The Winter Sea

Being a big fan of historical fiction I was excited to dive right into this book. First of all, I want to say that this is a beautifully written book and I loved the atmospheric scenes of Scotland, the great job the author did with the local dialect, no easy feat there, and the witty banter between Carrie and her agent, Jane, Carrie and Jimmy, Carrie and Graham, and Carrie and Stewart.

I also loved the premise–the idea of genetic memory–and have read postulations on the idea that memories could be passed down to our descendants as well as eye and hair color. It certainly makes sense to me as I have come to understand that even our hands have a memory of their own. Yes! That hand-eye coordination that gunslingers have? It isn’t all connected to the brain, you know, it’s kept as memory in the limb. Okay, off topic here.

Genetic memory aside, I found the frequent juxtaposition between the first person POV in the present time and the 3^rd person POV as Carrie plunges into the memories of her 16^th century ancestor somewhat jarring. I’d get all cozy into one story and in the next chapter I’d be dumped into another story and another time.

I also felt that the author used her present day character to give the reader historical lessons as a way to set the stage for her ancestral story, but I would rather she had allowed her readers to have the intelligence to know their history, or go look it up. And as a writer, I’d always been taught to show not tell, so these passages felt like instruction from a school teacher.

I thought both stories could have quite frankly have stood alone and I would have happily read both, I just didn’t enjoy reading them in one book.

Last, but not least, I felt cheated to hear Carrie discussing the ending with her agent. If the author needs to rewrite the ending to suit her readers, please let her do it off-stage. As a reader this is sure not what I paid for! What next? Will the author ask the readers how the story should end? BTW: I knew how it was going to end the minute she mentioned the stranger in town.

Okay, I’m sure this author felt a strong need to try something new, and obviously her editor and publisher thought it terrific or it wouldn’t have sold and after all, this is only one person’s opinion and it’s still a darn good sight better than many historical fiction.

Reviewed by guest reviewer RP Dahlke, November 2011.

Sylvester, Or the Wicked Uncle

Abridged audio version read by Richard Armitage
Naxos Audiobooks, 2009
9789626349250
Sample

Silence fell. Miss Marlow sat gazing abstractedly at a Buhl cabinet; and his grace of Salford, unaccustomed to such treatment, eyed her in gathering resentment. He was much inclined to pick up the newspaper again, and was only deterred from doing so by the reflection that disgust at her want of conduct was no excuse for lowering his own standard of good manners. He said in the voice of one trying to set a bashful schoolgirl at her ease: ‘Your father tells me, Miss Marlow, that you are a notable horsewoman.’

‘Does he?’ she responded. ‘Well, he told us that you showed him the way with the Heythrop.’

He glanced quickly down at her, but decided, after an instant, that this remark sprang from inanity. ‘I imagine I need not tell you that I did no such thing!’

‘Oh, no! I am very sure you did not,’ she said.

He almost jumped; and being now convinced that this seeming gaucherie was deliberate began to feel as much interested as he was ruffled. Perhaps there was rather more to this little provincial than he had supposed, though why she should utter malicious remarks he was at a loss to understand.

At first glance, Sylvester is not the usual sort of book I like. I’m not a fan of romance novels, the Regency period holds no historical interest for me, and Georgette Heyer’s punctuation style, with its excess of dashes and exclamation marks and inadequate use of commas, drives me crazy. In fact, having been subjected to numerous recommendations of her work, I attempted to read Cotillion a couple of years ago and barely made it beyond the first chapter.

I am a fan of the British actor Richard Armitage, however, and he happens to have narrated abridged audiobooks of three Heyer works, among them Sylvester. After comparing synopses of the three novels, I settled on Sylvester, and downloaded it from iTunes.

Was I instantly hooked? No, not really. I enjoyed it, to be sure, but it was more the appeal of Armitage’s voice than the story itself that had me listening to it over and over. In time I purchased the audiobook of Venetia, also read by Armitage, and though I enjoyed that one as well, I kept going back to Sylvester. Curious to see what had been cut from the original, I checked Sylvester out of the local library.

That’s what finally hooked me. The idiosyncratic punctuation is as annoying as ever, but I was able to look past it and enjoy the lively and frequently humorous budding romance between Sylvester, the arrogant duke of Salford, and Phoebe Marlow, whose quick pen and quicker tongue get her into more trouble than she can handle.

Sylvester is a young, handsome, wealthy, and very eligible bachelor who has decided that the time has come to choose a wife. When his godmother hears of this, she contrives to arrange a meeting between Sylvester and her granddaughter, Phoebe Marlow. Sylvester and Phoebe had already met, however, and neither had been left with a good impression of the other; Sylvester found Phoebe utterly forgettable, whereas Phoebe, piqued by Sylvester’s apparent arrogance, was inspired to write a pseudonymous novel whose villain she modeled on him.

