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 Bess of Hardwick wasn’t born to privilege. The daughter of a relatively small landlord, she rose to high status slowly and purposefully. Placed in high status houses, she married four men and outlived all of them. She also outlived three monarchs and built a number of houses, the most prestigious of which is Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire. She became one of the richest and most powerful women in Elizabethan and early Stuart England, a time when women were still chattel, and died wealthy, in a house that she herself had constructed, after a long and productive life.
My first encounter with Bess of Hardwick was in the novel A Woman of Passion by Virginia Henley. I was still in my initial romance novel stage of reading, and much of that particular novel is romantic, but it really led me to be curious about the woman behind the fiction, the actual Bess of Hardwick. It also ends when she marries Shrewsbury, or so I recall, which leaves plenty of interesting years completely without mention. Then just recently I visited Hardwick Hall myself and was reminded of why I was so interested in her. The house itself is ridiculously impressive, with its huge windows, imposing winding staircases, and immense visiting halls. I wanted to know more, and so when I saw this book in the library, I decided it was time.
On first impression, I was actually amazed at how easy this was to read. I love history, but it does take longer to read and naturally provokes more thought than an average fiction novel, at least for me. This, though, was so interesting and enjoyable that I actually found myself going well beyond my daily page targets because I just was so curious about what happened next. Bess’s childhood is mostly skimmed over, of necessity really since very little information is available about her specifically. Instead, the author regales us with all sorts of interesting information about Tudor childhoods in general and Bess’s family in particular. I knew some of it, but not all of it, and I was completely fascinated, as I was with most of the book.
Lovell then goes on to talk about Bess’s various marriages, her children, and her gradual rise to power and prominence. She quotes from plenty of letters, although mostly from others to Bess, and keeps everything in a neat and tidy timeline so that it’s easy to trace Bess’s life from start to finish. There are plenty of details and documentation, and she does argue with the generally accepted historical record sometimes – including denouncing some of my favorites, those pesky historical “facts” which seem to have no basis in actual documentation. These are generally started by a historian somewhere along the way (usually in the 19th century) who of course did not name his sources and probably just made up that particular fact. There is no way of actually knowing if it’s true or not, so it’s best to stick with what we actually do know. So the book was not just an entertaining biography, but intellectually stimulating as well.
Bess of Hardwick brought home to me how much I miss history with its fascinating portrait of a woman who proved her worth over and over again. Undoubtedly Bess would have been the CEO of some humongous corporation these days, but in her own time she was a clever, enchanting woman who made her money work for her, loved her husbands and children, and generally proves everyone who denounces Tudor women wrong. I would enthusiastically recommend this book to anyone who enjoys history, especially Tudor history.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Empress Wu was the first woman in Chinese history to become a reigning empress. Getting there wasn’t easy; as a lower concubine, which she became at the age of 13, Wu was little more than a servant, and would have been banished to a convent forever on the death of Emperor Taizong. Luckily for her, she encountered his son Gaozong before his death, and Gaozong became enamored with her, taking her from the convent and eventually replacing his current empress with her. With that mission accomplished, Wu set forth on her goal to achieve recognition for herself and, in some ways, for all Chinese women; her methods may have been brutal, but so was the time in which she lived.
Anyone who thinks the Tudors are exciting and scandalous should try on the 7th century Chinese for a change! I was frankly amazed at all the drama, scandal, and murder that went on in this court and over the course of the book. It’s fairly well documented but even so, I’m quite shocked that other people can treat each other so badly and not really seem to notice. This book was nothing short of exciting, especially for non-fiction; it’s no wonder that Wu’s life has been depicted in writing and in film a number of times over the years.
I didn’t know too much about Wu to start with; I had never read anything about her, but after I finished Under Heaven I set out looking for non-fiction about the same time period. This is set a number of years before, but the events herein had a large impact on the following history, so I just went with this book. Let me tell you, my interest in Chinese history is properly rewarding. Wu was a completely fascinating woman and I’m surprised that we have so much information on someone who lived so long ago. I can place her nicely in the context of Europe and I’m amazed at how different the cultures are.
I was also surprised at how many things were the same in China as they would be in the late nineteenth century. Now, I haven’t read any non-fiction about that period yet, but just from reading Empress Orchid I recognized the huge palaces, the tropes of different levels of concubines with different names brought in purposely to please the emperor, the huge amount of ceremonial events, and of course the endless intrigue.
