The one who survived.

Publisher: Michael Joseph (Penguin)
Pages: 446
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-718-17706-5
First Published: 13th March 2013
Date Reviewed: 17th July 2013
Rating: 5/5

Katherine Parr had already been married twice when she met Thomas Seymour, but those unions had not been founded on love or produced children, so when she fell in love with the man it seemed as though her future was set for happiness. But King Henry VIII has other ideas – he wants Katherine for himself. Alongside this is the fictional tale of Dot, Katherine’s maid, who is practically a daughter to the destined queen.

Queen’s Gambit is a fine novel that combines history with what-ifs and dreams, and looks at the era from a particularly literary perspective.

The book is told slowly but never dully, from the points of view of Katherine, Dot, and occasionally Katherine’s doctor. This method is intriguing, a present tense in which no personal pronouns are used but the scenes are never confusing. Fremantle makes it clear within a paragraph or so who is telling their tale. If ‘telling their tale’ is an appropriate description, given the style.

For the most part, Fremantle sticks to what is widely known about Katherine, using her imagination for gaps and bringing the people to life with her ideas of how they would have felt. However Dot is completely fictional, representing not simply a stereotype but being a way for Fremantle to further demonstrate her thoughts about Katherine Parr – Dot is a lowly maid but Katherine treats her particularly well, aligning with what we know of her nature as a good woman. It’s obvious that Dot is fictional, partly because of this treatment, but that obviousness actually enhances Fremantle’s credibility. And the mixture of pure fiction with fact works well.

Considering what’s been said so far, it will come as no surprise that Fremantle takes liberties with the history overall. Most notable is the beginning, Latymer’s end. This has the potential to colour the entire reading as it makes a pretty bold statement, yet once again Fremantle shows her hand – she is speculating, providing ideas and creating entertainment, not trying to insert her views as fact.

The comparison, in Fremantle’s favour, with Philippa Gregory, is hard to escape. Fremantle makes some people dislikeable, but unlike Gregory she doesn’t show an active hatred herself, the dislike is all on the characters’ front. And the dislike is somewhat cancelled out by the thoughts of the other characters. You may unexpectedly dislike a certain red-headed teenager during this book, for example, but if anything Fremantle has provided that needed other opinion of a person generally regarded favourably. It is always important to bear both sides in mind and here we have that other side, and it’s not forced on you.

There is a lot of thinking in the book, in the main thoughts replace general descriptions, being rivalled only by dialogue for winner of most amount of space employed. In another situation these thoughts would be considered info-dumping, telling, but due to the amount of non-descriptive dialogue this possibility is in the main cancelled out. And whilst the book doesn’t move particularly fast, it’s not slow enough to bring too much attention to what little ‘telling’ there is.

Queen’s Gambit doesn’t offer anything new beyond speculation, but that was to be expected. The reader has to be willing to read Fremantle’s fictional take on Katherine that doesn’t completely match popular thinking but does provide the popular sentiment. And what Fremantle has done for this lesser-known queen is to be commended. We may not know as much about Katherine Parr as, say, Anne Boleyn, but she is worthy of our study and time.

Queen’s Gambit is a quiet but fine book about the queen who outlived the tyrannical Henry VIII and had a matrimonial history of her own. Enter into it with an open mind and enjoy, and don’t worry about historical accuracy or liberties taken too much – this reviewer is a stickler for accuracy and she enjoyed it a lot.

I received this book for review from the publisher.

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If they were the Brothers Grimm, then these were the Sisters Wild, and one in particular played a big role in the collecting of stories.

Publisher: Allison & Busby
Pages: 475
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-7490-1328-8
First Published: March 2013
Date Reviewed: 26th July 2013
Rating: 5/5

Dortchen Wild fell in love with Wilhelm Grimm at first sight. Her love continues to grow over the years but the age gap between them and the difference in societal standing means that Dortchen already knows there’s no chance her father would allow her to marry him, he barely lets them socialise. Wilhelm and his brother are collecting folk tales for a book they wish to publish and Dortchen becomes one of their sources, but the Grimm family have only the faintest idea of what goes on behind the doors of the Wilds’ house, and about the anger of the father.

