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 After falling in love with Jack Hampton during the course of The Tory Widow, Anne Merrick has fully devoted herself to the Patriot cause – but because she’s still known as a Tory, she’s infiltrated their camp with her loyal maid, Sally. Anne and Sally have the dangerous job of not only discovering information, but passing it on to the men without being spotted. Naturally, this means tensions are constantly running high, but never higher than when the Patriots and Redcoats clash in battle, and Anne and Sally fear for all of their lives as they try to win the day for their cause.
I’ve enjoyed all of Christine Blevins’s books so far, and this one isn’t an exception. It takes a slightly different approach than the first two; because it isn’t a romance at all really, since Jack and Anne are together at the start and remain in love throughout the book. It’s a direct continuation of the first book. In all, the sole thing that confused me was the title – Anne already turned, and I didn’t really see her going back to the Tory cause after falling in love with Jack. I’ll forgive the book that, though, as I quite enjoyed the story as it progressed onwards.
Like in the last book, Anne is a strong, independent woman with a taste for the world. She and Sally are very successful in what they do; the book demonstrates this effectively by opening with the two of them accidentally killing a massive snake. They’ve made themselves indispensable to the Tories, but all that means is that Anne can see both sides of the war. She firmly believes in independence, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t find herself befriending various other people in the camp and witnessing the horrors of war for herself. Since she’s not directly in battle, these don’t come about too often, but Jack’s often in the thick of things himself.
I also enjoyed the atmosphere that permeates the book. There’s a real sense of desperation, hope, and upheaval among the patriots. Blevins has set the book right at the turning point of the war, as she explains in her author’s note, which makes for an exciting read. Having those little trinkets that she sent really helped, too – as soon as a character mentioned a bayberry candle, I knew what it was going to smell like, and I could fall a little bit deeper into the world she created. This is a great book to read with a cup of tea by your side anyway, not only to help with the atmosphere – we’re still right in the midst of the American Revolution, after all, and the characters are often drinking tea when they can.
I would definitely recommend these books to historical fiction fans – The Turning of Anne Merrick has less romance than the previous two, so if that was putting you off, don’t let it stop you here. I would however recommend you read The Tory Widow first; the backstory becomes more valuable as the novel progresses. I’m looking forward to seeing what Christine Blevins writes next!
This review is part of the Historical Fiction Virtual Book Tour – here’s the full schedule and information for more reviews!
All external book links are affiliate links. I received this book for free for review as part of the tour.
Good evening all! I’m not here today; instead, you can find me discussing The Broken Kingdoms by N.K. Jemisin with Jodie over at Lady Business! We had a fantastic although spoilerrific discussion, so don’t miss it.
 Subtitled “The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking”, Susan Cain’s Quiet takes us on a journey through history and into the present, understanding why exactly introverts and the skills that they have are devalued in present day American culture. We also take a look into the brains of introverts and whether it’s nature or nurture that turns some of us inward and others outward. She then offers helpful hints on how introverts can deal with modern careers and find space for themselves in a world that demands meetings and presentations as indicators of business success. Rounding out the book with interviews and advice for parents with introverted children, Cain has provided an interesting study of many different aspects of “sensitive” personality types.
I am decidedly an introvert, and I imagine most people reading this blog are too – in general, we are people who need space away from the world to recharge our batteries, people for whom speaking in public is a struggle, and who essentially work best on our own. Cain offers a lot of definitions and also provides a little list towards the start of the book to help readers identify if they are actually introverts – she also takes pains to stress throughout that many people actually have aspects of both introversion and extroversion. This is not a black-and-white science.
I found it quite inspiring to read about how many introverts have changed the world. As an introvert who has learned to cope surprisingly well (I’m always shocked when someone doesn’t think I’m shy, and it happens more often than you’d think), I definitely felt refreshed by the knowledge that lots of other people do better with space to contemplate. The history of the subject was also interesting, especially the ways different cultures handle these personality types. It’s not surprising that more Americans count themselves extroverts than Chinese – part of it is definitely culture emphasizing ideals. But the other part is genetics, and even though we can learn to cope quite well, her strategies gleaned from interviews and personal experience are thoughtful.
I did feel a little bit at times that she swung a little too far in the direction of introverts – but given this is a book attempting to empower us, I can’t be too surprised at that. The other part I (obviously) did not find useful as a childless woman was the advice for children, and having read it I’m not sure it would have helped me as a kid. But I’ll leave that up to parents to decide – life isn’t easy for shy children, and helping them accept their personalities while giving them the skills to succeed can never be a bad thing to attempt.