What I loved most about this book, however, was easily Clements’s even-handed treatment of Wu and all of her cronies. Yes, she did some pretty terrible things; there were some more terrible things she might have done or her relatives might have done under her name; and then there were good things that she did. For example, she murdered the Empress before her and a rival concubine by drowning them in wine after dismembering them. She also may have conveniently offed her kids. That’s pretty bad, and I don’t think anyone is going to absolve her of those crimes. But she also raised the profile of women by increasing the mourning time for mothers and insisting on incorporating female halves of traditionally male ceremonies. Yes, she was ruthless and furthered her own ambitions, but she also did her part to make women important, too.
I also loved at the end how Clements stepped back and looked at Wu’s behavior in light of other, male emperors, and came to the conclusion that she behaved similarly to them. She had lots of lovers, she killed her enemies, but China prospered under her rule. Men who behaved just like that were regarded as heroes, while she has been regularly vilified throughout history. Is it just because a woman had the daring to act like a man?
I don’t know, but I like historians who question prejudice about women. Murder is never a good thing, but should a woman be condemned for it more than a man? I don’t think so.
Anyway, I’ll just conclude by highly recommending Wu. I think the subtitle (the Chinese empress who schemed, seduced, and murdered her way to become a living God) isn’t so good, but the book itself is just excellent.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library – but you can bet I’ll be buying this guy’s other books.
 A single steamer ride threw Theresa Longworth and Charles Yelverton together in 1852. They didn’t begin to correspond immediately, but Theresa soon found reason to write a letter to Yelverton, starting off a haphazard courtship and irregular marriage that would change the course of her life forever. Theresa’s fight for recognition as Yelverton’s wife highlight the serious issues with Victorian marriage laws in Great Britain, while her sojourn and writings later on in her life demonstrated her will to retain independence and support herself no matter the cost.
This was a truly fascinating book. Theresa and Yelverton’s courtship is carried on almost completely in letters, and while there were not nearly enough excerpts for me, Schama’s narrative was enough to keep me curious and wondering about Yelverton’s motives in particular. I particularly enjoyed the sections where Theresa was a nurse in the Crimean war; they were disturbing but illuminating, and I appreciated the references to the better-known Florence Nightingale. I was astonished at the fact that a couple could essentially get married twice, have it certified as legal in both Scotland and Ireland, yet allow the man to marry again and acknowledge the second marriage over the first in England, more or less because he chose that marriage.
Just the various court battles provide for surprisingly good reading, especially the first one. There’s a curious dichotomy between Theresa’s somewhat obvious “promiscuity” – staying with Yelverton as his wife despite the questionable legality of their marriage, surely a Victorian no-no – and the courtroom portrayal of her as a virtuous innocent used by a man.
The second half of the book covers the end of the court battle, with Theresa continuing to use Yelverton’s name but going off to live her own life. At times, the book definitely suffered from having a less coherent narrative here. Schama sometimes has to delve into various backstories of history to explain why Theresa does things and goes places, which was necessary but dragged. Without the love letters, the book had a less personal feel and I felt like I couldn’t relate to the older Theresa as much as the younger one.
But what she accomplished was fantastic – making herself a living off of her writings and traveling the world. She traveled throughout Europe, the Americas, and Asia, documenting it all in a series of fictional retellings. I wish these books were still in print. I loved that Theresa’s writings to defend herself early on in her life lent her the voice and independence to make it on her own at a time when women had few rights. The rest of her life almost reads like defiance; if the courtroom couldn’t recognize her right to her marriage and a husband’s protection, she was going to prove that she didn’t need it anyway.
I’ve seen a few reviews around that suggest the book was written in too scholarly a tone, so I think it is important to note here that it’s non-fiction and reads like a non-fiction book. I didn’t have a problem with this at all and in fact enjoyed the more factual tone – the book never slips in sensationalism as it so easily could have done – but it’s worth briefly noting. The entire thing is less than 300 pages long, so even when parts do drag they’re usually over in 10 pages and something more interesting has happened again.
I also totally loved the literary references sprinkled throughout the book. Schama especially notes how the courtship and later court battle between Yelverton and Theresa gave rise to numerous fictional stories around similar subjects; she actually discovered the story through a literary footnote. I think these little tidbits perfectly tied the book into its historical and literary context, reminding me of what I’d read before and what I really should read again.
