moves along at a steady pace, holding my interest until the end even though I’ve read about this period many times before.

Cecily is shown as a controlling force behind Edward’s throne in the early days of his reign, advising him on what to say and do, but her influence over him gradually fades. She concentrates instead on building alliances, arranging marriages and doing whatever else she can to keep the kingdom and her family secure, taking her title of King’s Mother very seriously. The cover of the novel states ‘There can only be one’ and it’s true that Cecily is not the only candidate for this position. She forms an uneasy friendship with Margaret Beaufort, mother of the young Henry Tudor, deciding to trust her even while knowing that Margaret will do whatever it takes to further her own son’s claim to the throne. Then there’s Elizabeth Woodville, Edward’s wife, who also expects her eldest son to inherit the throne. Cecily makes it clear that she disapproves of the marriage and dislikes Elizabeth, but she accepts that Elizabeth is queen whether she likes it or not and does what is necessary to protect the Woodvilles – at least while Edward is still alive!

Elizabeth herself is not shown in a sympathetic light at all and comes across as immature, whiny and spiteful, which is disappointing as other characters are given more nuance. I thought Cecily’s relationship with her middle son, George, Duke of Clarence, was particularly well done, capturing Cecily’s mixed feelings about him – the love of a mother for her son mingled with anger and frustration as George, along with his cousin Warwick, betrays Edward over and over again.

One of the interesting things about reading a lot of books about the same period of history is wondering how the author will tackle some of the controversies and mysteries of the period. One of these is Edward’s alleged pre-contract of marriage to Eleanor Talbot, signed before he married Elizabeth. Some historians believe this was fabricated by Richard III in order to invalidate Edward and Elizabeth’s marriage and declare their children illegitimate; in this book, Annie Garthwaite assumes that the pre-contract did exist and was known to Cecily, who tried to cover it up. Another controversy, of course, is the disappearance of the Princes in the Tower. I won’t tell you how Garthwaite approaches this, but authors do usually have to choose one side or the other and this is definitely more of a pro-Ricardian novel.

Richard’s entire reign is covered in the final 20% of the book, which does feel a bit rushed considering how eventful that period was. I think there would have been enough material for a third novel, which would have allowed for more depth. I felt that we never really got to know Richard’s wife, Anne Neville, for example, which took away some of the emotional impact from the later stages of the book. Still, I really enjoyed The King’s Mother. Start with Cecily if you can, but they are both excellent novels and reminded me yet again of what a fascinating period of history this is!

Thanks to Viking for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 10/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.

Book 28/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

A Woman of Opinion by Sean Lusk

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In his new novel, A Woman of Opinion, Sean Lusk tells the story of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, based closely on her own published letters. Montagu, whom I previously knew almost nothing about, lived from 1689 to 1762, and was an English writer, poet and medical pioneer. She led a fascinating life and I enjoyed seeing it unfold through the pages of this novel.

A Woman of Opinion begins in 1712 with Mary eloping with Edward Wortley Montagu in order to avoid being pushed into marriage to her father’s choice of husband, the Irish nobleman Clotworthy Skeffington. Edward is a Whig politician and the two settle in London for a few years until, growing impatient with her husband’s lack of ambition and desperate to see more of the world, Mary manages to engineer a job offer for him as ambassador to Constantinople.

While Edward is busy trying to negotiate an end to the Austro-Turkish War, Mary gets to know some of the local Turkish women and is intrigued when she observes them inoculating their children against smallpox, through the method of ‘engrafting’ – taking pus from an infected person and introducing it into the arm or leg of an uninfected child. Mary, who has suffered from smallpox herself and been left with scarring to the face, is so impressed by the results of this procedure that when she returns to England she becomes determined to inoculate as many children as possible.

Most of the novel is narrated by Mary herself – in a formal, eloquent style that fits the 18th century setting, with no glaringly anachronistic language – but some chapters are narrated by her sister, Frances. Unlike Mary, who is the strong, independent ‘woman of opinion’ of the title, Frances has a gentler, more trusting nature. She is easier to like than Mary but her story is much less interesting and I didn’t feel that her perspective really added anything to the book.

Although the Constantinople episode is the most engaging part of the novel, Mary’s life continued to be eventful after her return. She formed a friendship and then a rivalry with the poet Alexander Pope, travelled to Italy where she began an affair with Count Francesco Algarotti, and produced a number of poems and essays. She also left behind her collection of letters, which were published in three volumes after her death as Turkish Embassy Letters (and are still in print today). Her other lasting legacy – her role in the development of the smallpox vaccine – has been overshadowed by Edward Jenner and I’m pleased that this novel has been able to raise some awareness of her contributions.