Dreading the thought of a marriage proposal from Sylvester, Phoebe persuades her friend Tom Orde to help her flee to London in the midst of a snowstorm. An unfortunate accident maroons them at a wayside inn, however, where they are discovered by none other than Sylvester, himself fleeing Phoebe’s dreadful family. Sylvester cannot help taking pity on them, and soon the enforced togetherness has both Sylvester and Phoebe re-assessing their opinions about each other.

Just as things seem to be heating up between them, however, Phoebe’s book is published, and though her name is not attached to it she is quickly revealed to be the author of the scathing satire. Then Phoebe finds herself an unwitting accomplice when Sylvester’s young nephew is kidnapped, and once more Sylvester must come to her rescue.

A romance novel wouldn’t be a romance novel without the payoff, the happily-ever-after ending, and Sylvester is no exception; there’s no real doubt that Sylvester and Phoebe will find a way to put their differences behind them and confess their true feelings for each other by the end of the book. Sylvester’s appeal for me, therefore, comes from elsewhere. Anyone who reads this blog regularly probably won’t be surprised to learn that what appeals to me the most are the main characters themselves, particularly as they are revealed through the eyes of the other. For all his cold aloofness, Sylvester is shown to be a man of deep sensitivity and compassion, who does not hesitate to aid Tom and Phoebe when Tom’s leg is broken during Phoebe’s escape attempt. I thoroughly enjoyed observing Phoebe’s gradual reconsideration of her first impression of Sylvester as she gets to know him better:

[I]t could not be denied that [Sylvester] was a delightful companion; and one, moreover, with whom it was not necessary to mind one’s tongue. His sense of humour, too, was lively: often if a fatuous remark were uttered, or someone behaved in a fashion so typical as to be ludicrous, Phoebe would look instinctively towards him, knowing that he must be sharing her amusement. It was strange how the dullest party could be enjoyed because there was one person present whose eyes could be met for the fraction of a second, in wordless appreciation of a joke unshared by others: almost as strange as the insipidity of parties at which that person was not present. Oh, no! Miss Marlow, though fully alive to his arrogance, his selfishness, and his detestable vanity had no intention—no immediate intention—of repulsing Sylvester.

Sylvester, for his part, while Phoebe’s flight from his anticipated proposal merely wounds his ego, he is cut to the bone when he discovers how she satirized him in her novel after he has started to develop feelings for her. The girl he once dismissed as a mere country dab, dowdy and unmemorable, soon becomes his pet “Sparrow,” and he finds himself smitten with her quick tongue, lively humor, and generous heart; as his mother observes:

[A]lthough Sylvester had said that Phoebe was not beautiful she had not expected to find her a thin slip of a girl, with a brown complexion and nothing to recommend her but a pair of speaking grey eyes. If Sylvester, who knew his own worth, and had coolly made out a list of the qualities he considered indispensable in his bride, had decided that only this girl would satisfy him, he had fallen more deeply in love than his mother had thought possible.

In addition to the principals, many of the supporting characters are likewise appealing and contributed to my thorough enjoyment of this book. Of particular delight is the comically foppish Sir Nugent Fotherby:

Beside Sylvester’s quiet elegance… Sir Nugent presented all the appearance of a coxcomb. He was a tall man, rather willowy in build, by no means unhandsome, but so tightly laced-in at the waist, so exaggeratedly padded at the shoulders, that he looked a little ridiculous. From the striking hat set rakishly on his Corinthian crop… to his gleaming boots, everything he wore seemed to have been chosen for the purpose of making him look conspicuous.

Sir Nugent seeks to marry Sylvester’s widowed sister-in-law and become stepfather to his young nephew, but he is no match for a mischievous and stubborn six-year-old. The comical scenes between Sir Nugent and Edmund are among my favorites in the whole book, highlighting Heyer’s flair for comedy. Phoebe and Sylvester’s verbal sparring is great fun to read (and listen to!), but the encounters between Sir Nugent and Edmund reveal a more visual style of comedy. It’s a pity that Sylvester has never been filmed, because I have no doubt the entire interlude in France would be hilarious to watch.

Two characters appear in name only, but their influence is nonetheless unmistakable. Verena Marlow, Phoebe’s mother, and Sylvester’s twin brother Henry, both died before the events in Sylvester (Verena when Phoebe only an infant), yet Phoebe and Sylvester owe much of their respective characters and personalities to them. Phoebe’s tomboyish, forthright nature (as well as her reputation as a formidable horsewoman), which get her into so much trouble, are traits inherited from her mother, who happens to have been a dear friend of Sylvester’s mother. As for Henry Rayne, Phoebe comes to realize that his sudden death caused Sylvester, as his mother says, to “liv[e] in some desolate Polar region,” which contributed to the apparent arrogance she initially finds so detestable.