Overall, Wild Romance was an excellent book. It’s a fascinating historical account of an extraordinary Victorian woman, poking at the society’s flaws – not just in England, but worldwide – while demonstrating how a truly motivated woman could go about making a life for herself in nontraditional ways. The first half was better than the second half, but it’s all worth reading.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book for free from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers program.
 On her search for a harpsichord, Madeline Goold comes across a square piano in an antique sale. While not playable, it’s in surprisingly good condition, and after taking note of its serial number, 10651, she sends it off for repair and decides to find out who owned it. Her search leads to a delightful and sometimes sad history of the Langshaw organists, father and son, as well as of Broadwood pianos in general and the effect the square piano had on music for the English public.
I didn’t expect much from this book, but it really was fascinating. Goold’s 1807 square piano leads her to a goldmine of information. I know very little about the history of the piano, and she comfortably filled in the blanks and provides a great bibliography for further information. I love it when historians use a small detail to examine the wider history, and that’s precisely what Goold does here. She links successfully the buyer of her square piano, Mr. John Langshaw, with the Broadwood family and their history of harpsichord and then piano making, and further expands to cover the transition from harpsichords to fortepianos and what it did to music. All of it was fascinating.
The most interesting section for me was about the Langshaw family. The elder Mr. Langshaw was disabled and thus forced to choose a different career than his father. He chose music and became a moderately successful organist, at least successful enough to educate his children, particularly his oldest son John. John followed in his father’s footsteps to become an organist, but he also had links with London and may have met the Broadwoods, from whom he commissions pianos for clients in his area. She uses copious quotes from letters to establish his history, and as such it’s almost as though I got a peek into his mind. Their family story is not always cheerful, and the piano was probably not even for them, but Goold speculates to some extent in this direction. She acknowledges that we’ll never know the answer because the relevant records have been destroyed, but her ideas are nonetheless intriguing and plausible.
Goold also links the history with well-known composers and even uses comparisons with Jane Austen to demonstrate the importance of the piano. Cheaper pianos meant newly emerging middle class families could buy the basic models, and piano playing became an important skill for young women, even if they were never permitted to play for public audiences. I loved the way she used the piano to explore the entire culture.
I suppose the only thing that keeps this book from being perfect are the few sections in which Goold attempts to fictionalize various aspects of the Langshaws’ life. She’s not a fiction writer and these few sections, italicized to separate them from the main body of the text, make that very clear. I have to say I skipped over them after the first few, because her regular writing is much smoother and the facts were much more interesting for me than her attempts to picture the scenes.
Mr. Langshaw’s Square Piano is a very interesting little book and I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in the history of music or Jane Austen’s England. I had a great time reading it.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book for free from a publicist for review.
 Communist China’s Long March is famed throughout the country. Children, like the author Sun Shuyun, are taught the story over and over again in school and there are plays and films about it. The author decides to do her own version of the Long March, following in the footsteps of the Red Army and visiting the few remaining veterans along the route, with some diversions for research purposes. Through her journey, she attempts to uncover the truth of what these people endured, and of the Long March itself.
Recently, and somewhat unexpectedly, I have become very interested in China, and this book seemed like a good choice to continue with non-fiction. And it was; I liked it and I learned a surprising amount about The Long March. The author’s experience on her own Long March took a definite backseat to her exploration of the experiences of those she met and her explanations of the historical background. I was pleased with that because this could easily have become about how difficult the trip was for the author, given that it was, but she often emphasized the fact that if she was struggling, how much harder must it have been walking the whole time with threadbare clothes, no food, and no help?
I was most interested in the veterans’ stories, and how even though almost all of them endured horrifying hardships and were later targeted during the Cultural Revolution, most of them were still devoted Communists. I found this hard to believe, given all they suffered in the name of communism, and did wonder if they were genuine, but it’s impossible not to admire their devotion, courage, and resilience, so it’s hard to come out of the book without feeling the same. I felt like each of them were individuals and their stories were each fascinating and sometimes just horrifying. The women’s stories in particular were so affecting and hard to read.
