Tag Archives: history

Sunday Review: Red Clay, Running Waters by Leslie K. Simmons

Many of us know at least a minimal amount about the tragic Trail of Tears, in which the U.S. government forced the Five Civilized Tribes of the Southeast (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole) to leave their ancestral lands and move to the Indian Territory (now the state of Oklahoma) west of the Mississippi River. Thousands died during the journey.

What is less known are the events that led up to this calamitous outcome. In her biographical novel Red Clay, Running Waters, Leslie K. Simmons provides an in-depth look at how the Cherokee fought to retain their homeland by focusing the story on one important figure: Skaleeloskee, known to history as John Ridge. The son of a Cherokee leader, John was sent from his home to a mission school in Connecticut at the age of 16. He excelled at his studies and became an accomplished orator. He also fell in love with Sarah Bird Northrup, the white daughter of the school’s steward.

In the 1820s, a relationship between a native man and white woman was controversial, and the young couple’s desire to marry creates a firestorm of opposition. However, the two had formed a deep bond, forged in part because of their attraction to each other but more importantly because of shared ideals. Simmons excels at portraying their love, both in the beginning infatuation stage and over the course of time. After persisting for two years, John and Sarah finally were allowed to marry in 1824. The prejudice and discrimination they faced because of their relationship was merely a foretaste of what was to come.

Sarah traveled with John to Georgia to live in the Cherokee Nation, which stretched across parts of Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama. The Cherokee were in the process of developing a constitutional government similar to that of the United States. John became a member of the National Council. However, because of Americans’ lust for good farmland and the 1828 discovery of gold in Georgia, the United States began to pressure the Cherokee to cede their homeland and move.

One mistake whites often make when thinking of native peoples is assuming that they are somehow monolithic in their thinking and in their attitudes toward whites. As I learned while writing my own novel Blood Moon: A Captive’s Tale, that is often not the case. Factions existed among the Cherokee with strongly held, opposing opinions about how to deal with the U.S. government’s demands. John, supported by Sarah, fought hard for what he thought would be the best solution, but equally passionate leaders argued for other outcomes.

Simmons portrays the conflict in detail in her novel. The arguments were complex, and some of the people involved were inconsistent and at times devious. Although highly educated and skilled at both writing and speaking, John wasn’t always trusted by more traditional Cherokee who viewed him as “too white.” The situation in the novel vividly shows the dilemma often faced by native peoples: do they adopt white ways to gain tools to help fight for their people, or is the cost too high in the loss of their culture and perhaps legitimacy in the eyes of their people?

This novel will be especially appreciated by readers who enjoy policy debates and situations with multiple shades of grey rather than a clear blank-and-white outcome.

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Filed under 19th century life, American history, Cherokee, Historical fiction, Native American, Trail of Tears

Sunday Review: The Stolen Queen by Fiona Davis

I love Fiona Davis’s novels. She’ll chose a famous New York building—the Dakota, Grand Central Terminal, Radio City Music Hall—and create a dramatic story about someone whose life causes her to spend time there in some capacity. Also, ever since I was a child, I have loved to read about ancient Egypt. Something about that long-ago culture never fails to fascinate. That’s why I was so eager to read Davis’s latest effort, a novel that takes place mostly at the Metropolitan Museum of Art but also, in part, in Egypt.

In 1978, 60-year-old Charlotte Cross is an associate curator at the Met in the weeks leading up to what would be the wildly popular exhibit of artifacts from King Tut’s tomb. As a young woman 42 years before, Charlotte had participated in an archaeological dig in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings. There, she made an unexpected and significant find, fell in love, and then suffered an unimaginable tragedy. She hasn’t been back to Egypt since, although she has been secretly doing research that she suspects will overthrow the popular view of Hathorkare, a queen who became pharaoh in her own right. (For fellow ancient Egypt buffs, Hathorkare is loosely based on Hatshepsut.)

The novel’s other protagonist is nineteen-year-old Annie Jenkins, a determined young woman struggling to provide for herself and an unstable mother. While running an errand to the Met for a neighbor, she makes an unsolicited but inspired suggestion that catches the attention of fashion mogul Diana Vreeland. The encounter results in Annie being hired to be Vreeland’s assistant in organizing the Met Gala that year.

The night of the Gala, an act of sabotage threatens an exhibit of irreplaceable costumes, and while everyone is distracted trying to stave off damage, a thief steals one of the museum’s priceless objects: a fragment of a lapis lazuli bust of an Egyptian queen. Charlotte and Annie chase the thief, endangering their lives, but after a struggle, he gets away with the artifact. Blamed unfairly for the sabotage, Annie loses her job.

