War of the Wolf

War of the Wolf
pub. 2018 Bernard Cornwell
333 pages

Uhtred of Bebbanburg is called a priest-killer, a chief of devils. And yet when a distressed and scarred monk came to his gates and begged that he send help to Mercia, beset by civil war, the old warlord answered the call.  He once swore to protect a young man, then the son of his beloved friend Aetheflaed, Queen of Mercia. That young man is now an accomplished young prince, one of such potential that he might help realize King Alfred's dream: one England,  with one law, and one God.  That is a future Uhtred  does not want, for his own home is in the last pagan kingdom,  Northumbria -- the last to resist Edward, Anglorum Saxonum Rex.    And yet Uhtred is a man of oaths, and so true to his word he rides forth to rescue a man who one day by be his undoing.  When he arrives, however, he finds that the man,  though besieged by rebels,  is in no dire straights, and the monk who begged for his help is not what he seemed. Someone has lured Uhtred of Bebbanberg from his forbidding castle, but for what reason?  Although his pursuit of developments gives him greater reason to fear for the future than ever -- Edward is plainly dying, and his sons are all ambitious men who want to prove  and engorge themselves by attacking  Northumbria --  that kingdom has a more pressing enemy,   one who has already manipulated Uhtred and whose sorcerer draws men to his banner even as it frightensthose he stands against.  Though Uhtred can resist him with wiles and might, as he has taken countless enemies before, the aging war-prince also knows that fate is inexorable.   He can foil men, but not the gods.

The Saxon Stories are probably my favorite series of historical fiction to read, although after the first half-dozen the plots have gotten a little tiresome:  medieval Saxon politics punctuated with epic battles. It's great, but...people being as they are, even a diet of constant steak would grow tiresome.   In War of the Wolf, we appear to be approaching the endgame, as the poet who appeared early in the series putting Uhtred's life into verse appears here again,  complete with some borrowed Saxon poetry. Although Uhtred has an immediate enemy -- a young savage with a ferocious warband and a lust for power --  the political developments of this book also hint that the 'final battle' will be the defense of Northumbria against the south.   What made Uhtred so interesting from the start was that he was a Saxon princeling raised by the Danes, who much preferred the company of the latter but was compelled to fight against them to realize his dream of reclaiming his family land.  Uhtred in his youth was constantly torn between  his Christian countrymen of blood, and his Danish and Norse countrymen of heart. Old Uhtred has been a partially tamed wolf: one who is wild, but mostly cooperates with the king. If push comes to shove, however,  and Christian England invades Northumbria, it's almost certain that  the wolf will run wild again. 

Fools and Mortals

Fools and Mortals
© 2017 Bernard Cornwell
384 pages

Brevity is the soul of wit, so here's an attempt at a quick  review.  Bernard Cornwell usually writes war novels, and he's magnificent at it. But he surely gets tired of it, and every so often he delivers a mystery or something that's not dashing heroics.   Fools and Mortals is such a book,  a celebration of the birth of western theater and of Shakespeare in general. Our main character is Richard Shakespeare, the struggling younger brother of much-hailed William.  In a age where only men acted on stage, Richard's days as an actor are seemingly numbered: he's too old to play most women, as his voice has already broken, but actors abound and male roles are competitive. What's worse, Will seems to be deliberately mocking Richard's desire to be taking seriously: his latest  role is a man...pretending to be a woman, and doing it clumsily.   But now isn't the time for jumping ship: the company is the middle  of rehearsals for a high-profile gig that the Queen might attend, and just showing up at practice gives him a chance to swoon over one of the serving girls.   Besides, he's too poor to take chances on pay:  Richard already has to make ends meet by nicking small articles and selling them on the side. When the company's plays are stolen,   Richard's moody resentment of his brother, not to mention his reputation for having sticky fingers, make him the obvious suspect. To clear his name, save the company's hides, and perhaps nail a proper male role, Richard decides to find out who stole the plays and get them back.

...and he does, within a few pages.  And then he exits , pursued by a bear.  The drama promised on the front cover is only a small, brief episode within the larger story of Shakespeare trying to deliver "A Midsummer's Night's Dream", and finish his script for "Romeo and Juliet". It's not easy, because  secret police keep breaking in to nose around, and why would priest-hunters be bothering an acting company?  Most of the novel's action takes place in and around rehearsals or performances. Cornwell notes in his afterword that the novel is largely a tribute to the men and women of his local acting company, who have given him so many happy evenings.  Fools and Mortals is thus a celebration of the English stage -- a novel that allows readers to experience the England which created and nurtured the likes of Shakespeare. Cornwell's usual strengths are here, in humor and in a few action scenes (I wasn't kidding about the bear),  but the weight of the story is its theatrical setting. I enjoyed it well enough, but I'm a regular patron of my local Shakespeare Festival and am thus an ideal audience for this kind of thing. I particuarly liked the way Cornwell included historical flavor: the inclusion of jigs after performances,  for instance, or the use of period slang.  I'm not sure that those who come to Cornwell for his Sharpes and Uhtreds will necessarily like this one, however, given how different it is from his usual work.

Well, so much for brevity. But Polonius was a rubbish advice-giver, anyway.

Related:
Ruled Britannia, another Shakespeare novel. This one is alt-history instead of historical fiction, and has Shakespeare incite  English rebellion against the conquering Spanish empire.
Gallows Thief, Bernard Cornwell. Another non-military work, this one a detective story set in 1817 England.

The Flame Bearer

The Flame Bearer
© 2016  Bernard Cornwell
304 pages

The Scots were my enemies.

The West Saxons were my enemies.

Bebbanburg’s garrison was my enemy.

Ieremias was my enemy.

Einar the White was my enemy.

So fate had better be my friend.

