I don’t know how many times I’ve watched The Last Kingdom BBC series. It’s riveting and very well produced. I appreciate that both sides — Saxons and Danes — are presented equally, meaning there are people you will love and detest among the both cultures. Uhtred, the hero of this series, sits squarely in the centre.
Several generations of my father’s Carr ancestors resided in Yorkshire; I imagine that’s where my Scandinavian DNA derives from as Northumbria was the first Danish stronghold in England.
A couple of weeks ago, I found several books from the original series by Bernard Cornwell at my favourite local Indie book store, Western Sky Books. I bought the first four, and just finished reading book 1.
“The best battle scenes of any writer I’ve ever read, past or present. Cornwell really makes history come alive.” —George R.R Martin
Indeed, the raw, visceral, action scenes will port you to 886 AD where you’ll meet the eager Danes who seek the land and the pious King Alfred who fights to drive them off so he can unite the kingdoms of England under his rule. Enter Uhtred of Bebbanburg, who’s taken by Earl Ragnar as a child and raised as a pagan warrior in northern England—territory already controlled by the Danes.
The book follows much like the series, except the feisty Brida doesn’t appear in Uhtred’s life until he’s sixteen. Their sexual liaison is short-lived as she ships out with young Ragnar while Uhtred stays with Alfred. In Book 1, we see him marry Christian Mildrith who gives him a son as well as her debt. And in the final climatic scene, Uhtred sends Ubba Lothbrok to Valhalla in an intense, visceral, man-to-man brawl.
One of the differences here, is that three of Ragnar Lothbrok’s sons are invading England: Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan, and Ubba. Cornwell’s book is well-researched using The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, penned during Alfred’s time (possibly by the king himself) and Asser’s life of King Alfred as well as secondary sources. He admits, “I have feathered lavishly” (333.) Indeed, but it’s a brilliant feathering and we come as close to being there as is possible.
The book includes a map and a glossary of place names written in both the ancient tongue and the modern. Bernard Cornwell is one of the presenters at The Historical Novel Society Conference this September in Darlington UK. I almost signed up, but alas, Greece called. I’m sure he will infuse the participants with his sage knowledge and impeccable writing style. Maybe next time. *Highly Recommended.
Over the holidays, I discovered this used book in our local bookstore and decided to read it. This is the kind of story one can call delightful. It was written by Edith Nesbit who wrote under the pen name E. Nesbit. Her biography says: “She was a mischievous, tomboyish child who grew into an unconventional adult. With her husband, Hubert Bland, she was one of the founder members of the socialist Fabian Society; their household became a centre of the socialist and literary circles of the time. The chaos of their Bohemian home . . . was regularly increased by the presence of their children and numerous friends, among whom were George Bernard Shaw and H.G. Wells.
Like Mrs. Barnstable, the mother of The Railway Children, Edith was a published writer, and a good one. This Puffin Classic (first published in 1906 and this edition republished in 1994) has several full pages of pen and ink sketches that are remarkable. The writing voice reminded me of C. S. Lewis and the children of the Pevensies. Since the Chronicles of Narnia weren’t published until the 1950s, I can’t help but wonder if Lewis read and liked Nesbit’s books. Perhaps some of the Railway Children adventures rubbed off on him.
The three children: Roberta (Bobbie) who turns twelve, Phyllis who seems to be around eight years old, and Peter who turns ten, have all sorts of adventures after their father mysteriously disappears and they have to move from London into the countryside. They are suddenly impoverished, so their mother spends long hours writing and selling stories in order to make ends meet. With all kinds of free time at Three Chimneys, their new cottage, the children make friends with the locals—particularly Perks the Porter and the Station Master. They also befriend a wealthy and wise old gentleman who regularly rides the train and helps them solve the mystery of their father.
Things I loved about this story:
The trains of course. Who doesn’t love the old fashioned “Harry Potter” trains winding their way through the English countryside.
The innocence of it all. The children were allowed to roam free and get into mischief, as I did as a kid. This was a time in which a man could kiss a young girl on the cheek in the spirit of friendship and gratitude and not be maligned for it.
The writing, so clear, detailed, and descriptive.
“There was a cake on the table covered with white sugar, with ‘Dear Bobbie’ on it in pink sweets, and there were buns and jam; but the nicest thing was that the big table was almost covered with flowers — wall-flowers were laid all round the tea-tray — there was a ring of forget-me-nots round each plate. The cake had a wreath of white lilac round it, and in the middle was something that looked like a pattern all done with single blooms of lilac or wallflower or laburnum” (73).
The strength of character in all whom we meet.
Frank discussions about the differences between boys and girls, and corrections made with regard to stereotypical statements. (The doctor is somewhat old fashioned.)
A film of this particular story was produced in 1970 and the trailer seems quite true to the book. Apparently, the children returned recently in another film: The Railway Children Return (2022). This one concerns a different group of children and is set in 1944, when the children are evacuated from Manchester to East Yorkshire because of the bombings.
Thank you, Miss Nesbit for bringing your stories to the world.
Kelley Armstrong is a wickedly voracious writer who often pens two series simultaneously, sometimes while writing or editing other projects as well. Still, she manages all with equal enthusiasm, detail, and creativity. I honestly don’t know how she does it. The woman must never sleep.
After Rockton’s demise, she followed the characters to a new, wild Yukon city: Haven’s Rock. Now, she’s flown across the sea and back through time to give us another new series that blends fantasy, mystery, and historical fiction.