Quiet is a worthwhile read for both introverts and extroverts – so the former can feel much more at home in their own skin and so extroverts can learn more about life on the other side of the divide. And if you’re in between, even better.
All book links to external sites are affiliate links. I received this book for free for review from Netgalley.
 Margaret Prior’s spinsterhood is about to be thrown into glaring relief. Her sister is getting married and her brother has long been wed to Margaret’s friend Helen. As a lady, living in Victorian London, it’s considered an excellent idea for her to devote her time to charitable works. She’d once hoped to spend that time helping her father with his studies, but on his death, her choices have narrowed. She chooses to become a Lady Visitor to Millbank Prison, hoping that her visits will cheer up the inmates. At the prison, she meets Selina Dawes, a spiritualist medium who captivates Margaret almost immediately. As Margaret’s fixation with Selina grows stronger, she begins to fantasize about freeing her, and experiencing a life she’d thought long beyond her reach.
I’ve been thinking about this book ever since I read it – it’s wrapped its way into my head and hasn’t left yet. Sarah Waters never fails to disappoint me with thoughtful, intense books that provide excellent stories, well-rounded characters, and real issues that hover about in my head.
Let’s start with the spiritualist nature of the book, and of Selina herself. Victorians were incredibly keen on ghosts and talking with people who had passed on. In the book I just reviewed, Arthur and George, Julian Barnes also sees Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in this light, a little bit, but Affinity naturally goes into much more depth. Like Waters’s later book, The Little Stranger, this novel plays with the extent to which we can believe in characters who experience phenomena that is beyond their understanding. Selina sends Margaret flowers and locks of her hair, and seems to know far more about Margaret than is possible. Nurtured in that atmosphere, it’s easy for Margaret to believe in everything Selina tells her, which I think reflects the relatively common Victorian attitude to acceptance of the supernatural in their everyday lives.
Margaret also has to deal with the difficult reality of being a lesbian in a world that doesn’t really acknowledge their existence. I mean – we have trouble with this today, and over 100 years ago, the situation was much worse. Her first love, Helen, rejected her for the more traditional route of marriage to man – Margaret’s own brother. Now, Margaret is bereft, between the loss of her beloved father and her lover, leaving a massive gap that a girl like Selina could much more easily enter. After all Margaret’s been through, she’s longing for that love, that acceptance.
The story also alternates with Selina’s life before the prison, so we can learn a little bit about how she got there in the first place. Together with Margaret’s story, these two halves combine to make the final twist come to life as we understand it. That twist is something I sort of anticipated, given I’d been warned by Ana that the book was sad, but I didn’t understand what was going to happen until, finally, it did. It is incredibly effective and well done, regardless. I loved the way the book came together with everything making perfect sense – I don’t mind open endings, but there is something satisfying about a book that tells you where you stand.
Well-constructed, with excellent characters and spectacular atmosphere, this is a book that is well worth your time.
 As a result of an unfortunate accident with another boy, young Prince Patroclus is exiled from his homeland and sent to grow up in a foreign land with a set of strangers. In Phithia, his new home, he is merely one of many boys growing up under the shadow of the king and his half-god son, Achilles. Almost immediately, Achilles takes Patroclus under his wing and draws him into a new, mythical world, where Achilles is destined to become the world’s greatest warrior and Patroclus his steadfast, fervent lover.
I can’t do justice to this book with my review. It is simply incredible – moving, emotional, mythical, and simultaneously epic and close in scope at the exact same time. If I had to say one thing to you about it, I would say, please read it, it is incredible.
Let’s start with the setting. The Trojan War is relatively familiar for people versed in mythology and literature; if not, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Trojan horse and the face that launched a thousand ships. This takes place around that war, primarily because it is there that Achilles will become a legend. This is The Iliad, but personal, close, and loving; for the first time I felt like I could understand Achilles and Patroclus’s relationship and just how they got to that final, brutal, excruciating point of both their lives.
This is truly a fantastic retelling, one that manages to be both timeless and relevant. Achilles and Patroclus have existed for thousands of years in readers’ minds, but in our society today, many people wish that a relationship like theirs would not exist – a travesty, if you ask me – but a book like this demonstrates just how beautiful that relationship can be, and moreover, how appropriate. It’s partly a romance, writ large on the world stage as these two players tangle with gods and the most powerful of men.