When the library received this book, I mimicked Johnny Carson's character "Carnac" and held it to my head, intoning thus: "Uhtred of Bebbanburg is on the verge of recapturing his family fortress, stolen from him decades ago. But then comes a rider with news that a friend is in peril and needs help!  Torn between his lifelong ambition and keeping troth with his friends, Uhtred reluctantly rides away and sees his opportunity fade away yet again."

Page twenty, folks. I'm a bonafide psychic. Of course, I mock with love. I have read a ludicrous amount of Bernard Cornwell, and the Saxon Stories is responsible.  But there are ten books in this series, and lately I've been wondering when Uhtred is going to capture his old castle so he can die in peace already. He's had his foot in the door -- the castle and death's -- a few times before, and every time something  happens off in Northumbria or Wessex or some other heartily-named place. A woman is usually involved, and off he goes to rescue his friends. But now, with The Flame Bearer, the reign of teasing is over. This time the torturedly complex politics of Britain -- Saxons fighting over who should rule the free kingdoms of Wessex and Northumbria, those same kingdoms plotting against one another and their mutual enemies the Danes and Scots --  will bring Uhtred back to the gates of Bebbanberg, that fortress of few gates and mighty ramparts.

One of the greatest pleasures of the Saxon Stories series has been Cornwell's flitations with oratory. Perhaps inspired by Danish warrior lore,  Uhtred often chants his accomplishments to frighten his enemies. He is Uhtred who killed Ubba by the sea, who now as a greybeard  has a reputation that quivers bowels across an island.  Cornwell's flair for dramatic narration is unmatched, especially while ruminating on the horrors -- and joys -- of battle. I'm not sure how he does it, since I'm tolerably certain that Cornwell has not in fact fought in a shield wall.  But this is a story that needs a few passages of Epic Narration, because here Uhtred is finally doing what he has yearned to do since he was a boy, and it will require equal parts deception and epic kickassery.  (Pardon my Ænglis.)

The Flame Bearer also exhibits Cornwell's usual gift for funny dialogue, though not quite as much of it.  Uhtred is too old to take many people seriously;  he has killed too many great men to have any use for the young pups strutting and pretending on the stage. A paragraph of my view for Warriors of the Storm stands:

Need I give the usual praise? Dramatic prose of thunder flashing as armies trudge through the mud to meet destiny,  quick wits amusing each other in conversation, bombastic speeches and a few sly jokes.  All the usual Cornwell strengths are here, though it's a quick book so they're over more quickly. The twists and turns aren't as sharp here, possibly because once the reader has marched with Uhtred for so long, one gets used to his sudden bolts of inspiration [...]. 

That ended with "Next Stop: Bebbanburg!", but Cornwell mentions in his historic note that the series isn't over.  This is the story of England's beginning, and now that the spectre of his father has been quietened, now Uhtred of Bebbanburg has reclaimed his legacy, I look forward to seeing his role in fulfilling Alfred's  vision of a united kingdom.

British Historical Fiction

Ancient and Legendary Britain
Stonehenge, Bernard Cornwell
The Winter King: A Story of Arthur, Bernard Cornwell
Enemy of God: A Story of Arthur, Bernard Cornwell
Excalibur: A Story of Arthur, Bernard Cornwell

Roman Britain
Under the Eagle, Simon Scarrow
The Eagle's Conquest, Simon Scarrow
When the Eagle Hunts, Simon Scarrow

The Birth of England: Anglo-Saxons and the Viking Era
The Last Kingdom, Bernard Cornwell
The Pale Horseman, Bernard Cornwell
Lords of the North, Bernard Cornwell
Sword Song: the Battle for London, Bernard Cornwell
The Burning Land, Bernard Cornwell
Death of Kings, Bernard Cornwell
The Pagan Lord, Bernard Cornwell
The Empty Throne, Bernard Cornwell
Warriors of the Storm, Bernard Cornwell
Finn Gall, James Nelson (IRISH EXTRA)
Dubh-Linn,  James Nelson. (IRISH EXTRA)

High Middle Ages
Captive Queen: A Novel of Eleanor of Acquitaine, Alison Weir
In a Dark Wood, Michael Cadnum
Here There Be Dragons, Sharon Penfield
The Archer's Tale, Bernard Cornwell
1356, Bernard Cornwell
Heretic, Bernard Cornwell
Azincourt, Bernard Cornwell

Tudors, Stewarts
Katherine of Aragon: the True Queen, Alison Weir
The Other Queen, Phillipa Gregory
The Lady Elizabeth, Alison Weir
The Marriage Game, Alison Weir
Armada, John Stack
Come Rack! Come Rope!, Robert Hugh Benson
Innocent Traitor, Alison Weir

Age of Discovery and Early Empire
A Conspiracy of Paper, David Liss
A Spectacle of Corruption, David Liss
The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War, Bernard Cornwell
Redcoat, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Tiger, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Triumph, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Fortress, Bernard Cornwell

England against the World: the Napoleonic Era
The Life and Times of Horatio Hornblower, C. Northcote Parkinson
Young Hornblower, C.S. Forester
Captain Horatio Hornblower, C.S. Forester
Commodore Hornblower, C.S. Forester
Lord Hornblower, C.S. Forester
Hornblower and the Hotspur, C.S. Forester
Hornblower during the Crisis, C.S. Forester
Admiral Hornblower in the West Indies, C.S. Forester
Master and Commander, Patrick O'Brien
Sharpe's Rifles, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Eagle, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Trafalgar, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Havoc, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Gold, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Escape, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Fury, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Battle, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Company, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Sword, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Enemy, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Honor, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Regiment, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Siege, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Revenge, Bernard Cornwell
Waterloo, Bernard Cornwell
Sharpe's Christmas, Bernard Cornwell


...and thereafter
Gallows Thief, Bernard Cornwell
Aces over Ypres, John Stack (WW1)
Enigma, Robert Harris (WW2)

*cackles*

Waterloo

Waterloo: The History of Four Days, Three Armies, and Three Battles
© 2015 Bernard Cornwell
352 pages

Bang upon the big drum, crash upon the cymbals

We'll sing as we go marching along boys, along

And although on this campaign

There's no whiskey or champagne

Still we'll keep our spirits going with a song, boys!