To try to recover the stolen object, Charlotte travels to Egypt. She is accompanied by Annie, who books a ticket despite Charlotte’s dismissal of her offer of help. While there, the pair uncover more mysteries than they ever expected.

The flashback sections remind me a bit of Agatha Christie’s novels with archaeological settings. First, Davis provides vivid details of life on a dig. Second, when bad things happen, the characters are all too willing to attribute them to a pharaoh’s curse.

The characters of both Charlotte and Annie are strong. Both are plucky women, each trying to establish themselves but burdened by past baggage. Both are products of their respective time periods, each fighting in her own way to go beyond the limits of what woman are expected to be. The secondary character of Diana Vreeland, a historical person, adds spice to the more modern sections of the story.

The end ties up everything perhaps a little too neatly for my taste, but I know that many readers prefer unambiguously happy endings, so I won’t lower my 5-star rating because of that. In short, check out The Stolen Queen—and if you haven’t read Davis’s other novels, give them a try too.

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Filed under Ancient Egypt, Book Reviews, Historical fiction, mystery, New York, Twentieth century

Sunday Review: The Boy in the Rain by Stephanie Cowell

This lovely story tells the story of two men in Edwardian England, a dangerous time for gay relationships. The novel opens in 1903, just eight years after Oscar Wilde was sentenced to two years hard labor after being found guilty of “gross indecency.”

Robbie is a shy, orhpaned young man whose unsympathetic uncle has sent him into the country to study with a clergyman to prepare for university. While there, Robbie meets his neighbor—twenty-nine-year-old Anton, a man who has fled London society to escape a failed marriage and the death of his dreams of promoting a socialist government. Anton is doing what he can to help improve the lives of the poor in the village; Robbie is discovering that, instead of academics, he is drawn inexorably toward art. The two meet and fall in love, beginning a passionate but necessarily secret relationship.

A misunderstanding drives them apart, and Robbie goes to London to enroll in an art school. Tormented by his longing for Anton, he seeks comfort in casual encounters—a risky decision that nearly destroys him.

Eventually, the two reunite. Robbie begins to make a name for himself as a portraitist in London society. On weekends, he returns to the country to be with Anton, who has once again taken up the socialist cause. However, the more renown the two men achieve, the more danger they face from the possible exposure of their illegal relationship.

Both characters are complex, very real, and oh so human. I felt deeply for their dilemma. The portrayal of the time period is well researched and vivid. As the story progresses, I wanted so much for Robbie and Anton to find their happy ever after, yet the fear that such an outcome was impossible hangs over the story like the ever-descending pendulum in Poe’s famous story. To Cowell’s credit, I didn’t know how the novel would turn out until very, very close to the end.

Considering the rising discrimination against the LGBTQ+ community in today’s world, I think this book is an important read.

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Filed under Art, Book Reviews, England, fiction, Historical fiction, LGBTQ+, Romance, Twentieth century

Sunday Review: The Jøssing Affair by J..L. Oakley

If you enjoy reading WWII historical novels but are looking for a setting other than England or France, I have a recommendation for you! One arena of the war that has been overlooked far too long is occupied Norway. The Jøssing Affair by J. L. Oakley is an excellent contribution toward filling that gap. Germany invaded Norway in April 1940 and gained control of the country within two months. They remained in power until the capitulation of all German forces on May 8, 1945.

As did the residents of other occupied countries, many Norwegians took part in the underground resistance against the Nazis—in spite of horrifying reprisals. These resistance fighters adopted the name of Jøssing, and this novel tells their story by focusing on a fictional fighter named Tora Haugland. Associated with the “Shetland Bus,” which secretly transported arms and people between Norway and Britain, Haugland goes undercover pretending to be a deaf-mute working on a fishing boat and living in a tiny coastal village.

His work places him in constant danger, and the precariousness of his situation increases when he reluctantly falls in love with “the woman”—Anna Fromme, the German widow of an old friend, whom all the villagers ostracize because they believe she betrayed her Jøssing husband to the enemy. Anna is innocent but has other secrets that put her and her young daughter at risk.

Haugland’s network is under constant pressure from Norwegian collaborators who are helping the Gestapo hunt down resistance fighters. The most dangerous of these is Henry Oliver Rinnan, a real-life figure—and sadist—who led a group of informants and personally participated in the torture and murder of many captured Norwegians.

The novel is set during the latter part of the war and dramatically shows the harsh conditions under which Norwegians lived and their excruciating wait for an Allied victory and Norwegian liberation. The characters are well drawn (particularly Haugland and Anna), and the plot has plenty of action and suspense. An added bonus is the many descriptions of Norway and the fascinating tidbits about Norwegian culture and everyday life.