The Wild Girl is a necessarily slow but by no means quiet novel that takes as its premise the girl history forgot, her family, society at the time, and the possibilities brought forth by Forsyth’s research. In a similar vein but with major differences to Forsyth’s previous book, Bitter Greens, the story brings the concept of the dark fairy tale into reality whilst balancing that hard truth throughout on the other hand.

Forsyth has chosen as her subject the foundations of her previous story. Albeit that she told Bitter Greens, a retelling of Rapunzel, from the view of one of its earlier writers, it is widely known as the work of the Brothers Grimm and therefore The Wild Girl is a return home of sorts. The facts known about Dortchen can be found in Forsyth’s source information at the back of the book; she has followed the facts where possible and elaborated on the grey areas.

One of these grey areas is the possibility of violence, which is important to mention because of the nature of it. The domestic abuse is suggested very early in the book and it should be noted that this is in no way a story for young readers. Forsyth takes the route currently popular in retellings, showing the dark side of fairy tales, exposing their true routes, and this runs parallel to her interpretation of Dortchen’s family life. It is interesting the way Forsyth came to her conclusion of how Herr Wild acted, at least for the purposes of her book, and at the end of the book Forsyth makes a compelling case for what she has written whilst never saying that it is definite. For it is not, but her source information does support her tale.

Here we come to Dortchen’s later meetings with Wilhelm, and this bares responding to because it can be frustrating for the reader but is surely realistic of the situation. In writing what she has, Forsyth has turned the notion of ‘filler’ on its head because in any other context, Dortchen’s conduct would be considered dull. But Forsyth uses the time to remark upon the affects of violence and abuse on a person’s later view of relationships and shows that a fairytale ending is impossible, if not forever then at least for a very long time. And albeit that the backdrop is the 1800s and people respond, react, and keep quiet as they surely would have then, Forsyth’s commentary is relevant to our present day, too.

The book is steeped in French Revolutionary history, and here you get the point of view of the Germans. Forsyth brings the needed opinion of the common person into the picture and provides a lot of factual detail about the movement of the armies and the battles fought. You see the direct affects both the initial change and later reversal of changes had on the population of a country where religion was still important, society unequal, and the poor enslaved. Forsyth offers up the interesting detail of how Napoleon’s rules could be hated until society got used to them at which point, when the reversal happened, a lot of people saw the good in the Revolutionary rules – if not when it came to views about women. There is enough here to supplement the knowledge of anyone with an interest in the Revolution and how it affected Europe, with the foresight that only the inconsequential, such as individual one-scene characters, are fictional.

So The Wild Girl is a fairy tale of a different sort. The main plot isn’t based in fiction and there are no fairy godmothers, princes, or witches with towers. It is in the writing itself that the book makes a claim to the label and in the inclusion of the many stories told to the Grimm brothers. These inclusions are as much a source of knowledge as are the accounts of the wars. There is a very slight paranormal element used but it is more about the ideas Dortchen has, because it is never suggested that this paranormal element is real or that it has a true affect on the story. It is more a case of convenience for Dortchen’s imagination and to help her mental state (though in no way a convenience in terms of Forsyth wanting to hurry on with the story).

After all this, then, what about the characters? Dortchen is strong but understandably this nature is left in tatters as the story continues. The other Wild daughters are well-rounded and made easy to tell apart by Forsyth’s instant usage of stereotypes (stereotypes of a fashion used in fairy tales). The Grimm family, too, are developed, and Wilhelm is a worthy hero, all things considered. He was never going to be the knight in shining armour as real life rarely works that way, but instead he is believable and at times a fine example to use when Forsyth is discussing affects and reactions. Herr Wild shows the contradictions of religion and reality, and in Frau Wild you have at once the typical melodramatic mother you might expect from such a story, as well as a well-written example of both the hindsight of the present and the lack of knowledge – paired with discrimination – of the time. This is a hard book to read, there is no doubt about that, but it is both entertaining in its way and poignant and necessary in another.

The Wild Girl is about the women patriarchal history forgot, of the people who were crucial to the Grimms’ success. It is important, it is informative, and it is a compelling read. And it reminds you that there is always darkness to the sweetest tale and that even the hardest of times can include a little magic.