("Songs and Music of the Redcoats")

Bernard Cornwell's most famous work is his Sharpe's series, well over a dozen novels following a rifleman all around the Napoleonic world -- over the hills and far away, through Flanders, Portugal, and Spain, with India and France as bookends.  In Waterloo: the Story of Four Days, Three Armies, and Three Battles, he attempts to parlay his considerable research into the Napoleonic wars to a work of nonfiction.  He introduces his latest with a question: why write another book on one of the most studied and famous battles in Western history?   Indeed, while Waterloo succeeds as popular history, considering the lavish visual detail it's practically more of a tribute than a study.

For me, Waterloo is a welcome arrival. Not only do I enjoy Cornwell enormously, but my knowledge of the Napoleonic period is fairly dismal; what little I possess is what I've gleaned from novels like Cornwell's and C.S. Forester's, not to mention the odd computer game. By way of background: following the Battle of Leipzig, Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France,  Europe's tyrannical spectre for well over a decade, was sentenced to rule the little island of Elba. Frustrated by his island kingdom's lack of funds, Napoleon returned to Paris and the Allies' war against him renewed.  Hoping to deal with his enemies (England, Holland, Prussia, and Russia) piecemeal, Napoleon marched north to confront the Anglo-Dutch in Holland.  Rout them, and the other Allies might just call the whole thing off.  Thus did Bonaparte finally meet the Duke of Wellington, the man who had helped drive France's armies from Spain.

Like Gettysburg, Waterloo was less one battle than a campaign. Cornwell's tale unfolds across several days. Napoleon has to strike before the Anglo-Dutch and Prussian armies can meet, and fights two simultaneous battles at Quatre Bras and nearby Ligny in the hopes of pushing the Allies away from one another. While this isn't a roaring success for France, it does strain communications and gives Napoleon a day to push at the Anglo-Dutch.  Waterloo is that day of battle, the longest day of the year in which the bullets were still flying at nearly nine o'clock.   In addition to reporting on the campaign's development as the French pushed steadily toward the English lines, Cornwell explains  the nuances of  Napoleonic warfare to the reader.  Key to understanding this kind of war is the relationship between infantry, cavalry, and artillery; Cornwell describes it as a paper, rock, and scissors game.  Infantry moving in a line were effective offensively, but woefully exposed to cavalry charges; if they formed into a square,   they were deadly obstacles to cavalry but inviting targets to the artillery.  The armies involved are constantly attempting to out-manipulate the others and press an advantage.

Cornwell's extensive experience as a novelist is clearly present here: he frequently shifts between past and present tense, and employs the same kind of sentence combinations he uses for dramatic effect in the novels. (It's a one-two literary punch; a series of sentences leading the reader in one direction is suddenly reversed by a following and much shorter second sentence.)  The narrative thus brings to mind a novel, but there's no denying Cornwell's ability to communicate the sheer drama of these armies maneuvers as well as the horrendous cost the chaos of the battle was inflicting on the participants. I mentioned the lavish detail earlier, but it bears more comment. I have never seen a work of history this extravagantly illustrated.  There are two-page spreads of paintings depicting moments in the action, and not just one but interspersed throughout the text. Even the maps are indulgent, abounding and presented in full-color.   It's this kind of loving attention that makes Waterloo seem like something rendered more to honor and remember than merely to inform. While it sometimes seemed he wanted to write a novel, Waterloo is a fantastic first offering of nonfiction from Cornwell's pen.

Related:
Sharpe's Series, Bernard Cornwell.

Warriors of the Storm

Warriors of the Storm
© 2016 Bernard Cornwell
320 pages

"May God strike me dead this moment if I lie!"
I drew Serpent-Breath, her blade scraping loud and fast on her scabbard's throat.
"Lord Uhtred!" Æthelflaed called out in alarm. "No!"

Uhtred of Bebbanburg is a lord of war, a Saxon prince raised by conquering Danes, a pagan who nontheless serves the sole remaining Christian kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia.  He is a man loyal not to tribes nor institutions, but to his friends, and for love of a woman -- Æthelflaed, Queen of Mercia --  he patiently waits for an opportunity to invade Dane-held Northumbria and return to his ancestral home. It has been a quest long frustrated by the constant scheming of both Danish and Saxon politics, but now....now, the Danes are quarreling, the Saxons are united ,and NOW is the time to seize Northumbria.  So naturally,  the Irish invade.

It's not really the Irish, of course, just a few hundred mercenaries accompanying an even larger horde of Danes who have recently quit Ireland in favor of easier takings and better fields in Britain.  Warriors of the Storm opens with an invasion and will see Uhtred again taking to the field despite his age, somehow wresting defeat from death by refusing to play his enemies' games and attacking them when it is plainly suicidal. But Uhtred isn't just lucky, he's long-seasoned.  He can see weaknesses in a shield wall or a political alliance hidden from everyone else, and he's daring enough to exploit them.  So when an Irish-Danish horde invades  Mercia, by the gods he invades them right back!

I didn't expect Warriors of the Storm. In the last novel,  The Empty Throne, Uhtred was withering away from age, gravely wounded on his deathbed, seeing shades of long-dead friends beckoning him to join them in the beyond to an eternity of sacking and feasting, and leaving his son Uhtred to do some of the narration. But now...he's back! He's grey, sure, but he's not weak, and the only long-gone friends showing up are those quite alive who have just been missing a good long while.  This series is plainly tacking toward the home port, however,  featuring the dispatch of old enemies and the re-appearances of both Uhtred's oldest son, who he disowned for becoming a priest;  and his first lover and companion, Brida. Another sign of the end,  is a bit of poetry as Uhtred rescues a boy who charges into battle to save his dying father.  The circle is now complete.  