I enjoyed A Woman of Opinion much more than Sean Lusk’s debut, The Second Sight of Zacahary Cloudesley, which I felt had an unnecessary magical realism element and lost its way halfway through. However, I discovered from Lusk’s author’s note at the end of this book that one of the characters in Zachary Cloudesley was also based on Mary Wortley Montagu. If you’ve read both books, I’ll leave you to guess which one!

Thanks to Doubleday for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 9/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.

Book 27/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

Babylonia by Costanza Casati

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‘Not all of us are made for the dust. Those who are destined to rise will rise one way or another.’

Babylonia was something slightly different for me. Although I read a lot of historical fiction, I’m not often drawn to ancient history and I think this could possibly be the first novel I’ve read set at the time of the Assyrian Empire. I enjoyed Costanza Casati’s previous book, Clytemnestra, though, so I decided to give this one a try.

Babylonia is set in the 9th Century BC and tells the story of the legendary Semiramis, thought to be based on the historical Assyrian queen, Sammuramat. I had heard of Semiramis before beginning the book, but knew almost nothing about her or the legends surrounding her.

Semiramis, at least in this version of the story, is the daughter of Derceto, who kills her lover after he denies being the father of her child and then drowns herself. The orphaned Semiramis is taken in by a shepherd, Simmas, who raises her along with his own son. However, Simmas is not a loving father and treats Semiramis so badly that as she grows into a woman she begins to plan her escape from the village. She finally gets her chance to move on and start a new life when she marries Onnes, the new governor of Eber-Nari. Onnes is the illegitimate half-brother of King Ninus and through marriage to him, Semiramis becomes close to the royal household. Still not content with how far she has come, Semiramis sets her sights on the throne, but when it comes to politics she may have met her match in the King’s mother, Nisat.

Much of the focus of the novel is on the relationships between Ninus, Onnes and Semiramis and the different kinds of love and hate each one of them has for the other two. It’s a fascinating triangle to read about with the dynamics shifting and changing throughout the book and the use of multiple perspectives helps us to see that there’s more than one side to the story. These three are not the only interesting characters in the novel – I’ve already mentioned Nisat, but two others who stood out for me were Sasi, the King’s spymaster, and Ribat, a young slave who serves as Semiramis’ eyes and ears in the palace, while dreaming of becoming a scribe.

Because of my lack of knowledge of Semiramis and this period of history in general, I can’t really comment on how this novel compares to other retellings of the same legends. I suppose one of the advantages of writing about a mythical figure is that it does allow the author a lot of freedom in how they choose to approach the story. As for the Assyrian world Casati builds around Semiramis, it feels real, believable and rooted in historical research, from the descriptions of food and clothing to the accounts of battles and political intrigue. Casati writes so beautifully this novel really was a pleasure to read.

If any of you have read any other books about Semiramis/Sammuramat or the Assyrian Empire, I would love to hear your recommendations.

Thanks to Michael Joseph, Penguin Random House for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 8/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.

Book 26/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

The Puzzle Wood by Rosie Andrews

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Rosie Andrews’ debut novel, The Leviathan, left me with mixed, but generally positive, feelings – I loved the setting and atmosphere, but was less interested in the fantasy/horror elements that began to dominate in the second half. I was curious to see whether her new novel, The Puzzle Wood, would be more to my taste.

The novel begins in 1852 with the recently widowed Catherine Symonds applying for the position of governess at Locksley Abbey in Herefordshire. Catherine doesn’t really need the work – her husband was a wealthy man – but she has another reason for her application: her sister, Emily, was the previous governess at Locksley Abbey and has been found dead in the woods nearby, believed to have taken her own life. Catherine is not satisfied with this explanation and in order to investigate her sister’s death, she needs to find a way to insert herself into the household without anyone guessing her connection with Emily.

Once at Locksley Abbey, Catherine meets her new employer, Sir Rowland, and her young charge, his daughter Georgie. The more she learns about the family and their history, the more she becomes convinced that there’s more to her sister’s death than has so far been revealed. Meanwhile, there’s another newcomer – Arthur Sidstone, a doctor who has recently returned to the area after working abroad. Arthur’s grandfather, who is interested in the history of the forests surrounding Locksley, has grown concerned by reports that Sir Rowland is planning to sell off the land for development. Arthur has come to ask him to reconsider, but ends up becoming much more closely involved in the affairs of Locksley Abbey than he had bargained for.