Speaking of gods, there are plenty here, and they walk the world right alongside the characters. Patroclus and Achilles encounter figures of their own legend, like those who trained Hercules, and Achilles’s mother Thetis is a goddess. Their power is appropriately terrifying, especially for Patroclus, who has the dubious role of keeping Achilles from fathering further children, and thus earns his mother’s wrath.
For anyone who may have the slightest interest in a literary, romantic take on The Iliad – The Song of Achilles is a book for you. Very highly recommended.
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 Barbara is a young Polish orphan when she enters the Russian royal palace seeking the assistance of Empress Elizabeth, who once vowed to help her. Barbara, called Varvara by the Russians, is taken on as a spy, trained by the Chancellor in hearing careless remarks, sneaking down passages, deciphering facial expressions, and making love. When young Sophie comes to court as a bride for the Empress’s heir, Varvara is placed near her, urged to watch her every move. Sophie is not merely a docile bride for the future Tsar; she is the future Catherine the Great, and every disappointment she endures as a young woman is merely fuel for the great reign she will have over Russia.
Russia has always enchanted me, and lately it seems that it has enchanted many readers, too; after the popularity of Robert K. Massie’s newly released biography of Catherine the Great, The Winter Palace has arrived as an excellent fictional retelling of Catherine the Great’s life, capturing another tier of readers with the enthralling story of this Empress of All the Russias. This is the first of two halves, covering the period from Catherine’s arrival to the Russian court as Sophie, an obscure German princess, to her triumph as Empress Catherine the second.
Stachniak’s approach, showing us Catherine through the eyes of a woman who was her friend, is a very clever one, because it not only introduces us to a character we can care about, who is aware of all of the secrets in all aspects of Russian courtly life, but it also lets us view Catherine’s development through another pair of eyes. Varvara could have become a mute vehicle for Catherine, but instead she is a fully fleshed out character in her own right, with her own mistakes, successes, and loves outside of Catherine’s sphere. Her position makes her vulnerable and powerful simultaneously; as a bookbinder’s daughter with access to the most powerful people in Russia, she suffers from this odd dichotomy more than once. It’s easy to feel for her, especially when she uses the agency she has to make the wrong decisions, the repercussions of which she only comes to understand later on.
Of course, it’s probably Catherine who should be considered the star of the show here; from a young girl studying relentlessly in her room to understand Russian language and culture to a woman conscious of her power, she undergoes radical change in the course of this book. But because Varvara is close to her, it’s never hard to understand how that change has happened. We can almost witness her hardening, her learning, her ferocity growing as the politics begin to change and warp her innocence. The end of the book confirms that, perhaps, it happens sooner than we’d like to think, but it is a fascinating journey nonetheless.
All of this excellent character development is wrapped up in the gorgeous settings of the Russian court, beautiful trappings for a scheming court. It’s easy to get lost in Stachniak’s writing and her evocative descriptions. The story is smoothly crafted, too; there were a few moments towards the middle of the book where I got impatient, mainly because I knew what was going to happen and I didn’t like waiting, but looking back, I think everything was necessary for the plot to wrap up completely. My mood matched that of the characters.
An excellent choice for historical fiction readers, especially those who are eager to learn about Russia or Catherine the Great. Highly recommended.
All external book links are affiliate links. I received this book free for review from Amazon Vine.
 Living in a stall, selling carpets, is not really what one dreams of at night, no matter how successful. In Abdullah’s dreams, he is a prince, destined to marry a beautiful Arabian princess. But they’re just dreams, until one day, a merchant walks by Abdullah’s stall bearing a magic carpet. Abdullah can hardly believe his luck, even as he doubts the merchant, but he buys the carpet regardless and sleeps on it to ensure no one steals it. To his surprise, he wakes up in the garden of a castle, with a beautiful princess, Flower-in-the-Night, by his side. Abdullah quickly falls in love, but his dreams shatter when Flower-in-the-Night is stolen by a djinn. He must travel far and wide, to another castle in a foreign land, to save his princess before she is wed to another.
How I didn’t read Diana Wynne Jones until last year is a complete mystery to me. She writes the type of books that I would have completely fallen in love with as a young adult – not that this means I love them any less now, but my younger self could have spent days wading through her books, off in various dream worlds inspired by these books. I loved Howl’s Moving Castle, which I read last year, and so it’s no surprise that I also enjoyed Castle in the Air – though not quite as much.
This book felt very much like a fairy tale to me, though also distinctly reminiscent of the Arabian Nights series of stories, especially in the beginning. As Abdullah’s quest takes him off north, he meets a number of curious individuals who scramble this somewhat, including a renegade soldier, a cat who seems to turn into a massive feline when she or her kitten is threatened, and a genie in a bottle.