Need I give the usual praise? Dramatic prose of thunder flashing as armies trudge through the mud to meet destiny,  quick wits amusing each other in conversation, bombastic speeches and a few sly jokes.  All the usual Cornwell strengths are here, though it's a quick book so they're over more quickly. The twists and turns aren't as sharp here, possibly because once the reader has marched with Uhtred for so long, one gets used to his sudden bolts of inspiration, like paying a visit to the Irish. The book ends poised for the conclusion, however, and unlike the old man standing on death's door from last book, Uhtred appears to be going into it strong and fierce. As much as I'll miss him, it is high time he went home.

Next stop, BEBBANBURG!

The Empty Throne

The Empty Throne
© 2015 Bernard Cornwell
320 pages

Uhtred of Bebbanburg is an impossible man. A Saxon prince raised by Danes,  he  has nonethelessbeen the architect of a great redoubt against them, the defender of Wessex a hundred times over.  A lone wolf in a court of civilized dogs, Uhtred is despised by the court, but admired by its warriors.  In his life, Uhtred has wrestled victory from the jaws of ruin a dozen times; he has presided over the ruin of armies that threatened devestation. In a country increasing ruled by religion and law, Uhtred is a pagan;  he is primal, a man loyal to blood and oaths, a man who lives life lustily. Time and again, Uhtred's irrational allegiances to people have gotten him into trouble, but they have led him to greatness. Now,after a life of strife, of love and war, he is aged, battle-worn, and sick -- but fate tasks him still.

The Empty Throne sees Uhtred struggling valiantly to defend his friends and innocents yet again, fighting not only against the energetic scheming of men now far younger than him, but against his own mortality. His body carries many wounds, some fresh, and one which refuses to hill. But the chief of Mercia has just died, and if the schemers get their way the kingdom could fall into Danish hands, and a woman Uhtred loves (always the women with Uhtred and Sharpe!)  relegated to a fate worse than death: a nunnery.  So he and his own must gird themselves up one more time and fight the good fight -- scheming, fighting, sailing -- even if it takes them into the great unknown: Wales. 

The battles in Empty Throne are more like brawls,  much smaller in scale (aside from a fleet being set on fire); the book is a prelude to the great climax of the Saxon-Norse struggles. What volume follows this will presumably see the end of Uhtred's career, too, given the many premonitions of death featured here, from Uhtred's son becoming a narrator to visions of long-dispatched foes and friends inviting Uhtred to dine with them in the beyond.  Unlike Uhtred, Cornwell's skills haven't diminished in writing:  his flair for the dramatic seems especially pronounced in these Saxon books, perhaps given the cultures'  devotion to oratory, or the sheer fun of writing Vikings.  Uhred spends most of this book wearily trying to sort schemes  while fighting pain, but even so there's humor -- witness his schooling his son in the fine art of backhanding priests.  (Uhtred has bearishly swatted clerics in virtually every book of this series; surely Cornwell's made a running joke out of it.)   Despite the contemplation of death,  there is the promise of life:  not only does his daughter Stiorra has a will of iron, like the blade she uses to dispatch a would-be assailant, but like her father she has embraced the old ways of heathenry. She's a genuine shield-maiden, and I hope she appears in the finale.)   Even once he goes to rest his bones in the hollowed ground of his forefathers (as yet unrecaptured), that spirit of Uhtred, that fierce strength, that awesome wildness -- will live on.





[2015 Reading Challenge: A Book Published This Year COMPLETED 1/52]

Waterloo

Waterloo
© 1990 Bernard Cornwell
378 pages

Although Napoleon Bonaparte came from Corsican royalty, his upbringing evidently lacked manners, else he would know it is most uncouth to interrupt a ball with a massive invasion. After years of brutal fighting in Portugal and Spain, Richard Sharpe thought he had seen the end of war. The imprisoned emperor's armies were defeated while he languished in Elba-- and yet, like a horror movie villain, he sprang back to life as soon as the peace was settled, resuming his role as Emperor and resurrecting his grand army. So much for the allies' little dance party. Richard Sharpe couldn't be happier to march off to war and leave the frippery of the ballroom floor behind -- well, provided his adulterous wife returned the fortune she stole from him when she ran off with a charming cavalryman.  So the peace is ended, and the conflict begins anew -- but this time there are no grand campaigns, only Napoleon's furious drive toward Brussels to capture the allied high command, and the Duke of Wellington's hurried hope to to find ground firm enough to make a stand against Napoleon's army and utter lack of tack. Both meet on the plains outside of Waterloo, where Richard Sharpe will lay eyes on the man he's fought for so many years, and make history yet again.

The grand finale to Sharpe's series and the Napoleonic wars, Waterloo must be one of the best-known-of battles in western history.  Although many preceding Sharpe stories have rivaled this in spectacle -- the man has charged a fair few forts, both in India and in the Iberian Peninsula --  Waterloo is easily the largest.  The ranks of both armies swell, not just with thousands of ground-pounding infantry and artillery, but a full host of colorful cavalrymen.  Officially attached to a Dutch unit with an aristocratic idiot for a commander, and suspended from duty for refusing to serve incompetent orders, Sharpe spends the battle moving from frantic scene to frantic scene, at one point standing with his own old regiment, the South Essex, against the mighty French horde. Cavalry charges in all their glory strike again and again, but as usual Cornwell is careful to create not only the show of war, but its awful, grisly consequences; one man is left to a fate so obscene that I felt sorry for him despite his loathsome character.  Even though Sergeant Harper is no longer in the service, he and Sharpe spend the entire battle palling around raising hell, seeing  Sharpe's old regiments (including his very first, the 33rd Regiment of Foot) and running into a few old comrades. Cornwell is excellent in the usual categories; dialogue between Sharpe and Harper is fast and witty, and the characters stand out even from the lushly detailed background the author gives them, rich as it is with the sight of fog rolling over the hills or the thick smell of horse manure filling a valley floor. It's the usual Sharpe fun, but added to a far larger and grander battle; Cornwell always writes spellbinding battle scenes, but here the effect is magnified by the sheer scale of the forces involved. Waterloo is thus a good end to a fantastic series. Those who've never marched with Sharpe will be pleased to note that Cornwell adds in a little background information, in no doubt anticipating that the simple title will draw in more readers than the usual Sharpe devotees.