Set in the Black Mountains of Herefordshire close to the England-Wales border, on a remote estate surrounded by ancient woods steeped in folklore, with a plot incorporating family secrets and mysterious deaths, The Puzzle Wood promised to be a great, atmospheric Gothic novel. However, it didn’t have as much atmosphere as I expected and the Puzzle Wood itself played a surprisingly small part in the story. Instead, a lot of time is spent on another storyline revolving around the productivity of the mine on Sir Rowland’s land and the working conditions of the miners employed there, as well as Arthur Sidstone’s backstory and his involvement with the Chartist movement. I found these two threads quite interesting but they didn’t really blend together very well with Catherine’s story. The spooky/supernatural elements grow stronger towards the end, although certainly not as strong as in The Leviathan and I think readers who pick up this book hoping for something similar could be disappointed.

I seem to have read a few other novels recently with similar plots involving young women working as governesses or servants in lonely Victorian mansions – Elizabeth Macneal’s The Burial Plot and Katie Lumsden’s The Secrets of Hartwood Hall are two that come to mind and both were more enjoyable than this one. Maybe if I hadn’t read so many of this kind of book I would have found The Puzzle Wood more captivating as I do like Rosie Andrews’ writing. I’m not sure if I’ll try more of her books, but depending on the setting and subject I could be tempted.

Thanks to Raven Books for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Book 25/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

The Meiji Guillotine Murders by Futaro Yamada

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Translated by Bryan Karetnyk

It’s 1869 and Japan has entered the Meiji era. The Tokugawa shogunate has fallen and the Emperor Meiji has been restored to the throne. After centuries of isolation, Japan is finally opening up to foreign trade and undergoing social, industrial and military reform. In Tokyo, a group of corrupt rasotsu (policemen) have found ways to exploit this period of change and upheaval for their own gain. With the arrival of two Chief Inspectors from the Imperial Prosecuting Office, Kawaji and Kazuki, it seems that the rasotsu will be forced to mend their ways – although the two men have other things to occupy their time as well as dealing with corruption.

With a number of bizarre murders taking place around Tokyo, Kazuki and Kawaji (based on a real person who is considered the founder of Japan’s modern police system) engage in a friendly competition to see who can solve the crimes first. A separate chapter is devoted to each case, which at first seem to be unrelated, making the book feel almost like a collection of short stories. There are five cases for the two detectives to solve, with the help of Esmeralda, a young Frenchwoman from a family of executioners whom Kazuki has brought to Japan along with that most deadly of French weapons: the guillotine. Despite the title, the guillotine is not necessarily used to carry out all of the murders in the book, but it represents the changes that Japan is experiencing as the country becomes exposed to modern, western influence. It also provides a reason for Esmeralda’s presence in Tokyo, which is important as she has a significant role to play in the solving of the mysteries.

The Meiji Guillotine Murders was first published in 1979 and is one of several Japanese crime novels that have recently been made available in English by Pushkin Press. However, although I’ve loved some of the others, I didn’t enjoy this one quite as much. Bryan Karetnyk’s translation is clear and readable (I’m already familiar with his work through some of his other translated novels), but I had problems with other aspects of the book. I struggled with the number of characters, particularly as so few of them have clearly defined personalities and with more and more of them being introduced with each new case the detectives investigate. My lack of engagement with the characters made it difficult for me to concentrate on following the plot, which is important as all of the separate cases are quite complex and you do need to be paying attention! I persevered and was rewarded with the final section of the book where, after some surprising twists and turns, everything is tied together perfectly.

I did like the historical setting of the book and felt I was learning a lot about Japan during the Meiji era. At times it seemed more like historical fiction than a murder mystery, which was fine with me, but I think someone picking the book up expecting a more traditional crime novel may be surprised by the amount of historical detail. It’s an interesting, unusual book, and although I’m not sure whether I would read any more by Yamada, I do hope more of them are translated into English for those readers who loved this one. I’m enjoying discovering Japanese crime authors through Pushkin and so far my favourites have been Seishi Yokomizo and Akimitsu Takagi.

Thanks to Pushkin Vertigo for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 7/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.

Book 24/50 for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2024

The Cautious Traveller’s Guide to the Wastelands by Sarah Brooks

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It’s 1899 and passengers are boarding the Trans-Siberian Express, a twenty-carriage luxury train which will take them from Beijing to Moscow in time to attend the Great Exhibition. The four thousand mile journey will travel through the Wastelands, an abandoned wilderness where the landscape and wildlife seem to be undergoing strange changes and mutations. Since the changes were first recorded several decades earlier, Walls have been built to separate the Wastelands from the rest of Russia and China and passengers are not allowed to leave the train in the area between the Walls. On the previous journey, something went wrong: the glass in the windows cracked, exposing the train to the dangers of the Wastelands. The Trans-Siberian Company blamed the glassmaker and have assured passengers that the train is now safe, but doubts still remain.

