So far, I haven’t had much luck with the books of which I’ve received free copies for review from Goodreads and LibraryThing.  More often than not, I read the descriptions thinking “Oooh, what an interesting concept!” and eagerly click the request button but the books haven’t really lived up to my expectations when they’ve arrived.  So when Flowers for Alys arrived and I saw that, like my previous early reviewer books, it was self-published, I could feel my heart sinking.  Which just goes to show that I shouldn’t be so prejudiced because I couldn’t have been more wrong about Irene M. Redpath’s book.

Flowers for Alysis set in an unspecified time which I presume is the middle ages in an unspecified place which, again, I presume is England.  It centres around Jenet, a young woman who has a disfigured mouth which renders her mostly unable to talk and hence is also presumed deaf.  Jenet adopts a baby whom she finds lying abandoned by the side of a river, and raises her despite the ensuing difficulties.  As the infant, given the name Fleur, grows up, it becomes clear that she is a remarkable child in a great many ways.

This is a quiet, simple, heartfelt book, which refreshingly abandons lengthy descriptions and elaborate prose in favour of a more straightforward writing style which really suits the little tale that Redpath tells.  For all its simplicity, her writing conveys strong emotions, particularly in the first chapter when we learn the origins of the abandoned baby.  The closing lines of this chapter, intriguingly titled ‘The End’, are heart-wrenching and I think that more complicated prose would have spoiled the impact that they have.  The final chapter, which, in corresponding backwards fashion is titled ‘The Beginning’ was also well written.

Although this book is light on characterisation, at a mere 115 pages I wasn’t expecting in-depth analysis and the somewhat sketchy character profiles are all that is necessary to carry the story.  Jenet is innocent, reliable and homely, and the occasional glimpses inside her head provide an interesting perspective.  Fleur is particularly intriguing in her fey ways, and it would have been nice to see a bit more of her.  I liked the scenes of her being inexplicably drawn to the river where she was found and her strange rituals with flower petals which become so important.

Of course, this book isn’t perfect.  The representation of perceptions of disability in the middle ages is woefully inadequate; I felt as though Jenet’s disabilities were used casually as an excuse to justify her not having married and without consideration for the implications of this.  However, although this was an issue it bothered me less than I expected because the book reads more as a parable with a historical setting than as a strictly historical novel.  I also thought that the magical overtones could perhaps have benefited from some expansion to make them sit better in the story as a whole. 

This was a quick, enjoyable read and I’m really glad to have finally received a self-published book about which I am happy to say that!

Flowers for Alys by Irene M. Redpath.  Published by Lulu, 2010, pp. 116.  First edition.

Baudolino first came into my possession when I was helping a friend sort through some of his books at university when he moved from a large room into a much smaller one.  When I unearthed this book, he expressed surprise that I hadn’t already read it and then insisted that I rehome it as naturally, being a medievalist, I would love it.  Never one to turn down a free book, I took it off his hands and then, being not only a medievalist but a medievalist in the middle of writing her MA dissertation, it promptly became buried under a stack of less medieval brain candy for essential light relief.  I had completely forgotten about it until a colleague lent me the same book, also insisting that I would love it.  As this chap delights in giving people books to read, all of which so far have been universally loathed by the reluctant recipients, this was hardly an encouragement.  Nonetheless, this meant that I now had two copies of the book staring accusingly at me from my shelves and the cumulative guilt finally proved too much, so I gave in and read the book.

Baudolino is a difficult book to summarise, because the more you read, the more you realise that the plot is merely incidental and the book is really about something else entirely.  In fact, if you were to read this book for the plot you would be very confused very quickly.  The story is a first person account by the eponymous Baudolino of his life, as told to Niketas whom he rescues from the sack of Constantinople.  It chronicles his adventures from 1155 when he was adopted in all but name by Emperor Frederick I up to the fourth Crusade which is the present day of the novel.  In between he falls in love, studies in Paris, negotiates peace agreements, saves cities, and searches for the legendary kingdom of Prester John.  However, what the book is really about (I think; it’s a bit difficult to tell with Eco) is what is true and what is not and how easily one can become the other.