The Pagan Lord

The Pagan Lord
© 2014 Bernard Cornwell
320 pages

Uhtred of Bebbanberg is having a bad week. First his hall was burned by an old rival-enemy, Cnut Ranulfson, in retaliation for Uhtred kidnapping his children, which Uhtred did not do. Uhtred of Bebbanberg is many things, but he doesn't kidnap kids. After clearing that little mess up at Cnut's place, he returns home to find the rest of his estate burned down by the church in retaliation for his accidentally killing a priest who attacked him when he attempted to prevent his eldest son Uhtred from becoming a "Christian wizard". Uhtred didn't mean to kill the priest; he just has that effect on them, like carbon monoxide.  Driven from Christendom by an excommunicated mob and hated by the Danes,  there's really no place to go but up -- up into Dane-held Britain, to the fortress Bebbanburg, his ancestral home stolen long ago by a treacherous uncle.  It could be all so simple:  take the fortress with a little derring-do and turtle up, allowing his enemies to cut one another to pieces. Alas, Cnut Ranulfson has complicated schemes afoot, and to get out it and lead the Saxons to triumph will involve a ship,  borrowed children, and a dead priest on a stick. That's life in Anglo-Saxon Britain, and the tale of The Pagan Lord.

Cornwell's Saxon Stories series, featuring a warlord of divided loyalties -- a Saxon raised by Danes who served the Saxon king Alfred in his quest to defend Britain against Danish invasion - has so far consisted of superb odd-number books bridged by good even-numbered books. Pagan Lord is a bridge despite its odd-numbered status, but as solid as the Roman span Uhtred uses here while being pursued by an army five times his size. Pagan Lord is battle- and politics heavy, and consists largely of travel: Uhtred's first response is to buy a boat and go 'viking', but as he begins to put together the pieces of whatever diabolical scheme his Norse rivals are up to.  In younger years Uhtred might have abandoned the Christian Saxons altogether and taken his home fortress with  Danish help, but his lingering attachment to his 'own' people is magnified by his love for a Christian woman who stands to be treated badly if the Danes win.  So once again he kills men he admires and aides men who despise him, because of a woman; Cornwell's heroes tend to have that honorable flaw.  The Pagan Lord wasn't quite the novel I expected: happily, it's not the conclusion of the Saxon stories, even though Uhtred advances into the gates of his ancestral home.  The novel seems to move toward its conclusion in the middle before Uhtred's plan goes awry, and he has to retreat into the mouth of Chaos, where he and all of Saxon Britain engage in war against the schemes and horde-strong armies of the Danes.  The Pagan Lord is on the short side, but's a fine tale of adventure set during the Viking age.

Stonehenge

Stonehenge: 2000 BC
© 2000 Bernard Cornwell
400 pages

         For millennia the hanging rocks of Stonehenge have stricken visitors with awe and mystery. Who  built them, and to what purpose?  Stonehange: 2000 BC  tells the story of those people, the ancient ones, whose dreams and fears were made material in their temple of the sky. Bernard Cornwell is a bonafide master of historical fiction, writing chiefly tales of adventure and war set in Britain’s storied past, but the world of Stonehenge is his earliest treated yet. Stonehenge is largely drama, personal and cosmic, with action throughout, including a battle or two.   It is the story of three brothers:  Lengar, the eldest, whose cruel ambition leads him to murder his father at a wedding and seize the bride; Camaban, born with a club foot and rejected by the tribe, who burns with bitterness and looks to the gods for consolation; and young Saban,  who begins the book fleeing from death,   a race that continues throughout.  Caught between his elder brothers’ constant treachery, Saban must survive the destruction and chaos caused by both, and lead his people to peace.

            Lengar, Camaban, and Saban share a father and little else; their dreams set them at variance with one another, for Saban only wants a quiet life with a woman, kids, and a few healthy pigs while his elder brothers spend the entire book besotted with dreams of grandeur. Lengar wants to be a fearsome warlord who brings the entire region under heel, while Camaban works to become a master sorcerer and restore order to the Cosmos itself.  This is a primeval setting, dominated by a religious worldview that is largely animistic, drenched in blood and steeped in superstition. The overall feel is reminiscent of the magnificent King Arthur trilogy Cornwell penned:  political and religious leaders vie for power, undergird with a metaphysical theme; while Merlin wanted to restore the old gods to Britain to drive out the Saxons,  Camaban wants to end the war between the native gods and bring about an epoch of heaven on earth.  While many find the claim suspect, a temple to the violent sun god serves the glory-thirst  of Lengar, and the challenge appeals to the craftsman Saban. (Not that he has a choice in doing their bidding,  since he has an unfortunate habit of becoming attached to people, a great source of leverage for his sadistic elder.)  The motives for building the temple are thus mixed, and the struggle of its construction is the foundation of the book’s many plot lines, from politics to war. At least a decade passes from the time the first stones arrive to its treacherous consecration.