I recommend this book without reservation, and I look forward to reading the two other volumes in Oakley’s series on Norway’s experiences during and after the war.

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Filed under Book Reviews, fiction, Historical fiction, Twentieth century, World War II

Sunday Review: Precipice by Robert Harris

I’ve read and enjoyed many historical novels by Robert Harris. This one, although based on a fascinating premise, did not quite live up to what I’ve come to expect from this author.

When the novel opens in July 1914, UK Prime Minister H.H. Asquith is involved in an affair with socialite Venetia Stanley, member of a wealthy aristocratic family. Stanley is 35 years younger than Asquith; at the beginning of the novel, she is 26 and he is 61. They see each other on social occasions, they walk on Hampstead Heath, he takes her on drives in the curtained back seat of his Rolls Royce, and they send each other passionate letters.

Asquith had long had a penchant for the company of attractive young women, but one thing that makes his relationship with Stanley different from the others is the extent to which he relies on her intelligence and uses her as a sounding board and sometime political advisor. The other difference, of course, is that World War I breaks out in August 1914, a conflict of such complexity and carnage that Asquith faces unprecedented political challenges. As a result, he often writes Stanley three letters a day, discusses confidential cabinet discussions, and even sends her the originals of top secret communiqués.

The novel covers the relatively short time of a single year, but a lot happens. This includes a tragic accident among Stanley’s social set, the tense events leading to the outbreak of war, the planning for the ultimately disastrous Gallipoli campaign, an insider’s look into political infighting among British cabinet members, and an investigation launched by Scotland Yard into who’s responsible for top secret telegrams being found discarded across southern England.

The characters are well developed, and I particularly liked the main female character, a clever, insightful woman bored with her shallow social scene and searching for something more meaningful in her life.

What eventually cast a slight pall of my enjoyment of the book was Asquith himself. His love for Venetia Stanley was obsessive, self-indulgent, and reckless, and his letters to her (quoted from the originals) became tedious and whiny. As a result, I was not sorry for the book to end.

Despite that, I still rate the novel a four-star read. If you can get the audiobook book, give it a listen. The incomparable Samuel West is the narrator.

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Filed under Book Reviews, England, fiction, Historical fiction, Novels about women, Twentieth century, World War I

Sunday Review: The Glass Maker

The Glass Maker by Tracy Chevalier is an unusual blend of historical fiction and magical realism. It tells the story of a glassmaking family on the island of Murano near Venice over the course of centuries. But unlike, say, a James Michener generational saga, this is the story of one generation that lives on and on as the world off the island experiences time in the usual way. In particular, the novel focuses on Orsola, a woman who has to fight to become an accomplished glass maker in a profession dominated by men.

I believe Chevalier chose this method of storytelling to emphasize that Murano has a timeless quality and that the craft of glassmaking there has changed very little over the centuries. The concept intrigued me, and I did enjoy the descriptions of the glassmaking process contained in the novel—so much so that I’m seriously lusting after a necklace of Murano glass beads.

Ultimately, however, I couldn’t sustain the willing suspension of disbelief to totally buy into this plot device. Part of the problem, I think, is that when you stretch one human life over the course of centuries, their character development arc slows down too much, and the reader gets a little bored with them. At least, that was true for me. I rated the novel as four stars when I finished it three weeks ago, and that still feels right to me. The Glass Maker is an enjoyable story told in an intriguing way, but not one of the best of the year.

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Filed under Book Reviews, fiction, Historical fiction, Magical realism

Sunday Review: The Social Graces by Renée Rosen

The Social Graces tells the story of the rivalry between two women, a generation apart, who led New York Society in the late 1800s.

Caroline Schermerhorn Astor was known as THE Mrs. Astor. If you weren’t among the 400 socialites invited to her annual ball or her summer clambake in Newport, RI, you simply weren’t part of the elite. And people with “new money”—the railroad barons, etc.—didn’t have a prayer of receiving one of her coveted invitations. That is, until determined, clever Alva Vanderbilt came along.