I received this book for review from Allison & Busby for Historical Fiction Virtual Author Tours.

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Love and loyalty amongst lust and infidelity.

Publisher: Avon (HarperCollins)
Pages: 382
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-060-78193-4
First Published: 2007
Date Reviewed: 4th March 2013
Rating: 5/5

Roberta needs to find a husband. Realising her problems lie in living with her eccentric father – a bad poet with an inclination towards melodrama – she decides to leave for London to stay with family. Her hope is that cousin Jemma will help her make a stunning entrance into Georgian life and improve on the reputation her father has ruined. It was love at first sight when Roberta careened into Villiers, but Villiers doesn’t favour marriage. When Jemma is asked to exact revenge on Villiers by another woman, the plans to shame him as well as marry him to Roberta come together – but then there’s Jemma’s brother Damon who does favour marriage and wants Roberta for himself.

Desperate Duchesses is a surprisingly funny novel with all the basics of a good romance. Set in Georgian England, there is plenty of time for James to poke a little fun at costumes, and opportunities to take advantage of the daring and stereotypically sexy idea of a man who refuses to wear a wig. And there is time for explorations of society to be presented with aplomb.

Roberta is the sort of character that, apart from her era-specific interests, would fit any time period. She worries about how her father’s behaviour will affect her future, she is sexually naïve but not at all reserved, and her propensity to correct the hero’s son’s grammar, though bordering on obsessive, will resonate with readers. She knows what she wants and will strive until she gets it, and her belief that she is in love with Villiers is funny rather than annoying. James never suggests that you ought to believe she is in love and truly it is a case of her believing without knowing what love is. She may not be as compelling as Jemma, who is more aware and gets to show off her intelligence due to her role, but she is a person you can root for – and you’ll be rooting for her to make that crucial realisation about her choices before long. Whether she is likeable is another question, however.

As said, Jemma is rather smart. She is also rather scandalous and the source of a lot of the comedy. Her ideas, such as having a naked woman as a table centre-piece, speak just as much of modern liberation than debauchery. In fact, despite the wide tendency of all to sleep with everyone but their spouses, the book is lacking in the sort of discomfort and lust (without love) that might put you off. It is this aspect that is one of the greatest elements of the book.

Because if the book is character-driven (and it must be said that Damon is just as wonderful a character as his sister and Roberta), then James has made a big effort to bring history into it in a way that won’t alienate. If a romance with infidelity is off-putting, then James has made sure to keep the infidelity confined to the other characters and referred to far more often than shown. Despite Damon’s prior mistresses and illegitimate child, and despite Roberta’s decision to throw caution to the wind, you will not find a faithless couple here. Whilst it might strike you as unbelievable given the setting and other characters, it is understandable and acceptable that James has left out infidelity from the development of the romantic thread.

The book asks, to some extent, what love is. Roberta wants to marry Villiers and believes she loves him. From the text it seems possible that she does indeed love him, but when Damon makes his move she finds what is obviously ‘purer’ than lust, and it is on the part of the reader to see what Roberta does not.

Bringing in something completely unrelated to sexuality is chess. Or rather chess is generally unrelated but of course James uses terminology for innuendo and suggestions. There is a great deal of information and playing of chess in the book, to the extent that a person who hates it will likely find the book boring. Most of the characters practically breathe chess and it forms the basis for other plot points, too. Indeed anyone who enjoys the game or wants to learn more about it may see its potential as a tips and trick book – there really is that much in there.

As supposed for a book where the heroine has been brought up in a house of literature, the book prizes the written word and good English. What errors there are are editing errors and James employs a believable mixture of historical and modern language. One of the characters even makes fun of the language of his ancestors.

As for the romance? Damon wants Roberta and does make decisions without her, but his weakness around her takes away any feeling of inequality and possession. You have a heroine who has learned a lot from her father’s lovers and isn’t shocked by impropriety but has no knowledge of the actual experience; therefore some of the sex scenes are lessons of sorts. There is no colourful language and the relationship begins and ends (as far as the book is concerned) with love. If not quite on Roberta’s side.

Desperate Duchesses sees a situation where the daughter of a man who adopts peculiar pets, runs to the house of her cousins who aren’t cousins, in order to get married to a man who thought she was a servant. It sees a situation where well-dressed people decide to start playing at discus with cow pats, and hilariously bad seamstresses are employed to make ball gowns for the gentry.