What came out clearly was how difficult the Long March was, and the author did find a kind of truth in comparing the words of the survivors with official records. As she says, definitive answers are hard because documentation was destroyed, and Mao’s version of the Long March has become Chinese history. This is disturbing to me and I was glad she was driven to reveal some of the truth. The author’s surprise at her discoveries is palpable throughout the book. At one point she sees a filmmaker who is also interviewing people about this subject, and he quite blatantly tells her what they’ll have to cut out because it doesn’t fit the official version, even if the stories are true.
Overall, I found The Long March a really fascinating memoir/historical investigation. I would definitely recommend it to those who are interested in learning more about Chinese history.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 What would happen if we twenty-first century people took a trip back in time to the fourteenth century? It would be very like visiting another country. Even our landscape would be greatly changed. Ian Mortimer takes this approach and, applying his theory of living history, treats his readers to an objective and entertaining view of one of the most stereotypical centuries in medieval history. The fourteenth century has not only castles, knights, tournaments, and wars, but also gave birth to many of the creative minds associated with medieval England like Chaucer and the Gawain-poet.
Living history is a fascinating idea. Instead of applying modern stereotypes to medieval practices, Mortimer attempts instead to understand them on their own terms. For example, a popular perception is that medieval people were dirty. In comparison to us, they were; most people did not bathe on a daily basis, nor did they have detergents and disinfectants to clean their houses or clothes with. From a medieval perspective, however, women spent hours working to clean their homes, clearing rushes from the floor, scouring pots and pans, and laundering clothes with a variety of harsh soaps. Men and women washed their hands and faces daily and even started to use perfumes. They ate politely, especially in the presence of their social betters. To them, that was cleanliness. There were, of course, smelly or messy people, but there are smelly and messy people now too.
Mortimer’s book is divided into eleven chapters, covering such topics as the landscape, the medieval character, health and hygiene, and the law. He uses examples to illustrate his points, such as a genuine medieval gang that evaded the law or examples of a few women who broke out of the status quo and became unusually wealthy and powerful. Queen Isabella is the second richest person in the century; quite remarkable when women were regarded as property of their husbands and fathers. He also attempts to convey the tragedy of the plague; while other historians may evaluate it for its effect on history, which was largely beneficial, Mortimer shows us how it was anything but that to the third to half of the population that died from it and their relatives, who watched them die and mourned for them. Mortimer even imagines a few conversations that travellers might have, for example, when bartering for food.
My favorite section, however, was the chapter on clothing. Using illuminated manuscripts and tapestries, Mortimer shows how the style of dress changed drastically from the beginning of the century to the end. Clothing more than anything enables me to visualize the people described in the book and, in my experience, is rarely mentioned in detail in schools or museums as few examples survive. I loved learning how the invention of the button changed clothing styles and how people moved gradually towards more provocative styles, which were of course disapproved of by clergy and the elderly.
This is certainly history worth reading. It’s not heavy at all and is a perfect read for the non-academic who wishes to learn a lot more about the Middle Ages but doesn’t have the patience for a more serious, longer study.
I loved this book so much that I’m going to be discussing it on That’s How I Blog with the wonderful Nicole on June 8th at 4 pm EST. Do you want a copy of your own to discuss with me? Thanks to Simon & Schuster, I have 3 copies to give away to anyone with a valid US mailing address. To enter, just leave a comment on this review. This contest will be open until February 8th. The winners are commenters 3, 6, and 32 thanks to random.org. Congratulations to Lindymc, The Kool-Aid Mom, and Alyce!
This review was originally posted at The Book Bag and I’d like to thank them for my review copy.
 The first crusade is one of history’s most peculiar moments. Inspired by a speech that will probably never be known in its entirety, hoards of western Europeans embarked on a crusade to “save” their fellow Christians, the Greeks, from Muslims and recapture Jerusalem. Against all the odds, the crusaders succeeded in a way that was never repeated, and changed relations between religions in ways that still affect behavior to this day. Thomas Asbridge takes this familiar story and recasts it, considering again the evidence that historians have always relied upon and offering up new ideas for consideration.
I really enjoyed this detailed look at the first crusade. I’ve read a number of books on the crusades, but they largely covered the whole of the crusading movement. This narrative brought my favorite professor’s voice right back to me while still questioning some of the theories that historians have relied upon. Perhaps my favorite of these was the way Asbridge explored, in detail, the motives behind the crusade. He postulates that Pope Urban wasn’t the first to come up with the idea of a papal army and that the papacy desperately needed a way to assert their own strength in an age of weakness and poor communication. He could not have truly expected the vast response to his call for a crusade.