This sharp dichotomy between old and new money is tremendously ironic. The founder of the Astor fortune, the first John Jacob Astor, was hardly a cultivated person. I describe him this way in my first novel, The Ambitious Madame Bonaparte:

Astor was a short man with dark blond hair, drooping brown eyes, and a large pointed nose. He spoke English with a German accent, and his manners were nearly as rough as the fur trappers who had made his fortune, but Betsy liked him because they shared the traits of ambition, determination, and practicality.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure how much I’d like a novel about two wealthy, privileged women competing to be the queen of New York society. However, I thought that, in their separate narratives (each has third-person point-of-view chapters threaded throughout the book), Rosen dramatized enough of the heartbreaks they endured and the life lessons they learned to convey their essential humanity. Both women make terrible mistakes with regard to their children, but in this portrayal at least, I never doubted their good intentions. (I’ve read enough other accounts of Alva Vanderbilt to wonder if Rosen was perhaps being too kind.)

Rosen made one other choice in the novel that I absolutely loved. Two of my favorite pieces of literature—the short story “A Rose for Emily” by William Faulkner and the poem “Richard Cory” by Edwin Arlington Robinson—share an unusual characteristic: both are narrated by the collective voice of the community in which the main character lives. I have always felt this modern version of the Greek chorus adds a unique perspective and have wished that more authors would make use of the technique.

Well, Rosen has a third voice to her narrative, in addition to the focusing closely on the lives of each woman. She has chapters narrated by “society” that give the collective opinion on the actions of Caroline Astor and Alva Vanderbilt. The last word, so to speak. This device reveals more of the broader impact of the two women, and I found it very effective.

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Filed under 19th century life, American history, Book Reviews, fiction, Historical fiction

Sunday Review: Booth by Karen Joy Fowler

This is the first book of Fowler’s I’ve read, and I didn’t know what to expect. I checked it out of the library because learning more about the famous, or infamous, Booth family intrigued me.

For those who don’t know, John Wilkes Booth, the man who assassinated Lincoln, was a younger son of a famous family of 19th-century Anglo-American actors. Their father, Junius Brutus Booth, was highly acclaimed as was John’s older brother Edwin. Another brother, Junius Jr., was also an actor although not as highly regarded. I already knew from past research that during the Civil War Edwin actually saved the life of Abraham Lincoln’s oldest son, Robert—an event that can truly be described as stranger than fiction. So I wondered what other surprising things I might learn about the Booths.

The book is divided into sections offering the point of view of different members of the family, including sisters Rosalie and Asia and brother Edwin. In the author’s note at the end, Fowler tells us that although Rosalie existed, almost nothing is known about her—her existence in the surviving family records is summed up by the repeated epithet “poor Rose”—so that narrator is an almost entirely fictional creation. In Fowler’s hands, she is old-fashioned, less gifted than her creative siblings, unusually close to her mother, haunted by the memory of the many brothers and sisters who died young, and in constant pain from worsening scoliosis.

Asia is devoted to her family, particularly her brothers. To her, being a Booth is everything, so she plans to chronicle the careers of her thespian father and brothers. Yet, she is unconventional in her own way and provides an entirely different perspective on the Booth tribe than her much older sister does. Asia is the one who most represents what it is like to adore a relative who later commits a monstrous public crime.

Edwin is the Booth most haunted by the legacy of the family patriarch. As a boy, he was charged with accompanying his father on tour and trying (impossibly) to keep him from drinking. Edwin longs without much hope for Junius Sr. to acknowledge him as the heir best equipped to carry on the Booth acting legacy. These family obligations and his own personal failings oppress Edwin for years, along with a growing rift with John, who becomes increasingly radical as the war marches to its bloody end.

This then is the family that produces the assassin who became perhaps the most vilified American of the late 1800s. The book sustained my interest throughout; the shifting points of view provide sometimes contradictory opinions that help show what a tangle it can be to sort out what goes into the making of a killer.

My main complaint, however, is that the novel felt to me more like an intellectual exercise rather than an emotional journey. I remained largely unmoved even by the end of the story, and for that reason, I feel that the book falls short of the great novel it might have been.

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Filed under 19th century life, American history, Book Reviews, Historical fiction

Sunday Review: The Masterpiece by Fiona Davis

Fiona Davis specializes in writing historic fiction about well-known buildings in New York City, and I have loved several of her novels. This time she focuses on Grand Central Station. The Masterpiece is a dual-timeline story set in the late 1920s and the mid-1970s.

The 1920s timeline focuses on Clara Darden, a young artist from Arizona who came to New York to study at the Grand Central School of Art. (Did you know there was once an art school on one of the upper floors of Grand Central? I didn’t.) Now working there as an instructor, she has to fight against two kinds of bigotry—sexism and the ingrained belief that illustrators are less-talented and less-important than “serious painters.” She meets and becomes involved with two very different men: a wealthy young poet and a fiery experimental painter from Armenia. Little do any of them know that the high life of the 20s can’t last forever; the economy is heading for a crash that will turn the country upside down and make art a dispensable luxury in a grim new world of standing in soup lines and making do with frayed, years-old clothing.