It’s silly, it’s stereotypical, and it’s an absolute riot.

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Far more sinister than bubble bubble toil and trouble.

Publisher: Broadway (Random House)
Pages: 401
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-72029-0
First Published: 2011
Date Reviewed: 2nd July 2013
Rating: 3.5/5

It’s late 1880s Portland, Maine, and a witchcraft fanatic has murdered a prostitute. No one has any idea why and if it weren’t for Grey and his outlandish plans for fingerprint taking and other evidence collecting, it might have been a lot harder to discover. There appears to be a connection to the Salem witch trials, but also to native Indians and a potential link with a pagan group in the town. It’ll be up to Archie Lean, Grey, Lean’s friend Steig and Steig’s niece Helen, to work out what happened and bring the killer to justice.

The Truth Of All Things is a historical mystery based on fanaticism – a nice town setting with some gruesome murders and a narrative that is both plot and character driven. This mixture can keep you reading even during the slow moments.

Shields has created a good cast of characters. It’s obvious from the text that time is to be spent on them as a group in future – whilst the plot may end sufficiently, the situation of the characters is such that even if it wasn’t now the case that a second book is out, the stage is set for a continuation. This doesn’t mean they are particularly developed however, as the bias is towards the plot.

Of particular note is Helen and Shields’s writing of her. Not only is it good to have a woman included in the investigation, Shields makes her role fairly sized and also includes slight social context. Helen is both a product of her time (she doesn’t speak out when the men worry about how she’ll react to bad news) and someone who is pushing for change in that she wants to play her part. This is improved by her status as a mother, albeit that she is a widow and therefore has no one but her uncle to answer to.

Grey’s part is also worth considering as he is partly native Indian. Although he lives in a time where he has some respect, there are occasions where he is discriminated against and, like the crafty detective he is, he uses this to his advantage, lurking in the shadows so that he and Lean get two perspectives of a scene. Indeed whilst it is slight, Shields book provides a commentary of the society in general. It’s there, but it never takes over the story. But nor is it so minute as to not be noticed.

The history (the 1600s Salem witch trials rather than the 1800s setting of the book) is used to good effect. It is of course important to the story itself, yet Shields never allows it to take over here, bringing in other factors to influence the crimes. When reported, however, there is a lot of detail provided. The issue is that sometimes it could be considered info-dumping. It’s far from a major negative, especially as it’s confined to dialogue, but it is noticeable, namely because it slows the dialogue down to a halt. The 1800s history is all that you’d expect from such a setting, that is to say if you like reading about the period at all, you will like Shields’ Portland.

The dialogue can be grating at times. Shields includes a lot of banter between the characters, and much of this happens during odd moments. It also isn’t very successful as it’s based on the characters’ natures which, given that this is a first book of a series and there is a whole thread dedicated to murders, isn’t something that one can appreciate as the characters are not known yet. There is the sense that the reader ought to know them already.

The book picks up pace around the three-quarters mark, gaining momentum and showing off what Shields can do when not bogged down by detailing. He pulls the wool over your eyes to success. You do need to keep your wits about you as most of the minor cast are referred to at this time, all at once.

The Truth Of All Things isn’t bad. It’s a good début and good enough that you might want to check out the next book. But you won’t be waiting impatiently for it.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

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You can definitely have too much of a good thing, and it’s intended that this sentence refers to sex.

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 368
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-780-88574-2
First Published: 1st June 2013
Date Reviewed: 27th June 2013
Rating: 3/5

Alex and Matthew are back at Hillview but as the family grows and tries to enjoy life, soldiers keep visiting to investigate Matthew’s aiding of Presbyterian ministers. It’s true that Matthew is helping, but he cannot give up his faith and friends, no matter what Alex says. And with his son/nephew Ian spending much of his time at Hillview, issues with Luke might come to a head again.

The Prodigal Son is the third book in the Graham saga, but whereas Like Chaff In The Wind was rather good and suggested that this goodness would only get better, a backwards step has been taken. Whilst both the previous books (A Rip In The Veil was the first) suffered from editing errors, a lot of violence, and a bad use of language, unfortunately here these issues have doubled.