Baudolino himself is established as an unreliable narrator from the very beginning of the novel.  The book begins with him quite literally erasing history and writing his own story over the top of it when he scrapes clean some parchment containing historical records for his own personal use.  He goes on to fabricate love letters which he considers more true than if they had really been sent to him by the object of his affection (who is of course, like Dante’s lady love, called Beatrice).  He creates religious relics from household junk.  He invents a letter from Prester John to Frederick which sends Baudolino and his friends off on an impossible journey to find the kingdom that they themselves have created, bearing a cup which they style as the grail.  These stories not only take in others, but they even fool their creators as Baudolino and his friends seem to come to believe in their own fictions, so the reader stands no chance of working out what is true and what is not.  Why should his first person narrative to Niketas be any more factual than any of this?  And does it matter if it is true or a lie?  Eco seems to be asking whether there is a difference at all, and with the amount of blurring that goes on in this book it is impossible to say.

By far my favourite part of this book was Baudolino’s own manuscript which begins the novel, written in a strange, hybrid language which is a mixture of Latin and how he thinks his native tongue ought to sound if it were to be written (and kudos to William Weaver for finding a way to translate this so that it works in English).  This is so very medieval in spirit, right down to his having scraped the parchment clean of another text and written his own story over the top of it (although parts of the original manuscript still show through at points), that I couldn’t help but enjoy it.  This was the first in a long series of in jokes for medievalists which I found enormously entertaining but I’m not sure would have been appreciated as much by someone without this background; even with my education in this area, at times I felt as though I needed to read armed with an encyclopedia of the medieval world to pick up on everything and I’m sure I missed a great deal.  Eco may be writing fiction, but this book is very scholarly, employing and satirising a whole host of medieval tropes and conventions, from Provencal troubadour verse to debate on religious heresies, from courtly love to fantastic travelogues and from philosophy to the inexplicable lists, ubiquitous in medieval literature.  Baudolino is a gold mine of satire on the middle ages, but it is hard work to read.

Baudolino by Umberto Eco.  Translated by William Weaver.  Published by Vintage, 2003, pp. 522.  Originally published in 2000.

Author: Barbara Erskine

Published: Harper Collins, 1994, pp. 1086.  Originally published 1992

Genre: Historical fiction

Blurb: In 1218 an extraordinary princess is born, whose mystical powers and unquenchable spirit will alter the course of history…  Raised by her fiercely Welsh nurse to support the Celtic cause against the predatory English king, Princess Eleyne is taught to worship the old gods, to look into the future and sometimes the past.  However, unable to identify time and place in her terrifying visions, she is powerless to avert forthcoming tragedy…  Remarkable events follow Eleyne all her life as, despite impassioned resistance, her world is shaped by powerful men.  But her tempestuous life and loves tie her to the destinies of England, Scotland and Wales…

When, where and why: Sharon Penman’s Here Be Dragons is one of my favourite historical fiction novels, and so when I saw that this book dealt with Llewellyn’s daughter and would revisit all the characters I loved so much I knew I had to have it.  It caught my eye as I was browsing my shelves and so went into my bag to be read on the train.  It counts as book 32/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.

What I thought: Caveat emptor!  This may look like an innocuous historical fiction novel (albeit a rather chunky one) but halfway through it mutates horribly into a paranormal romance.  Now, if you happen to like stories of people falling in love with other people who are, in one way or another, dead, then you’d probably love this book.  Were I a publisher I’d probably suggest republishing this book and repackaging it with a greater emphasis on the paranormal element, because goodness knows that’s popular at the moment.  However, I am not a publisher, I am merely a disgruntled reader who feels disappointed in the author for choosing to throw this element in for no apparent reason and cheated out of what would have been a good, slightly trashy historical novel.

Initially, Child of the Phoenix was a fairly solid example of the historical fiction genre.  It’s a bit cliched (can we say beautiful and willful heroine?) and nothing spectacular, but the story races along quite well and I found it an engaging and quick read despite its size.  True, it suffers in comparison to Here Be Dragons, the reason I read it, but I was enjoying it nonetheless.  Even if the writing isn’t as good, I found it interesting to see the different perspectives that the two authors use to present the same events, giving wildly different motives and emotions surrounding them.  Characterisation is patchy and inconsistent: Eleyne is described throughout as an independent, opinionated, fiery woman and yet she submits without question when her first husband beats her to punish her for her actions, then has willing sex with him and snuggles up to him for comfort, which is utterly unbelieveable.  I would have expected, shock, anger and hurt, not the strange meekness which Erskine suddenly gives her.  I could live with that though, as most of the enjoyment of historical novels for me is in the plot rather than the characters.