More interesting is the way in which Muslims actually treated Christians fairly before the crusade. There is no record of any of the cruelties Urban accused them of (according to witnesses after the crusade had already happened; the speech itself has been lost), but rather fairness and freedom of worship. The crusaders abolished this, but he goes on in later chapters to write about dealings between Christians and Muslims, making it clear that eradicating Islam was not the crusaders’ goal, even if they succeeded in earning enmity from all Muslims because of their barbaric cruelty. Asbridge doesn’t spare the details.
For a history which was clearly done with effective scholarship in mind, this book is not at all dry, and the action sequences can be quite exciting. I often found myself feeling strong emotions towards the crusaders, generally disgust and irritation at their behavior towards the Muslims. Mostly, I was amazed that this happened, and reading the history again only confirmed that for me. This is the sort of history that is almost unbelievable, but it happened, and it’s very worth reading about. Not only does it make for a fascinating story, but it even sheds light on the complex issues which Christians and Muslims still struggle with today in regards to their relations with one another. This is an essential part of the development of the world and Asbridge’s book is a wonderful place to start thinking about it.
I highly recommend The First Crusade and I’m very much looking forward to Asbridge’s overall look at the crusades, which is publishing next year. I will be reviewing that in 2010, so if this review has interested you at all, stay tuned.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book from the publisher free for review here.
 Francis Evelyn “Daisy” Maynard was left an extremely wealthy heiress when, as a toddler, her father died without having any sons, and her grandfather took a liking to her and gave her his fortune. As a result, Daisy was bound to be in demand in society, and her beauty and vivacious personality merely sealed the deal. Despite an offer from Queen Victoria’s youngest son, Daisy married Lord Greville, heir to the Earl of Warwick, and began a high profile life, sensational not only for the many and passionate affairs she had with some of the most prominent men of the day, but also for her political and social involvement.
I knew I wanted to learn more about Daisy when I visited Warwick Castle and saw the exhibit given over to her. The rooms are as they would have been when she gave a house party in the 1890′s. There are wax statues, eerily realistic, of Daisy, her husband, and many guests, among them the Prince of Wales at the time, later Edward VII. The little blurbs gave out some information, but not enough for me, and this book very satisfactorily filled the gap. With very effective use of original letters, newpapers, and other primary sources, Anand writes knowledgeably and compassionately about Daisy Warwick without judging her for her many infidelities.
The book is split into roughly two sections, as Daisy’s life probably was. The first half is mainly devoted to her childhood, marriage, affairs, and children, with some detail of her many humanitarian activities shared throughout. Daisy’s letters to her lovers as excerpted here are fascinating and there is enough period detail given for us to realize that while she seems promiscuous to us, she wasn’t remarked on as that spectacular in her class. It seems that everyone was having affair after affair, and she must have thought that this was normal, although I was a little sad that what seemed like a budding love story with her husband quickly fizzled on their marriage. This part is very interesting for its picture of the aristocracy during Daisy’s younger life and for her relationships with the men, one of whom in particular it seems she genuinely loved.
With the first World War, everything changed, and Daisy changed with the times. She became a socialist and an activist for both the socialist party in Britain and the Labour party, which was emerging as a force at the time. She had a curious juxtaposition between her life as an aristocrat and her campaigns for worker’s rights, her work to build schools and encourage education, and so on. She even campaigned to be an MP. This is a fascinating picture of a Britain that was changing hugely. Not only were heirs to great families dying off, leading to more land for more people, but ideology itself was changing. Daisy got married in a church in a huge ceremony, whereas her youngest daughter was married in a registry office, which had become perfectly appropriate for a countess’s daughter over the years.
I found this book to be a fascinating picture of both a woman who, while firmly living in her own social class, strove to do more for the world and of a changing Britain at the turn of the century and beyond. Very highly recommended. And Daisy would be a fantastic choice for the Women Unbound challenge, which I’m counting it for.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
 Portugal’s first reigning female monarch, Queen Maria I, was plagued with a poor family history that led to extreme mental instability and unhappiness in her later life. In this new biography, Jenifer Roberts explores the queen’s youth, dominated by a powerful member of the aristocracy, her reign, and her unhappy death in exile in Brazil. The author gives voice to Maria’s struggles and provides an illuminating picture of an absolute monarchy on the brink of destruction as discontent reached a fever pitch throughout Europe.
