★★★★
My boss was enthusing about this novel some months ago and so I decided it was high time to give it a go. Without any idea of what to expect, I found myself captivated by a swaggering tale of secrets and prejudice in mid-18th century New York, and by its enigmatic and mischievous protagonist who – at least at the beginning – had something distinctly Lymondesque about him.
★★
A Novel of the Borgias
I’m on a bit of a Borgia kick at the moment. Having just finished Sarah Dunant’s new book In the Name of the Family (the post will go live on the 18th, nearer its publication date), I moved on to Cecelia Holland’s vision of 16th-century Rome. The Borgias are at the apex of their power, with Alexander VI on the Papal throne, his daughter Lucrezia being offered in marriage to the d’Este in Ferrara, and his son Cesare driving the fear of God into the Romagna at the point of a sword. As Italy shifts under the weight of their dominance, a sharp-eyed envoy at the Florentine embassy begins to wonder whether he can use the Borgias as a stepping stone to his own fortune. As a roistering story of the Roman underbelly, full of dark alleyways, abductions and subterfuge, this should have been an absolute stunner… and yet it’s oddly stilted and unsatisfying.
★★★★
Henry VIII, Francis I, Charles V, Suleiman the Magnificent and the Obsessions that Forged Modern Europe
Over the years I’ve assembled a variety of John Julius Norwich’s history books, because he conveniently writes on precisely the topics that fascinate me: Byzantium; Sicily; the Normans in Italy; and so forth. However, although I’ve dipped into all of these books, I’ve rather shamefully never finished any of them, having been distracted for various reasons from savouring Norwich’s sublimely elegant prose. This new history, shorter than the others and full of a delightful liveliness, has the honour of being the first Norwich that I’ve read cover to cover. Taking the unusual format of a group biography, it focuses on the dazzling first half of the 16th century, when four men between them bestrode Europe like colossi. It’s an extremely accessible introduction to the period and the men in question.
★★★½
The Song of the Shattered Sands: Book II
With barely a pause for breath, I headed on to the next book in Bradley Beaulieu’s towering desert fantasy. Like its predecessor, it’s packed with adventure as our protagonist Çeda works her way deeper into the community of Blade Maidens on the royal mount of Tauriyat, while her childhood friend Emre knits himself closer to the rebel army of the Moonless Host. I don’t know how many books Beaulieu intends to write in this series, but this volume has the feel of a typical ‘middle’ book: threads are taken up from the first book, the scope widens, and an increasingly complex weave of intrigue and skulduggery leaves us with several unanswered questions at the end. Yet it remains compellingly rich and detailed: the wealth of Beaulieu’s imagination is never in doubt.
★★★★
A couple of years ago, everyone was talking about Hannah Kent’s debut novel, Burial Rites. I remember reading about it on Helen’s blog and thought it sounded intriguing; but although it’s made its way onto my TBR pile I still haven’t got round to reading it. It did, however, mean that I immediately noticed her new novel, The Good People, of which I was granted a review copy. Like Burial Rites, this story is based on historical fact and, although I wasn’t sure what to expect from Kent’s writing, I’ve been deeply impressed by her superb evocation of time and place. Funnily enough, The Good People deals with very similar themes to those of Alison Littlewood’s The Hidden People, which I read last year, so beautifully told that at times one almost forgets the horrific story at its heart.
★★★★
One of my plans for this year is to read books that take me beyond my comfort zone of European history and settings, whether that’s fiction based in other parts of the world, fantasy influenced by other cultures, or travel books and memoirs. I’m especially keen to learn more about Asia, thanks to my recent travels. Pachinko, which came up for review just before Christmas, is a good place to start. An ambitious historical novel, embracing almost the entire 20th century, it follows five generations of a hard-working Korean family and their efforts to earn security in their adopted country of Japan.
★★★
Edmund Fleetwood has an unfortunate handicap for a man who wants to make his name as a criminal lawyer. He has principles. When the Home Secretary asks him to review the Edgeware Road murder case, in which a woman is liable to hang for concealing a murder, Edmund finds himself becoming deeply emotionally involved in what he believes to be a fundamental miscarriage of justice. Based on a real murder committed in 1836, Anna Mazzola’s debut novel sets the facts of the case within a tantalising web of secrets.
★★★★
Rahib and Kirsten meet in Edinburgh: they go on a few dates, sleep together, meet each other’s parents and enjoy the dizzying wonder of opening their soul to another human being. Rahib proposes; Kirsten accepts; they marry. And that’s where most fictions end: with wedding bells and the start of a new life together, implicitly full of happiness. But Alain De Botton’s thoughtful, wise novel asks a searching question. What if love is not the breathless romantic longing that brings about a marriage, but the hard graft that succeeds it? What if that story, of struggle, compromise, arguments, reconciliation, loneliness, determination and occasional fury was the one really worth reading?
★★★★
The Pindar Trilogy: Book III
I only realised that this novel was the third part of a trilogy after I had finished it, which goes to show that it reads perfectly well as a standalone book. In fact, I’m delighted to discover this because The House at Bishopsgate has left me itching to know more about the characters’ exotic histories. This is the concluding part of a story begun in The Aviary Gate and continued in The Pindar Diamond, neither of which I’ve yet read, but watch this space, as they might make an appearance soon. Hickman’s tale of intrigue, secrets, lost love and scheming ambition makes for an addictive brew.
★★★★ ½
Europe on the Brink
Everyone has been talking about echo chambers recently. Those of us cosily insulated in our liberal-metropolitan-elite ivory towers, with our European friends and our Guardian diet, have had quite a wake-up call this year. We were lulled by our Facebook and Twitter feeds, which reflected back our own views ad infinitum, until it seemed inconceivable that anyone else could think differently. Now we find ourselves in a situation where we have to justify or, worse, defend our longing for a community greater than ourselves. In light of all this, Pushkin Press’s publication of Stefan Zweig’s essays is nothing short of inspired. Written a hundred years ago, these short pieces are charged with the despair of a generation which weathered two cataclysmic wars. They are terrifyingly relevant today. Simple, powerful and unapologetically intelligent, they’re absolutely vital reading as we wait in the shadow of Brexit. Unfortunately those who most need to read them are precisely those who won’t.
The Idle Woman 