Halfway through, however, the book runs into major problems.  The story goes round and round in circles as similar events happened repeatedly with seemingly no attempt to differentiate between them.  Then the paranormal romance strikes!  Now, I have nothing against a bit of magic in books, particularly the occasional use of the Sight or references to the old gods which seems to be ubiquitous in any historical novel with an even vaguely celtic setting, but this combination of strange visions and a ghostly love triangle was far too much for my tastes. 

Erskine explains in her afterward that very little is known about her central character.  In fact, she may even be two entirely different people that Erskine has erroneously combined, historical records are that vague and incomplete.  To me, the paranormal subplot which quickly takes over is a lazy way of attempting to inject excitement into the times when very little was happening in Eleyne’s life without having to develop the story and characters in a more difficult way without such instant appeal.  The paranormal occurrences are noticeably absent at times when important and interesting historical events are occurring, and so they really do just seem like a way to fill in the gaps without trying. 

Ultimately, I would have preferred this book if Erskine had avoided the problem of long periods when nothing happened by making the book much shorter.  There are plenty of examples of time being skipped over, just indicated by a dated heading, and so, at over 1,000 pages, I feel that she could have trimmed a lot of fat from this book and made it a much tighter read, without the need for a silly ghostly lover.

Where this book goes: I’ve lent this book to my mother, who will probably really enjoy it.  After that, though, it’s going straight to BookMooch to find a new home, not to mention to give me about three inches of clear shelf space.

Tea talk: I was recently given some tea as a belated birthday present from a good friend of mine, so I’ve been trying that out.  First on the list was some Golden Snail Tea!  It’s so named because of its shape, not its provenance, and makes a really delicious, light gold cup of tea.  Plus the name is just great.

Author: Ken Follett

Published: Pan, 1999, pp. 1076.  Originally published 1989

Genre: Historical fiction

Blurb: 1123.  A time of violent civil war, famine, religious strife and battles for royal succession  And a time when man’s greatest skills and aspirations gave birth to a daring and impossible dream — the building of the magnificent cathedral of Kingsbridge.

For the next tow generations men and women will struggle against their primitive surroundings to create something eternally beautiful.  Men like Father Philip, who has dedicated his life to immortality in stone.  Or Tom Builder, the architect of his awesome vision.  Women like Aliena, the Earl’s beautiful daughter, with the indomitable spirit to overcome a multitude of evils.  And Ellen woman of the forest who casts a terrifying curse…

When, where and why: In my final year of university I lived with a girl whose favourite book this was, so naturally I picked it up when I saw a copy in Oxfam.  I started reading it because I wanted to keep ahead of the television series, which I’ve actually ended up not watching, oddly enough.  It’s definitely old enough to qualify as book 25/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.

What I thought: I started The Pillars of the Earth full of expectations that I would love it: on the surface this epic of medieval life and cathedrals should have been the perfect book for me.  The middle ages is an era that has been very close to my heart ever since I was taken on trips to visit castles and cathedrals by my parents when I was tiny.  I went on to take a degree and masters focusing on medieval literature, so I flatter myself that I know a little bit about the period in which this novel is set.  Admittedly, my expectations of this book were perhaps a little high (although understandable given the near universally glowing reviews it seems to have garnered) but nonetheless, I wasn’t prepared for the enormous disappointment that this book turned out to be.

I’m not a huge stickler for accuracy in historical fiction as long as the book feels right and for me, this means getting the little details about everyday life correct.  It’s easy to get the date of a battle or a coronation correct, but knowing about how ordinary people went about their daily business is more difficult and is part of what I expect from a well-written historical novel.  Getting these things wrong sets my teeth on edge normally, but getting them wrong when you spent ten years researching and writing a book (not to mention having a paid research assistant) just looks like laziness and sloppy work.  When you have the time, money and resources to get things right there’s just no excuse, as far as I’m concerned.  This probably wouldn’t irritate me nearly as much as it does if it weren’t for the numerous reviews that suggest that people could read this book to find out about twelfth century history when all they would learn about is Ken Follett’s twelfth century history, where women are ‘hot’ and ‘sexy’, people have scullery maids and labourers have clothes which do up with multiple buttons, which is about as accurate as Hollywood twelfth century history.