            Like the King Arthur trilogy,  our main character Saban is a supporting actor in other men’s dramas, but he’s fairly sympathetic. A good thing, too, because he’s much abused;  his is a violent world, and his brothers’ ambitions make it doubly so.  He’s wily enough, and a good fighter,  though not nearly as self-assured or clever as other protagonists.  His life is often in the hands of Fate, which typically comes in the form of possibly-delusional characters who declare that going here or doing this is the Will of the Gods.   Though religious, Saban doesn’t put a lot of stock in such claims; fortunately for the plot, he’s ususally beholden to someone who does – either his brothers, threatening violence, or his girlfriends, who have an unfortunate tendency to become goddesses or prophets.  C’est la vie préhistorique.  

            Stonehenge is an impressive novel, harrowing and dramatic. Like all of Cornwell’s fiction, the world is rich in luxuriant detail. Not only does Cornwell paint the landscape for readers, but the human environment, of actors and legends, is simultaneously fleshed out, using an invented mythology  instead of vexing historic purists by throwing in the Celtic pantheon.  It suffers a little in comparison to the King Arthur trilogy,  but the mystery of the Stones has its own appeal, and seeing the temple appear in stages throughout the tome, as chiefs and priests struggle for power, will doubtless keep readers in thrall.

Sharpe's Christmas

Sharpe's Christmas
© 2003 Bernard Cornwell
104 pages

Sharpe's Christmas collects two stories which do the seemingly impossible, in honoring the Christmas spirit while simultaneously being action-adventure tales starring Richard Sharpe. Sharpe doesn't lend himself easily to Christmas stories; he is not lovely or kind. He is a soldier whose battle-scarred face has frightened women, and whose rifle and cavalry sword have frightened men, from Indian to France.  He is a wonder as a soldier, grimly effective, but dismally unlucky outside the killing fields.  His attempts at love have met in disaster as his beloved ones die or vanish, along with whatever fortune he entrusted to them.  And yet the Daily Mail asked Bernard Cornwell to write two Sharpe-related Christmas stories for them, and so he did.

 The stories are not unusual in their Christmastime setting;  the series has seen battles set around the Christmas season before.  But while there Christmas was the background, here it is the abiding theme.In the first story, "Sharpe's Christmas",  Sharpe is participating in the invasion of France, and caught between two forces of Imperial troops in a narrow mountain pass, some of them commanded by an old friend. In "Sharpe's Ransom", disgruntled Hussars break into Sharpe's postwar home in Normandy and hold his wife and child hostage unless he produces the gold  the evil masterspy Ducos framed him for stealing in Sharpe's Revenge.  After outwitting the dopes guarding him, Sharpe must effect a rescue of his family.  Readers are treated to the usual elements of a Sharpe novel -- desperate battles between riflemen and massed columns of French troops, small-scale action by Sharpe himself, plenty of humor (especially between Sharpe and his usual compatriot, Patrick) but with a Christmas twist. Sharpe creates a miraculous victory out of disaster out of nothing but cleverness, skill, and cutting remarks, but the discovery of an old friend allows him to act as an agent of mercy; in "Ransom", he doesn't take out the entire band of Hussars singlehandedly, but turns the crisis into an opportunity to win the trust and acceptance of the local villagers, who -- being French -- resent an English war hero taking up residence among them and taking as his mate a once-noble widow.  Sharpe's Christmas is as exciting, historically grounded, and funny as any Sharpe novel -- but it's also heartwarming. It's positively touching.  I thought it quite appropriate.

Sharpe's Revenge

Sharpe's Revenge

© 1989 Bernard Cornwell

Englishmen in Toulouse, Prussians in Paris -- there are foreigners everywhere, and for Napoleon the war is over. Not for Sharpe, though, not by a long shot. His old enemy Pierre Ducos has seen fit to ensnare Sharpe one last time before the piece is signed, and it will cost Sharpe more than he ever imagined.  Sharpe’s Siege takes the reader  through what seem to be the last skirmishes of the war, and then into the peace, which is far more dangerous. Accused of murder and grand theft,  Sharpe is left to wander through France avoiding the armies of l’Empereur and the English Crown, for both have become his enemy.  Sharpe’s Siege is one of the more agonizing pieces in this series, but satisfies in a way few have.  The plot is vaguely familiar (I’m sure this isn't the first time Sharpe has been on the lam from his own army with no one but Patrick at his side),  but the late game is more than mere military adventurism.  Sharpe’s own soul is tortured here, and while it’s painful for him it’s great reading -- and it is moments like those crafted in here that will be remembered long after the series is finished and the epic battles scenes have evaporated from memory.  I rather doubt Sharpe’s Waterloo can top this, but we’ll see.

Sharpe's Siege

Sharpe's Siege
© 1987 Bernard Cornwell
352 pages

               Napoleon may not realize it, but his wars are lost. The English have achieved total naval supremacy,  and are free to raid the coasts of the imperial hexagon at their leisure. Richard Sharpe, whose sturdy Riflemen are in part responsible for l’Empereur’s imminent job loss, has been dispatched on one such raid. His orders are to capture a small but potentially bothersome fort, and possibly wander over to Bordeaux, where it is said the people are clamoring for the restoration of the Bourbons. Alas for Sharpe,  he is a pawn twice over; he has been invited to join the raid only so the bumbling generals in charge of it will have hope of victory, or at the very least a good scapegoat – and the generals themselves are operating on suspect intelligence fed to them by French counterintelligence mastermind, Pierre Ducos.  When Ducos learns that the redcoats are up for a little raiding and Sharpe is with him, he takes a personal interest in not only rendering their plans moot, but condemning Sharpe to die.  In short order, the good rifleman is trapped in France with no hope of escape but an American pirate who was to have hung for crimes against the Crown.   Sharpe’s  Siege distinguishes itself from many other Sharpe novels in that the military action is wholly fabricated; the raid he participates in never took place.  Although the military scenes are full of excitement and explosions and the like,  they take second place to Ducos’ scheming; there’s no doubt that Sharpe will capture the fort and then defend it against a host of embarrassed Frenchmen, but getting out of the greater trap is an altogether different feat. What I appreciated most about it was the mixing-in of naval action. Alas for me, there are only two more Sharpe books waiting – Sharpe’s  Revenge, which is next, and then  Sharpe’s Waterloo.