As his journey begins to come to an end, he starts to realize that everyone has put up an illusion of some kind, and nothing is quite what it seems – but none of this is at all bad for him or for those concerned. Diana Wynne Jones seems to take some pleasure in turning stereotypes on their heads while emphasizing core strong ideals with honorable characters, which makes these perfect reads for young adults.
Though the sequel to Howl’s Moving Castle, it takes a good long while for any connections to become obvious. They’re clear by the end, but this is very much its own book, and can be read on its own. (Although why you’d want to, I’m not sure.) It’s still a very good read, and I’m looking forward to continuing with the third of this series.
All external book links are affiliate links. I purchased this book.
 Humans will never stop trying to find a cure for death and disease. In Rhine’s world, scientists thought they’d figured it out – until they realized that the disease simply killed everyone, girls at 20 and boys at 25. Just four years before her inevitable death, orphaned Rhine is kidnapped from her twin brother and married to wealthy Linden with two other stolen sister-brides. Rhine longs for nothing more than to escape – the last thing she wants to do is bear Linden’s baby and spend the rest of her life under the thumb of his scheming, aging father as he attempts to find the cure for the disease that kills all of the perfect generation.
I so badly wanted to like this book. It caused a huge splash when it came out, and I’m not capable of resisting dystopias that sound awesome – plus, when it arrived as part of my Secret Santa gift, signed and everything, I started reading almost immediately. Couldn’t resist. So maybe this is a case of expectations getting too high, or me reading too much amazing science fiction and fantasy over the past few months, but this book didn’t live up to my expectations.
First of all, I’m not one to question too much, especially in books like this; I’m really good at suspending disbelief and going where the author takes me. In this book, I had way too much trouble doing that, particularly because the book hammers the discrepancies into your mind. Rhine’s life before the kidnapping is terrible, and she says that she fares better than most in her home city of New York City. She and her brother get by, with both of them working, hiding from the kidnapping gangs that want to take Rhine away. Other orphans get shut out to die in the cold by these two, because they can’t support any more people.
But when Rhine arrives at Linden’s mansion, she is truly in the lap of luxury. She’s a prisoner, in theory, but a very well-treated one. What I don’t understand is why there aren’t poor orphaned girls banging down Linden’s gate trying to get into this life of luxury. Do they simply not know what awaits them? But why shouldn’t rich people tell them, so they have a choice of wives, instead of kidnapping and killing girls? Wouldn’t it be better to have a willing wife than one you had to kill sisters to get? Maybe someone else can explain this to me – not the obvious wealth disparity, but the fact that rich, single men are not in demand. And that they kill the wives that weren’t selected – surely they’d want all the women in the world alive to continue producing children?
The other aspects of the book were enjoyable – it was well-written and well-plotted as it kept me turning the pages – but the world-building simply didn’t make sense. Some of the blurbs compared it to The Handmaid’s Tale and implied that this is a future we could imagine happening, but to be honest, I couldn’t, so it lost the whole creepy point of dystopia where we can see what our world could become. I couldn’t see our world turning into this one, unfortunately, and the best writing in the world wouldn’t be enough to cover that lack.
So, Wither is an enjoyable quick read, but don’t expect to believe in the world.
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 Arthur and George are born in Great Britain in the mid-19th century, but their lives couldn’t be any more different. Arthur grows up in Edinburgh, in a shabby but intellectual and loving family, becoming an eye doctor and then a world-famous author. George grows up in rural Shropshire, tortured by farmboys due to his dark Indian skin, but nevertheless persevering to become a published solicitor in Birmingham. George is one of many; Arthur is one in a million. But when George’s life begins to unravel completely, it is Arthur who must come to his rescue, in this deep exploration of race, prejudice, circumstance, and deeply-held beliefs.
Julian Barnes recently won the Booker Prize for The Sense of an Ending, which I immediately wanted to read, but since I had Arthur and George on my shelf, I decided it had to come first. To be honest with you, that was a brilliant decision, because I loved this book. It made me think on so many levels, while at the same time providing a cleverly told story set in a fascinating part of history.
The short description I wrote about probably makes it obvious that the Arthur is question is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ridiculously famous for creating Sherlock Holmes, a figure who resonates with us still so strongly that he’s having films and revival novels made about him. He’s less famous for his efforts to reform the law and grant justice to the wrongly accused. One of those cases was that of George Edalji, who is naturally the George in this book. Wrongly convicted of a series of horse murders and threatening letters, even though the letters threatened his own family and the mutilations continued when he couldn’t have committed them, George winds up in prison, and sends a letter to the author of the famous detective stories for help. Luckily for us – and Julian Barnes – Arthur came to help.