Follett obviously has very fixed notions about the middle ages, which he presents as a lawless, ignorant and violent time with only a few good, educated, enlightened people (strangely enough, the ones that we’re supposed to like) among all the bad.  The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle observes that King Stephen’s reign ‘when Christ and his saints slept’ was definitely a lawless and troubled one, so William Hamleigh’s actions are not unlikely, but the divide between good characters who posess modern virtues and bad characters who conform in every way to the medieval stereotype is very heavy-handed and does not make for balanced, believable characters.  I half expected the bad characters to cackle while rubbing their hands with glee, they were so one dimensional.

One particular way in which Follett distinguishes his good characters from bad through giving them contrasting ‘modern’ and ‘medieval’ values is sex.  The good characters know about things like love, mutual pleasure and orgasms, while the bad characters are either impotent or violent and prefer prostitutes and rape to loving partners.  Even if the sex scenes (of which there are many) had been well done, this would have been a crass and obvious way to show characterisation, but they are either repellent or amusingly Harlequin-esque, both of which seem totally out of place in a book ostensibly about building a cathedral.  I’m no prude, and I have no objections to the odd well-placed steamy scene in a book, but these seem totally out of context and make me cringe and wish that Follett had learned the technique of tastefully drawing a veil on proceedings.  Also, how many times do we need to read a graphic description of William Hamleigh raping a woman to establish that he is A Bad Man?  Apparently the answer is many.

The plot is quite repetitive.  That might sound reasonable for a novel surrounding something like the construction of a cathedral which necessarily takes place over many decades, but there was never any sense of progression.  Tom/Alfred/Jack builds something, William/Waleran causes problems and halts the building, Philip and co. come up with a solution and building continues.  Over and over again.  If quickly felt as if the book could happily have been much shorter without changing much at all.  I thought the end section concerning the murder of Thomas Beckett was very odd and unnecessary, considering how removed it was from the entirety of the plot so far.  Kingsbridge is supposedly near Winchester, so why Follett contrives to have it’s Prior be in Canterbury on the night its archbishop is killed perplexes me.  All it did was draw the book out even longer, and I was rather losing patience by this point.

When a plot meanders and repeats like this one does it needs strong characters to help drive it along and sadly I found Pillars of the Earth to be lacking in this area too.  I was instantly put off by the fact that they all seem to be modern people (with the exception of the bad guys, of course) speaking in modern terms who just happen to be wandering about in period costume (and inaccurate costume at that).  The two female characters are both beautiful, resourceful and educated and while I can believe that Aliena might be able to read, the likelihood of forest woman Ellen being able to do the same at a time when books were both exclusive and expensive is incredibly remote.  Agnes is probably the most plausible woman in the book, which means naturally that she’s killed off very early on because she’s not terribly interesting.  However, my problem with the female characters pales in comparison to my issue with Prior Philip.  Follett states in his introduction that, though he is fascinated by cathedrals, he is not a religious man and sadly this shines through in the text.  Philip, whom the reader is encouraged to look on as a good man of God in contrast to Waleran, a corrupt one, is undoubtedly the most secular monk I have ever encountered.  He may be good, but very rarely does he seem genuinely holy in any way.  He most frequently mentions God when he is striking a bargain with Him (“if you want me to build this cathedral, give me the money”) and there is very little evidence of prayer and serenity.  I think it says a great deal about the priorities of the author that there is more visible rape in this book than there is visible religion.

You may have noticed by now that I really didn’t like this book at all.  However, I review everything I read and it wouldn’t be fair of me to ignore this book just because I’m in the minority who loathe it.  If I didn’t subscribe to the Mastermind theory of reading as I like to call it (I’ve started so I’ll finish) I would have abandoned this book long before I trudged wearily to the end of its seemingly interminable 1076 pages.  Sometimes this pays off, and I discover a wonderful new book: this time, it didn’t.

Where this book goes: This is off to BookMooch to find a new home.  It’s quite popular at the moment thanks to the television series, so I should imagine it will go quite quickly.

Tea talk: As I can’t drink tea with interesting bits in at the moment I’ve been branching out and experimenting with some different varieties of leaf recently.  While I read The Pillars of the Earth I was trying Char’s Assam Mangalam, which is one of their gold medal winning teas.  I’m not sure who awards medals to tea, but there you go.  It’s a stronger flavour than I usually go for and I have to be careful not to brew it for too long, but it makes a nice change for the winter to drink something with a darker, fuller taste.