The story of the 1899 Trans-Siberian crossing is told from the perspectives of several of the passengers. First, there’s Marya Petrovna, who has boarded the train under a false name and disguised as a mourning widow. At first we don’t know who Marya is or why she is hiding her identity, but we do know that she believes an injustice has been done and has come on this journey in search of answers. Then there’s Dr Henry Grey, an English naturalist whose latest theories have been disproved and who hopes to restore his reputation by studying the Wastelands. Finally, Zhang Weiwei is a sixteen-year-old girl known as ‘the child of the train’ because she was born in the Third Class sleeping car and has spent her whole life travelling backwards and forwards on the train. There are many other people onboard the train, but these are the central three around whom the novel revolves.

The Cautious Traveller’s Guide to the Wastelands is an unusual, imaginative novel and there were many things I enjoyed about it. I’ve read several other books set on trains, but usually, even in Murder on the Orient Express, the train simply provides a way of bringing a group of people together in close confines or of getting them from one destination to another. In this book, the train itself is an important part of the story and could even almost be viewed as another character. Sarah Brooks’ worldbuilding is very impressive; the novel has been compared to Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi and Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus and it did make me think of the latter in particular. So much attention to detail goes into describing the various carriages and compartments, the history of the train and its earlier crossings, and the fictional travel guide which gives the novel its name. The Wastelands themselves are less clearly described and although it’s suggested that life there has become tainted in some way, we don’t really know how or why, and much of the mystery still remains at the end of the book, which I’m sure was deliberate – but quite frustrating!

However, I felt that the setting and atmosphere came at the expense of the plot. The pace was very slow, with more than half of the novel devoted to setting the scene and introducing the characters, and it seemed to end just as things were starting to happen. I also would have preferred an explanation for what was happening in the Wastelands and was left wondering what we were intended to take away from the book. Was there a message in there about climate change and the environment – or migration, with walls being built to keep people out (or in)? I think we’re definitely supposed to question whether it’s best to travel cautiously or curiously, embracing change or turning away from it.

The Cautious Traveller’s Guide… is a fascinating alternate history novel, then, with lots to think about and debate. I didn’t find it completely satisfying, but I’m sure the right reader will love it.

Thanks to Orion Publishing Group for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 6/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.

Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie

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This month for the Read Christie challenge we are reading Christie novels published in the 1930s and I have chosen Three Act Tragedy from 1934. The book was also published in the US as Murder in Three Acts and that’s not the only difference – apparently the motive for one of the murders was also changed for the US edition. I’m not sure if there are any other Christie novels with significant differences between editions or if this is the only one.

Three Act Tragedy is a Poirot mystery but also features one of Christie’s other recurring characters, Mr Satterthwaite, who appears in The Mysterious Mr Quin and Murder in the Mews. At the beginning of the novel, Satterthwaite and Poirot are both attending a dinner party hosted by the stage actor Sir Charles Cartwright at his home in Cornwall. When one of the other guests, the Reverend Babbington, suddenly drops dead after taking a sip of his cocktail, several people suspect murder – yet there are no traces of poison in his glass. Soon afterwards, another death occurs under similar circumstances at a party attended by many of the same guests, but this time the victim is confirmed to have died from nicotine poisoning. Are the two deaths connected and if so, did the same person carry out both murders?

This is another entertaining Christie novel; maybe not one of her strongest plots, but the motive for the first murder is very unusual and I didn’t guess either that one or the motive for the second murder. I did start to suspect who was responsible, but not until much later in the book, so I can’t claim to have solved the mystery. We don’t see very much of Poirot himself as this is one of the books (like Lord Edgware Dies, which I read last month) where he sits at home and waits for other characters to provide him with information, rather than going out to interview suspects and search for clues himself. Instead, the deaths are investigated by Mr Satterthwaite and Sir Charles, with help from Miss Lytton Gore, affectionately known to her friends as Egg.

I would have liked Poirot to have played a bigger part in the story as although I like the elderly Mr Satterthwaite, he’s not very skilled at detecting, and I never really felt fully engaged with either Sir Charles or Egg. There’s an interesting cast of supporting characters, such as Muriel Wills, who writes plays under a male pseudonym, but I felt that some of these weren’t really used to their full potential. This wasn’t a favourite Christie, then, but I did still enjoy it – and it was good to see Poirot sharing a little bit of his personal history in a conversation with Satterthwaite, as he usually reveals very little about himself.

Next month for the Read Christie challenge (and for August and September as well) we are moving on to the 1940s and 1950s. There are plenty of books I still have to read from those decades, but one I definitely have lined up is N or M?, the third in the Tommy and Tuppence series. I’m hoping to make that one a July read.

This is book 5/20 of my 20 Books of Summer 2024.