A Rip Through Time, the first book in this series, introduces a brand new, eclectic cast of characters. Like Rockton’s Casey Duncan, Mallory Atkinson is a strong, clever thirty-year-old homicide detective. On May 20, 2019, she’s in Edinburgh, Scotland caring for her dying grandmother. When she goes out for coffee, she bumps into a man in the shop, and apologizes—she is, after all, Canadian. On her way back to the hospital, she hears a woman cry out in a shadowy alley and goes to investigate. There, she glimpses the woman and her attacker; then feels a coarse rope around her neck. Mallory passes out and when she awakens, finds herself in the body of the other victim, Catriona Mitchell, a nineteen-year-old maid who lives and works in the home of an undertaker. The date? May 20, 1869.
Timeslip is fascinating to read and write. It takes tremendous research as you’re effectively writing historical fiction mixed with sci-fi/fantasy, and in this case, crime. Armstrong has taken the time to, not only do an enormous amount of research on Victorian Scotland, but provide a “Selected & Complete Research Bibliography” on her website. Armstrong says, “It’s not just knowing whether an item was invented by that time (or out of fashion by that time.) It’s the language, the customs, the concepts, the ideas…”
Mallory Atkinson (wearing Catriona’s body) is as cerebral as Sherlock Holmes, and we process these timeslip issues along with her. She slips in and out of Victorian English and contemporary casual speech as we move from her thoughts to her encounters with the handsome Dr. Duncan Gray and his independent sister, Isla. Catriona’s miraculous personality change gains her a position as, not just Gray’s housemaid, but his forensic assistant. Yes, Gray is a little dense when it comes to women, and accepts that his maid has changed dramatically due to a bump on the head. Then the bodies start to fall, and Mallory realizes she didn’t slip through this time rip alone.
The close first-person point-of-view draws the reader into the mind of the analytical protagonist as she struggles to, not only understand her predicament, but survive and overcome it, then find a way home.
Reminiscent of Outlander, Armstrong’s newest series is Intelligent, detailed, and original; definitely a series to watch. Will Mallory return to her time? Or will she win the heart of Dr. Gray and decide to stay? Will they catch the serial killer who eludes them? Or will other criminals fall through the rip in time as well?
Susanna Kearsley conjures one of the most vibrant voices I’ve ever heard in The Winter Sea. It’s so vivid it’s as if a real writer is experiencing this psychic phenomenon, rather than a fictional one. In a twist on the usual time-slip novel, Kearsley interweaves two complimentary tales, one contemporary and one historical, threaded by ancestry. As intricately woven as a Scottish tapestry, with multiple layers of colour and contrast, this novel may propel you to a place where you lose yourself, and begin to wonder, is this possible?
Author, Carrie McClelland settles into a cottage in the village of Cruden Bay, on the northeast coast of Scotland in Aberdeenshire, after being intuitively drawn to the ruins of Slains castle. She’s come hoping to write a novel about the 1707 Jacobites, who planned to sail young King Jamie, the exiled king, from France to Scotland to foil the English plan to unite the two countries under British rule. Fans of Outlander will resonate, and find The Winter Sea just as compelling.
Carrie’s father is an amateur genealogist who’s shared the family tree with his daughter, so she creates a character based on her ancestor, Sophia Paterson. As soon as she begins to write in Sophia’s voice, the words begin to flow. It’s as if Sophia is whispering in Carrie’s ear, and she is but a channel to the truth of what transpired centuries before. I was taken by this fascinating concept as I’m an intuitive writer myself, and to see it accomplished so brilliantly impressed me greatly. Carrie discusses the theory of DNA and ancestral memory with Dr. Weir, a trusted intellectual in the village, who tells her that, “some aspects of our nature, of our temperament, are clearly carried in our genes. And memory, surely, is no more intangible than temperament” (216). He goes on to report that people who are “regressed under hypnosis and recall what they believe are former lives in other bodies, may in fact be nothing more than their remembering the lives of their own ancestors” (217).
In parallel plots, both Carrie and Sophia fall in love and must weather the obstacles enduring love brings.
As a former museum curator, Kearsley brings her knowledge of historical artifacts to the page in detailed, sensory script. She’s won multiple awards including a RITA, the Crime Writers of Canada Arthur Ellis Award, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards. This Globe and Mail, New York Times, and USA Today bestselling author educates and entertains with this riveting romantic drama that sweeps through time to leave the reader breathless.
I breezed through the whopping 509 pages because I just couldn’t put it down. Four times chills rushed up my legs in the closing chapters as Kearsley caught the unravelled threads and knotted them together with such precision I didn’t see it coming.
The Winter Sea is historical fiction layered with the intuitive writing of it. Two heroines, two heroes, and all indelibly linked through lineages, symbols, artifacts, and ancestral memory. See for yourself.
I came across this article from the Historical Novel Society recently, and just loved it.
In it, Jane Stubbs, presents the case for long skirts, and it has less to do with modesty than it does with toilet habits. My favourite quote:
It is at this moment that a predominantly female audience, even a virtual one, will ask: Did they wear knickers? It is just not possible to give a definitive yes or no answer to the question. No diarist has obligingly written “I do not wear knickers.” Snippets of information come thick and fast. Someone has seen Queen Victoria’s huge drawers. Others wonder about the open crotch design or a panel at the back which unbuttons. Memories of rural privies abound.
Victorian drawers would be fastened with loops, bows, and buttons. If you were lucky, you might have a drawstring. The practicalities of fishing about among the many petticoats for the release button persuades many that knickers were an optional extra, not a daily essential. The realization that all they had to aim at was a chamber pot or a hole in the ground supports this theory. The obvious way for women to deal with their natural functions under such circumstances is to dispense with knickers. Then they can simply arrange their skirts so as to avoid splashes and preserve their modesty.
Fans and writers of historical fiction will love it. Go for it. Read on.
This is a wonderful article for any writer, and especially an author of historical fiction. Sharpen your quills. You’ll be inspired. I promise. Thanks to Deborah L. Williams for her expertise.
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