1356

1356
© 2013 Bernard Cornwell
432 pages

And by God, he thought, there was nothing like this feeling. A good horse, a tight high saddle, a lance, and an enemy taken by surprise.

It's the year..well, 1356, and after a lull in the fighting, the Hundred Years War is about to resume. England is having a merrie old time raiding the French countryside, setting fire to every structure and peasant they can find, and carting it all back to Calais.  Somewhat chuffed, the French king has at last decided to take action. His goal: capture the Black Prince, young Edward, and use him as a ransom to force the English to recoup France its losses in land and goods, and end the war. With an overwhelming advantage in numbers, and the wisdom learned after numerous defeats (to wit: don't make it easy for the English archers by riding massive targets into battle),  France seems poised for a momentous victory at Poitiers...but then comes Thomas of Hookton, the knighted leader of a group of archers who call themselves the Damned.

Thomas is known to readers of Cornwell as the bastard son of a priest ("the devil's whelp") who rose from the ranks as a common archer to the leader of men, and one who found the Holy Grail, to boot. 1356 sees him on a mission  to ensure that the French don't recover a relic known as la Malice, the sword that Simon Peter used to defend Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.   His rival is his opposite, a golden-haired idealistic  virgin who fancies himself an actor in some heroic quest, fighting dragons and demons and restoring France to glory.  These two opposites -- Cap'n Mal and Captain Hammer, if you will -- meet first in battle over a woman, as a young countess has decided to run off with another knight, one who isn't her morbidly obese and stupidly cruel husband. The Virgin Knight, Sir Roland, sees it as his duty to restore a naughty adulteress to her god-given master, hubby dear, and Thomas rescues her while shaking the count down for unpaid debts. (The aristocracy may sneer at Thomas' band of common longbowman, but they're willing to pay a rich price to enlist their service.).  While Thomas and Roland seek la Malice and spar over the woman, each trying to avoid capture and death while traveling through a war zone -- the English and French armies move to engage with one another, and eventually Thomas takes his place on the battle lines, where he fights desperately and accomplishes stunning deeds -- as Cornwell's heroes are wont to do.

Cornwell's strengths as a writer aren't missing here: his scenes are rich with detail, the dialogue is lively and hilarious, the prose commands the reader's emotions, the battles are intense. He's wonderful -- but what I liked most about 1356 was Thomas' foe, Roland. The two are on opposite sides throughout most of the novel, but it's not as if Roland is a bad guy. He's committed to Doing the Right Thing; like Thomas, he has a talent for fighting and enjoys the competition. But Roland is an innocent, not for his 'virgin' status but because he thinks the world is a fairy tale, in which he is Prince Charming. He undergoes a fair bit of character development as the tale goes on, learning how truly contemptible 'noble' rulers can act, and how virtuous the damned can be,

1356 is another rollicking story of war, love,  and mischevious monks.

The Bloody Ground

The Bloody Ground
© 2001 Bernard Cornwell
398 pages

In the fall of 1862, Robert E. Lee took the initiative after a string of triumphs over the bungling Union army and launched an attack into the north, aiming to bloody the Federal army's nose in its own territory and provoke the people of the United States into pressing for peace-- for how many people would support a distant war against the south when the shells were falling in their own fields, with their own homes used as quarters for wounded soldiers?  Despite a record of impressive incompetence, McClellan managed to intercept Lee's army on September 17th, resulting in the bloodiest day of combat in the entire war.  McClellan didn't lose disastrously  and that for him was a triumph...but the victory owed more to the Union officers who found Lee's battle orders wrapped around a few cigars not far from their lines -- and The Bloody Ground is the story of how they got there.  The likely end of the Starbuck chronicles,  Bloody Ground is wet with death both triumphant and tragic.

'Til now,  every battle involving Nathaniel Starbuck -- who chased a girl into Virginia right as the war erupted and decided to fight for the south to anger his abolitionist father --  has been a victory for the Confederacy, largely thanks to McMilquetoast,  with some assistance from the stunning heroics of Starbuck's company. Here the streak ends, though the Union victory owes more to the actions of secondary characters, especially Starbuck's counterpart -- his best friend Adam, who despite being the son of a southern aristocrat, fights for the north, and here becomes involved in the murky world of intelligence. Adam is a tragic character, far more sympathetic than Starbuck but so earnest that Cornwell prefers to punish him instead of reward him; rewards are for scoundrels and brigands in Cornwell's world. But perhaps the scoundrels deserve the rewards more: Starbuck, after all, has to cope with being Enemy #1  to Washington Falcouner, who has seen fit to "promote" him to the leader of a punishment battalion known encouragingly as "The Yellowlegs".

The Bloody Ground's intensity is fitting for the bloodiest day of the war, though combat takes a backseat to the espionage threads; there are spies everywhere, including a man pretending to be a southron in Starbuck's ranks to avoid capture as a Union raider who, Iago-like, starts turning his company against him.  Considering that Starbuck's company will be present in some of the battle's bloodiest moments -- the skirmish in the cornfield and the orgy of death that was the Sunken Road --  you'd think his life is in peril enough from the Union army, without adding murderous subordinates into the mix.  Starbuck is at his most likable in The Bloody Ground, though; while his motives for fighting may have been petty, he is admirably devoted to his comrades-in-arms, especially those scorned by officers, and a protector of underdogs. ("I am Starbuck, defender of whores!")