The 1970s story focuses on Virginia Clay, a women who is recently divorced and struggling to support herself and her daughter. She fails to qualify for the secretarial job she interviews for and ends up working at the Grand Central information booth. By this time, the depot is dirty and neglected—no longer the beautifully decorated showplace it was in the 1920s—and it’s home to drug addicts and other unsavory types, causing passengers to spend as little time there as possible. The building is in danger of being torn down, with only the lower sections incorporated into amuch larger structure.

One day, Virginia happens upon the abandoned art school and discovers a long-forgotten painting that speaks to her deeply. It also reminds her of a painting she saw in a magazine: a piece of art by the painter using the pseudonym Clyde, which is about to go on auction for a fortune.

The art school is the obvious tie between the two storylines, but as Virginia works to both save Grand Central and uncover the truth about the painting she found, more links between the two stories emerge. I found this a very enjoyable read.

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Filed under American history, Book Reviews, Historical fiction, Twentieth century

Sunday Review: A Woman of Intelligence by Karin Tanabe

This novel seemed like an appropriate choice to follow up Stephanie Marie Thornton’s A Most Clever Girl because both deal with women in the intelligence game in mid-twentieth century United States. The premise intrigued me enough to overlook my qualms about the cover image: “It’s stunning,” I thought, “but that outfit is more 1962 than 1952.” In this case, I absolutely should have judged the book by its cover. The story never felt authentic to me.

Katharina, the daughter of immigrants, grew up speaking four languages and has since become conversational in at least one more—Russian. The novel opens in the early 1950s with Katharina and a friend watching their very young children in Central Park. The friend seems to have taken to motherhood effortlessly; she’s calm, empathetic, and decisive in dealing with her daughter and any crises that arise. In contrast, Katharina is easily overwhelmed by her rambunctious toddler and crying baby.

Once her “present-day situation” is established, we go back in time to her life just after World War II. Because of her skill set, Katharina gets a job as a simultaneous translator at the UN (similar to Audrey Hepburn in the movie Charade, which is one of my all-time favorites, so I was intrigued). However, from the start, I found it hard to relate to Katharina. Even though she mentions in passing that translating the important discussions at the UN helps her feel that she is contributing meaningfully to world peace, that doesn’t truly seem to be what she loves most about her life. Rather, she rhapsodizes about being single and going out with her French friend, eating great food, drinking all night, and flirting with men, often going to bed with them. She comes across as a shallow hedonist.

Unlike many young women of the time period, she is not pursuing marriage. However, when she meets handsome Tom Edgeworth, a devoted and much-loved pediatric surgeon, she falls for him and he for her. They marry, not exactly in haste, but without much effort to discover if they are truly compatible as life partners, not just dinner partners and bedmates. Tom has made it perfectly clear that he expects the woman he marries to provide him with children as quickly as possible and to devote herself to them full-time. It seems to me that if Katharina is half as intelligent as we’re supposed to believe, she would have seen the red flags right away. Her French friend certainly tried to get her to view the prospect realistically. Yet Katharina marries Tom with a disturbing lack of concern.

Faster forward to motherhood, and Katharina is miserable, “trapped in a gilded cage” as the book jacket says. When she develops insomnia and starts drinking heavily and behaving erratically, Tom has little sympathy for his wife. Instead, he grows even more rigid even though he suspects she is having a breakdown.

Suddenly, in the midst of this increasing discord, the FBI recruits her. They plan to arrange things so she’ll encounter her former college lover, Jacob Gornev, in hopes that she will eventually be able to spy on him—because he is highly placed among American communists. (Is it just a coincidence that his name is so similar to Jacob Golos, the real-life communist spy who played such a prominence role in A Most Cleve Girl? I doubt it.)

Katharina’s main contact at the FBI is Turner Wells, a black agent who is spying on a civil rights group because, although he believes in civil rights, he’s afraid of too much communist influence on the movement. (A situation I found to be really distasteful and rather peculiar for a white author to place her one prominent and supposedly sympathetic character of color in.) To add one more bit of spice to this improbable stew of ingredients, Tanabe decided to have Katharina feel an almost instantaneous but forbidden sexual attraction to Turner.

The feminist exploration of motherhood might have worked on its own or with a different partner story, and the tangled loyalties of FBI agents could have been quite interesting. But the two storylines felt forced together in a marriage that was as incompatible as Katharina and Tom’s.

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Filed under American history, Book Reviews, Historical fiction, Twentieth century