The most obvious of these is the writing. There are many editing errors, but more to the point the language Belfrage uses darts back and forth between an over-the-top Scottish dialect, historical language, some sort of nineteenth-century speech, and 21st century phrasing. Whilst the 21st century phrasing works, because Alex is from our present day – and the phrasing works for the children, too, as children emulate their parents – the rest makes the book disjointed. There is also a continual issue with people being relegated to things by the usage of the word ‘that’ when referring to them, in the particular way that absolutely needs to be ‘who’ in order for the sentence to work. Though the good thing is that there are very few questions ending in ‘no?’ this time around.

Undeniably, considering it forms the book’s basis, the best aspect of the previous books was the time travelling, the scene change between Stuart Scotland and 21st century Britain. There is no time travelling in this book and it is a shame because it was the most compelling aspect of the series. In relation to this there is but one short instance of Alex remembering her fatherless son, Issac, who decided to remain in the 21st century, and despite the fact that Alex doesn’t love Issac as much as she ‘should’, it is hard to accept that she wouldn’t be thinking of him, especially considering she often brings her father, Magnus, into conversations. There is a particular episode in this book that unfortunately underlines just how important to its success it is for Alex to remember Issac, as Alex becomes incredibly emotional towards another of her children. Alex may not have had the best ‘start’ with Issac, may even have resented his existence, but she would remember him from time to time.

The episode that causes intense emotion may divide readers. Just as it seems something very interesting is about to happen Belfrage makes a decision that can only be called convenient.

And it is convenient due to the next point that needs to be made. There is no true plot to this book. It is repetitious from start to finish – soldiers come to interrogate, Alex and Matthew have sex, Alex stops talking to Matthew, over and over again. The final resolution is minor. It’s nice that the story stays on the farm and that the family isn’t apart for any length of time, because the previous books already covered separation, but there is really not much going on apart from what has just been listed. If not for the repetition the state of the plot wouldn’t be so bad because of the character development (to be discussed shortly).

Sex scenes can be a wonderful addition to a book, they can contribute to character development and signify the love the couple shares, but here there are far too many of them. The scenes are all very similar, down to the phrasing. It’s wonderful to know that after nine years Alex and Matthew are still in love and lust but Belfrage infers that perfectly well in the dialogue, having the curtains open every night lessens the impact.

Again there is a lot of violence. In some ways just as extreme as before, in some ways less, but it’s the number of scenes that makes it difficult. Indeed it’s realistic, the law and justice were not at all like they are today, but when blended with the rest of the repetition it just becomes another filler element.

Thankfully the book has great characters, good enough to rise above the dialogue. Naturally, considering the amount of sex and the absence of contraception (and Belfrage does make the necessary point that the couple wants each other so much that timing sex would never happen) there are a lot of children in the book. Each child is very different and flourishes whenever the focus is upon them. And Belfrage continues to develop the historical characters in the manner you would expect considering their exposure to a time traveller. This is where the 21st century language comes into its own, where ‘okay’, Matthew’s understanding of the concept of reality TV, and children saying “so, too!” are brilliant additions. The family is a lot of fun and Ian’s story a fine idea.

Included in this time travelling influence is the strict level of hygiene Alex employs that works well except in times when people with or exposed to consumption are around and the woman doesn’t bat an eyelid. Baths are taken, vegetables are eaten, and people survive what are now easily fixable ailments thanks to her knowledge. And Alex’s education is in full swing here, the knowledge Belfrage referred to before is displayed in its glory.

And it must be said that Belfrage has made good use of the history. That she has researched her book is obvious, anyone familiar with the history will be delighted with the references, and those who aren’t familiar can rest assured that they can believe the information Belfrage gives them.

The Prodigal Son does not keep the promise made at the end of Like Chaff In The Wind, could do with another edit, and its filler-like feel is further cemented by the intriguing premise of the next book (suggested by the last pages). However the character development is good, the history fine, and it is hard not to like the set-up. If you have been enjoying the series you will likely want to read it, though it wouldn’t be too detrimental to skip it in favour of the fourth.

I received this book for review from the author for Historical Fiction Virtual Author Tours.

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