Knowing that this was a true story gave it particular resonance for me. The letters quoted within are real letters, including the threatening ones sent to George’s family. What was recorded has been included. Barnes has instead stepped into the minds of the characters and explored what these people might have been thinking and feeling.
In particular, this is a deep exploration of the injustice that was once inherent in the criminal system, but which invites us to work out our own prejudices in the process. We may not condemn George for his half-Indian heritage now, as these Englishmen did, but who do we accuse in his place? I’ll let you read the book to consider this for yourself, as Arthur must when he studies the suspects, but it’s the sort of book to place a reader just slightly on edge, fervently aware of how much and how little has changed.
It’s also an incredibly fascinating case study of two completely different men, who might have grown up in two different worlds, but for the cozy feel of England that seems to steep the book in tradition while carefully probing at these stereotypes that we’re still working to smash. I was kept reading, eager to learn more, and I found both halves of the narrative equally consuming, even before the central characters finally meet. It’s completely engrossing, beautifully written, and convincingly fleshed out. Very highly recommended – thank you, Julian Barnes, for getting my 2012 reading year off to a fantastic start.
All external book links are affiliate links. I purchased this book.
 Spartacus is famed as a warrior, a Thracian who led a band of rebellious gladiators against the might of the Roman republic. Ben Kane has taken this story, only the bare bones of which exist in historical record, and crafted a duology of fiction novels around those bones. This, the first, covers the story of Spartacus’s rise from a trapped and betrayed gladiator to the leader of an army capable of striking fear into the heart of the experienced Roman legions.
Spartacus: The Gladiator isn’t the first book Ben Kane has written about Rome, but it is the first of his that I’ve read so far. In the tradition of Bernard Cornwell and Simon Scarrow, this is a book about the darker side of historical fiction, full of battles, rough men, and treachery. Amongst all this is Spartacus, a man who clearly stands apart due to his natural sense of leadership and his stringent moral code, which extends completely outside the battlefield.
Like many choosing to read a book like this, I was seeking an active and exciting plot, and in this respect, Spartacus: The Gladiator delivers handily. Even though we know the lead character must survive – how else would there be a second book about him? – that doesn’t mean everyone else will. Several of the other characters have viewpoints, namely Ariadne, Spartacus’s wife, and Carbo, a Roman who becomes a gladiator after falling deeply into debt. We also sometimes witness events from the other side, usually through the eyes of Roman consuls and generals who are about to get massacred by Spartacus’s ever-growing army.
I liked both Ariadne and Carbo; each served a different purpose for seeing Spartacus through other eyes, albeit adoring ones. The great warrior wins their loyalties differently, by treating Ariadne with respect she’s never received from other men, and by believing in Carbo despite his Roman origins. In this way, we can see just why Spartacus was a natural leader, and start to believe why his rebellion started to meet with success.
This is not a book for those who actively dislike battle scenes. It may also contain triggers because there is more than one rape scene – I wouldn’t call any of them gratuitous, as each furthers the plot and causes significant reactions in different characters – but I could easily imagine them becoming upsetting. This is the Roman world, however, and when you’re reading a book about a war fought by deprived and vengeful men, it’s unfortunately to be expected.
I’m not particularly familiar with the legend of Spartacus, but Kane fills us in with a handy endnote, explaining what exists and what he extrapolated from the evidence. It’s fantastic when authors do this. Naturally, some of the characters are fictional, and no one is even sure Spartacus actually came from Thrace, because he might have been assigned that once he’d become a gladiator. But his battles and his comrades are recorded enough that the story follows the timeline as it happened.
If you’re seeking more historical fiction set in Rome in the days of the Republic, from the viewpoint of the oppressed, Spartacus: The Gladiator is a good choice.
All external book links are affiliate links. I received this book for free for review from the publisher.
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After falling in love with Jack Hampton during the course of The Tory Widow, Anne Merrick has fully devoted herself to the Patriot cause – but because she’s still known as a Tory, she’s infiltrated their camp with her loyal maid, Sally. Anne and Sally have the dangerous job of not only discovering information, but passing it on to the men without being spotted. Naturally, this means tensions are constantly running high, but never higher than when the Patriots and Redcoats clash in battle, and Anne and Sally fear for all of their lives as they try to win the day for their cause.
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