Queen Maria is a surprisingly interesting figure. It’s always refreshing to find a woman in history who is not controlled by men. While Maria’s childhood was dominated by her grandfather, father, and prime minister Pombal, when she came to the throne she genuinely took control. Though she was advised by men, she embarked on her own journey to restore religion, undo the wrongs she believed her forebears had done, and appointed her own advisors with the help of her mother. Before she lost her senses due to hereditary mental illness, seemingly brought on by six deaths in her family in a very short period of time, Maria actually seemed a good queen and one that her people liked.
Many of the quotes in this book are from the perspective of British ambassadors at the time, which made the book that much more interesting for me. I have a generally good grasp of British history at this period and it was very illuminating to see the comparisons made. The same physician who successfully (for the time) treated George III was called in to treat Maria’s madness but failed. Maria is a part of the world stage, so we also hear about the monarchies of France and Spain as well as the revolution in France and how it affects the political situation in Portugal. As a result the book, while short, is a complete picture of this period in history, so volatile and prone to change as we with hindsight can see and consider.
The back cover copy says that the book reads like a novel and I would certainly agree with that. It’s very readable and unfolds as a story should, particularly before Maria’s madness strikes. From the prologue, we know how that happens, and the rest of the book reveals the history of her life. The shortest period covers Maria’s madness, but given that she was in a convent for much of this time, there probably was not much to say. Endnotes are used throughout the text for references, which appears to be the trend in popular history. The author has also included an extremely useful introduction and several appendices, including the original account of the royal family’s visit to Marinha Grande, the home of an Englishman in charge of the glass factory, which inspired this work. There is also a list of all the personalities mentioned, an explanation of the Portuguese words and other unfamiliar terms, and more. There is no point at which any reader could be confused and it was easy to find that I was learning quite a bit more about Portugal than just on the queen herself.
Overall, this is a very well done, comprehensive account of a fascinating queen. I very much enjoyed reading it and felt that I learned a lot, particularly given how ignorant I am about Portugal. I highly recommend The Madness of Queen Maria.
This book was sent to me by the author for review. I am an Amazon Associate.
 This work of history takes a look at the multi-generational Paston family throughout the years immediately after the Black Death and through the Wars of the Roses. The Pastons left behind an immense number of letters which have been miraculously preserved for six hundred years and as such are a historical treasure trove for those of us who wonder how gentlemen lived in the fifteenth century. Helen Castor recounts the rise and fall of their fortunes here, illuminating their individual personalities; the tenacious women, especially Agnes and Margaret, the hard-working William and John and the at times disappointing John II. Using the Pastons as a lens, Castor picks up larger issues at work in fifteenth century England and provides a fascinating biography about a surprisingly ordinary family.
I read this one for my dissertation, so I paid much closer attention to it than I would have otherwise. To my surprise, I still really enjoyed it. Helen Castor writes clearly and succinctly, so that while we’re learning facts, we don’t feel bogged down by too much academic language. She also summarizes quite a bit of information about the period, so I think this would be useful for even those who aren’t too familiar with fifteenth-century England. Even though I’m well acquainted with the Black Death and the manueverings of the Wars of the Roses, it is integrated enough into the Pastons’ story so as not to become boring.
I have personally read quite a number of the Paston letters; they’re invaluable because the Pastons were intimately involved at court and reflect the surprising amount of social mobility available shortly after so many died in the Black Death, so they have both an insider’s perspective and a consciousness of where they had come from. Castor reflects this well and does a very admirable job condensing the contents of the letters and quoting them where necessary to provide a steady, smooth narrative. It does falter occasionally because the Pastons were embroiled in a seventeen year struggle to reap some benefit out of Sir John Fastolf’s will after John I became closely involved with him. This can get boring, but the way the families’ characters show through the struggle kept me reading and it was certainly worth it in the end.
This would be a wonderful book to start with for anyone who is interested in familiarizing themselves with fifteenth century England. For those who have enjoyed the recent spate of historical fiction centered around the Wars of the Roses, Blood and Roses would be an excellent choice to broaden your knowledge of the period while avoiding writing that feels too academic or stilted. I highly recommend it.
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