Finally, I have to express my appreciation for Heyer’s gentle touch with the burgeoning romance between Phoebe and Sylvester. I tend to like love stories where the principals fall in love almost despite themselves, or where the realization sneaks up on them without their knowing it. When Sylvester proposes to Phoebe at last, even though the whole book has been leading up to that moment, it’s almost as much of a surprise to the reader as it is to him. When he subsequently blurts out that he never meant to propose in the first place, even while sharing Phoebe’s indignation it’s hard not to sympathize with Sylvester at the same time. As his mother remarks, falling in love with Phoebe has clearly unhinged him:

‘I daresay you had no intention of reducing him to this sad state, but I feel you ought, in common charity, to allow him at least to explain himself. Very likely it would settle his mind, and it won’t do for Salford to become addle-brained, you know! Do but consider the consternation of the Family, my dear!’

I’m still not a fan of romance novels, and find the Regency period as uninteresting as ever, and I’m in no rush to read any more of Heyer’s work. That said, however, Sylvester is now probably one of my favorite “comfort read” books.

As for the audiobook, apart from the incentive of Armitage’s reading (does there need to be any other?), the abridgement unfortunately omits many of the more comical elements from the latter third of the book, after Edmund’s kidnapping, and so Sir Nugent’s role is greatly reduced. In addition there are some nuances of character, Sylvester’s in particular, that have been trimmed. I did not really miss these omissions until after I had read the complete book, however, as the plot remains largely intact, but it was discovering them that made me enjoy Sylvester even more. Armitage is a wonderful narrator, and does an excellent job modulating his voice to bring each character to life. It is certainly worth the investment if you’re a fan of audiobooks, and I hope Armitage can be persuaded to do more, once he’s finished filming The Hobbit.

Reviewed by Laura Taylor, February 2011, on Beyond the Blurb; reprinted here with permission.

Prisoners in the Palace

Elizabeth (Liza) Hastings has not gotten over the recent deaths of her parents in a carriage accident when the family solicitor writes to tell her that her father left her penniless. He’s managed to secure a position for her with Princess Victoria. Liza knows this is her only chance–if she doesn’t get the position, she’ll be out on the street.

Court! Liza and her Mother have always dreamt of Court! When Liza arrives; however, she discovers the position is not the Lady in Waiting job she’d dreamt about, but a personal maid. Nonetheless, she has no other prospects and does her best to win the position. She manages to do so based upon the fact that she knows German. However, she is instructed not to allow Victoria’s mother or her companion, John Crowley, know this.

Thus, Liza enters two very risky roles, the maid to the Heir Apparent of England and a spy in her household. She quickly learns that all is not well in Victoria’s camp. Newspapers are saying the girl’s not ready for the Crown and King William’s in perilous health without another heir. Victoria’s distant mother is being controlled by Sir John Crowley, whose unwelcome interest alarms Liza.

But, all is not as the newspapers depict. Liza sees a different Victoria and works to help the young Princess gain the ear of the press. This is a doubly dangerous role. Sir John Crowley wants control over the crown and he’s already harmed Liza’s predecessor.

Liza’s determined to help Victoria and with the help of the Inside Boy, a street urchin who’s found a hideaway to live in Kensington Palace, she’s made a friend with the press.

Liza Hastings is a construct of the author’s. While not being completely historically correct, Prisoners of the Palace does depict Victorian times with excellent accuracy. The story of a young orphaned girl and the virtually orphaned Princess are compelling character studies. This is a fascinating coming-of-age story for young women who are interested in British history.

Reviewed by Rebecca Kyle, October 2010.

The Master of Jalna is the fourth by publication date, tenth by story chronology, of 16 novels spanning a hundred years from 1854 to 1954.  Known as the Whiteoak Chronicles or the Jalna series, they told the saga of a Canadian family and Jalna, the family manor.  The books are usually listed chronologically by story line rather than by date of publication but each can be read independently.  I first read the whole series in my 20′s and then picked up half of them on a book trip my daughter Annie and I took in 2005 to the world’s biggest collection of bookstores, Hay-on-Wye in Wales.

In this entry in the series, Renny Whiteoak, owner of Jalna, must take over where Grandmother Adeline left off, carrying on the family traditions.  His daughter, Adeline, has inherited her namesake’s red hair and strong-willed ways and raising her is a challenge for Renny and his wife, Alayne.  Along the way, Renny develops a love for Claire, his best friend’s widow, and must also deal with a financial crisis that threatens the family estate.

Mazo de la Roche published Jalna, the first book in the series, in 1927 and achieved instant fame and fortune at the age of 48.  Interestingly, the book first appeared in an American magazine, Atlantic Monthly, where it won a $10,000 award, rather than in a Canadian publication.  She went on to write 15 more books in the series and all were bestsellers.  A movie version of Jalna was released in the 1930′s and there was a later CBC television series.  The house in Ontario believed to be the inspiration for Jalna is maintained by a museum association.

