A vivid evocation of a queen who refused to be written off.
Catherine of Aragon does not go down without a fight in Erickson’s sympathetic rendering.
Portrayed as a hapless pawn of power plays and circumstance in so many other Tudor historical novels, Catherine here displays the mettle of her ruthless royal forbears Isabella and Ferdinand. But that does not mean that fate and rivals are not out to get her. Betrothed from toddlerhood to Arthur, heir apparent of Tudor dynasty founder Henry VII, it first appears that Catherine has beaten the royal marriage odds: There is actually affinity and attraction between her and her intended. But once married, her hopes are soon dashed: Prince Arthur is so sickly that the marriage cannot be consummated. His untimely death places Catherine in a dangerous limbo: She can’t return home, and the increasingly demented Henry VII won’t approve her marriage to his second son, Henry. After his father dies, Henry VIII eagerly weds the beautiful but older Catherine. She proves herself a worthy queen when, while Henry is engaged in a largely symbolic skirmish with the French, she wins a decisive battle against the Scots. However, she fails in her primary duty to produce a living prince. After six pregnancies and difficult deliveries, only daughter Mary survives, and unlike the Spanish, the English do not exalt female heirs. Although Henry’s antipathy toward Catherine began with her Scottish triumph, his infatuation with cunning courtier Anne Boleyn accelerates his desire for a divorce that will upend Christendom. Catherine’s Spanish relatives are no help: When they’re not spreading vicious rumors about her, they are supporting Henry VIII’s argument that his marriage to his brother’s widow was an abomination, grounds for annulling the union under canon law. When the king weds Boleyn, the English people continue to clamor for Catherine’s restoration. Although even Erickson’s fact-bending “historical entertainment” cannot alter the grim outcome, Catherine’s ordeal is so sensitively recreated that readers will still hope for a different ending.
A vivid evocation of a queen who refused to be written off.Pub Date: Oct. 22, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-250-00012-5
Page Count: 304
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: Aug. 30, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 15, 2013
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.
Hannah’s new novel is an homage to the extraordinary courage and endurance of Frenchwomen during World War II.
In 1995, an elderly unnamed widow is moving into an Oregon nursing home on the urging of her controlling son, Julien, a surgeon. This trajectory is interrupted when she receives an invitation to return to France to attend a ceremony honoring passeurs: people who aided the escape of others during the war. Cut to spring, 1940: Viann has said goodbye to husband Antoine, who's off to hold the Maginot line against invading Germans. She returns to tending her small farm, Le Jardin, in the Loire Valley, teaching at the local school and coping with daughter Sophie’s adolescent rebellion. Soon, that world is upended: The Germans march into Paris and refugees flee south, overrunning Viann’s land. Her long-estranged younger sister, Isabelle, who has been kicked out of multiple convent schools, is sent to Le Jardin by Julien, their father in Paris, a drunken, decidedly unpaternal Great War veteran. As the depredations increase in the occupied zone—food rationing, systematic looting, and the billeting of a German officer, Capt. Beck, at Le Jardin—Isabelle’s outspokenness is a liability. She joins the Resistance, volunteering for dangerous duty: shepherding downed Allied airmen across the Pyrenees to Spain. Code-named the Nightingale, Isabelle will rescue many before she's captured. Meanwhile, Viann’s journey from passive to active resistance is less dramatic but no less wrenching. Hannah vividly demonstrates how the Nazis, through starvation, intimidation and barbarity both casual and calculated, demoralized the French, engineering a community collapse that enabled the deportations and deaths of more than 70,000 Jews. Hannah’s proven storytelling skills are ideally suited to depicting such cataclysmic events, but her tendency to sentimentalize undermines the gravitas of this tale.
Still, a respectful and absorbing page-turner.Pub Date: Feb. 3, 2015
ISBN: 978-0-312-57722-3
Page Count: 448
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: Nov. 19, 2014
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2014
BOOK TO SCREEN
SEEN & HEARD
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.
A retelling of ancient Greek lore gives exhilarating voice to a witch.
“Monsters are a boon for gods. Imagine all the prayers.” So says Circe, a sly, petulant, and finally commanding voice that narrates the entirety of Miller’s dazzling second novel. The writer returns to Homer, the wellspring that led her to an Orange Prize for The Song of Achilles (2012). This time, she dips into The Odyssey for the legend of Circe, a nymph who turns Odysseus’ crew of men into pigs. The novel, with its distinctive feminist tang, starts with the sentence: “When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.” Readers will relish following the puzzle of this unpromising daughter of the sun god Helios and his wife, Perse, who had negligible use for their child. It takes banishment to the island Aeaea for Circe to sense her calling as a sorceress: “I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my life began.” This lonely, scorned figure learns herbs and potions, surrounds herself with lions, and, in a heart-stopping chapter, outwits the monster Scylla to propel Daedalus and his boat to safety. She makes lovers of Hermes and then two mortal men. She midwifes the birth of the Minotaur on Crete and performs her own C-section. And as she grows in power, she muses that “not even Odysseus could talk his way past [her] witchcraft. He had talked his way past the witch instead.” Circe’s fascination with mortals becomes the book’s marrow and delivers its thrilling ending. All the while, the supernatural sits intriguingly alongside “the tonic of ordinary things.” A few passages coil toward melodrama, and one inelegant line after a rape seems jarringly modern, but the spell holds fast. Expect Miller’s readership to mushroom like one of Circe’s spells.
Miller makes Homer pertinent to women facing 21st-century monsters.Pub Date: April 10, 2018
ISBN: 978-0-316-55634-7
Page Count: 400
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Jan. 22, 2018
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Feb. 1, 2018
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