Something about the Whiteoak Chronicles has stayed with me all these years and I was delighted to find so many of them on our trip.  Re-reading them has not been a disappointment and I’m just as invested in this family’s saga as I was back then.  I’m looking forward to tracking down the volumes I don’t have.

Reviewed by Lelia Taylor, August 2010.

For me there are numerous mysteries of life, most of which involve how we humans treat other humans (and animals). My list includes but is not limited to:

Inhumane treatment of American Indians;

Slavery;

and

The Salem witch trials.

How could our ancestors have made major advances in so many different improvements in our life and given us the building blocks of what we enjoy today, but have been so clueless about people and justice?

The Heretic’s Daughter is the fictionalized account of the Salem witch trials written by Kathleen Kent, a tenth generation descendent of the real life Martha Carrier who was tried as a witch and executed in 1692.

The story takes place in Salem, Massachusetts and is told from the perspective of Sarah Carrier, daughter of Martha. Sarah is not close with her mother or her father, both of whom she finds stern and cold. When smallpox strikes her brother, Sarah is sent to the home of an aunt and uncle where she forms a close bond with a cousin. Life in this setting is so different and enjoyable that Sarah resents being brought home when the smallpox crisis has passed.

Life in 17th century New England was bleak; the fear of Indian attacks, isolation, the challenges of farming and being subject to punishment at the whim of witch hunters made life difficult, to say the least.

According to the author’s account and supported by historical sources, being accused, imprisoned and executed as a witch was accomplished without evidence and on capricious information by a person or persons who simply may not have liked the accused or felt slighted or even envious or revengeful toward the accused. The conditions in the prisons were deplorable and the family of the accused was responsible for providing food to the imprisoned. The prison also held children as was the case of the Carriers: Sarah herself along with a younger sibling were also arrested and spent time in prison. Sadly, Sarah met up with her mother as well as her beloved cousin while in prison.

Interestingly, if a person admitted to being a witch, prison and death could be avoided.  Martha Carrier maintained a strong sense of justice and continued to profess her innocence until she was executed. Men as well as women were executed for supposedly practicing witchcraft. Indeed, four men along with Martha were executed on August 19, 1692. Despite Sarah feeling unloved, she did eventually gain an understanding of her parents.

As a descendent of Martha Carrier, Kathleen Kent grew up hearing stories about the Salem Witch Trials. This book is her debut novel which is very well written and, no doubt, researched to fill in the gaps. It’s a book I know I’ll never forget and I highly recommend it.

Reviewed by Jean Tribull Harris, February 2010.

There’s no doubt my favorite reading is in mystery, science fiction, fantasy and horror.  When we decided to open a bookstore way back when,  Annie & I chose to focus on those genres because that’s what we both preferred reading and we wanted to be able to share our knowledge of and love for those.  Still, I suspect most booklovers branch out from their comfort zones and have a second or third set of favorites.  In my case, there are two categories, historical fiction and what I call “heartwarming” for lack of a better word.

Historical fiction that appeals to me can be focused on almost any place and any period in time but I lean towards American and British.  Top authors in the British arena include Jean Plaidy, Phillippa Gregory and  Norah Lofts.  It’s probably no surprise that I also love the works of Victoria Holt and Phillippa Carr since they are one and the same person as Jean Plaidy and that in itself is a pen name.  Eleanor Burford Hibbert was prolific in a variety of pseudonyms (according to one source, there are 183 titles in her bibliography) and I am quite sure I have read some books that are by her and I never knew it.

Favorites on the American scene include Eugenia Price and Frances Parkinson Keyes, on pretty much equal terms.  Keyes is probably not as well known by today’s readers and that’s a shame.  When I lived for a while in Louisiana, it was her novels that led me to explore the River Road and a lot of other areas of historical note.  Both writers concentrate on the South.  That’s no reflection on my part against other parts of the US; it’s just my preference, maybe because I’m a southerner.   Having said that, I’m also fond of Agnes Sligh Turnbull, whose work is based mostly in western Pennsylvania and Dana Fuller Ross (pen name of Noel B. Gerson) with his Wagons West and The Holts series (and Gerson wasn’t half bad either).   Then there is Elizabeth Fritch who wrote a series set in Richmond during the Civil War—no surprise I would like a Richmond series Then there are all the wonderful books set in ancient times, those by such authors as Mary Renault.

I detect two patterns here.  One, I seem to be drawn to women writers when it comes to historical fiction although I don’t ignore the guys. Second, my favorites are nearly all from earlier days.  That doesn’t mean I don’t like today’s historical fiction writers—Phillippa Gregory’s The White Queen just came out last August— but the older ones are the real keepers, the ones that populate my oldest bookshelves.  I’ll have to think about why that is.

Another time—my “heartwarming” choices.