Quite a fun read, but the ending is rather distressing. The bloodletting doesn't stop with minor characters, and I'll leave it at that. It seems a shame this series has been discontinued, but if Cornwell had to choose between Starbuck and Sharpe, I'm glad he chose Sharpe. Speaking of whom, I think I left him about to invade France...

This week at the library: Little Ice Age, and Bernard Cornwell

Last night I finished Battleflag, third in the Nathaniel Starbuck series. Seeing as I just finished and commented on Copperhead, posting extensive thoughts on Battleflag seemed redundant. Nate is still the son of a Boston abolitionist preacher fighting for the south to rebel against his father and his best friend Adam is following his conscience by a course that sets him against his own father, a southern aristocrat, and they're not even the most interesting characters in the book. What sets Battleflag apart is the sudden  and hilarious transformation of a contemptible slave-holding drunk who has a military office because of political favors into  a sympathetic character. I'd reveal more, but for spoilers. The ending is also brilliant, because it brings Nate into direct collision with his father, who is a major character as well. Daddy Starbuck's appearance makes Nate far more likable, because in spite of the abolitionist vein of his preaching, the Reverend Starbuck  is a decidedly unpleasant man to spend time with. The next, and so far final, book in the series is Antietam.

Before that, though, I read Brian Fagan's The Little Ice Age: How Climate Made History, 1300-1850. It's an odd blend of history and science, and chronicles a long and weary succession of droughts, famines, plagues, and death. Small wonder the Calvinists subscribed to such a vicious god: if I'd lived through these years I'd start to think someone was out to get me, too.  Fagan doesn't try to make a case for the age being caused by one thing: although there are meteorological cycles to consider, the timespan was punctuated by volcano eruptions which didn't help things. The evidence Fagan uses ranges from the solid (weather records kept by farmers, monks, and the like) to the more dubious (changes in art, and the church's frequency of "Dear God in Heaven PLEASE STOP WITH THE PESTILENCE BIT" prayers), but Fagan clearly made pains to create a big picture understanding: the most notable illustration in the book is a two page map spread of Europe, which portrays the weather patterns for a particular month and includes references or evidence of the weather that at that time -- rain in Portugal, severe snow in Denmark, and so on.  All told, Little Ice Age proved an interesting read, illustrating  how quickly the weather can change and how severely it can effect human lives, something I'd hope we're starting to pick up on after the calamities of recent years.

I also finished James Howard Kunstler's Home from Nowhere, but it will merit its own post.

Note to self, stop buying books. Amazon delivers them more quickly than I can read them. I'm not kidding -- I ordered two books on Monday, figuring they'd be here in a week and a half to two weeks. In the meantime, I'd  chew over a couple of books at the library I've been interested in for a while now. But today, this morning, the books arrived. Now I have four new books waiting to be read in addition to my library books. Hmph. They are, for  the curious:

• Antifragile: Things that Gain from Disorder, by Nassim Nicholas Taleb. I waited for this book's release all last year. 
• Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time, Jeff Speck. This is also a new release, and by one of the authors of Suburban Nation, one of my top ten favorites of last year.
• Earth: An Intimate History, Richard Foley.  My second science read for the year, this time in geology.
• The Age of Steam, Thomas Crump. I bought this one to feed my hunger for trains, and then realized the library had a copy of Christian Wolmar's The Great Railroad Revolution. I don't want to binge, so this is low priority even though it also features a subject I'd like to find a book dedicated to, which is riverboats.

From the library, I have...

• Patterns of Home, a spin-off of Christopher Alexander's A Pattern Language, which I intend to read one day if I find a copy that isn't priced so dearly.  The book examines elements of successful home construction, like proportion and sunlight management. 
• Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment , various authors including Robert Bellah. I'd intended for this to be my next serious read, but considering my interest in Antifragile, it may wait. 

Copperhead

Copperhead: Ball's Bluff, 1862
© 1993 Bernard Cornwell
417 pages

Nathaniel Starbuck is a man with a mighty grumpy enemy.  Wealthy Virginian planter Washington Falcouner rescued Starbuck from a mob, asking him for his service in arms alongside his son, Adam, in return. Seeing as Adam and Nate were the best of friends, and Starbuck found soldiering to be his kind of adventure, it didn't seem too bad  a bargain....but after the events of Rebel, Nate's benefactor is now his nemesis.  It's not that Nate suddenly decided he disliked fighting for the south against his native Union: no, he's quite happy in the Confederate army, because he likes fancying himself a rebel. Once he was a timid seminary student, the scion of a respectable family -- and now he's a rugged heathen, living the life of  a gallant soldier at war,  all adventure and romance -- and not a thought given to respectability  Fiddle-dee-dee!   But the same weakness that led Nate from the north into the Confederate army and lost him his father's affections has lost him his patron's warm wishes, and now he has to survive the imminent defeat of the Confederacy on his own.  They can't hardly beat back Little Mac, the new Napoleon, the man with the largest, best-armed military force ever seen on the continent!   But as one of Nate's comrades notes, it ain't over 'til the pig has stopped squealing.  Copperhead is second in the Nathaniel Starbuck series, and takes its characters down some unexpectedly delightful roads.

Although its title herald's "Ball's Bluff",  a skirmish surely few readers have ever heard of (outside the ranks of devoted ACW historians),  Copperhead is more a spy thriller dominated by the evolution of its characters than it is a tale of combat. Not that I'm complaining:  I don't too much like reading about southern aristocrats exhulting in their victory as slaves fan them at Twelve Oaks  The book begins with a skirmish and ends with McClellan's Peninsular Campaign in 1862, which -- if you remember that the war didn't end until 1865 -- you might guess proved unsuccessful, despite the material advantages of the Union army. Cornwell's story explores the question of why, and the speculative answer is the shadow war of intelligence and deceit, one in which Starbuck becomes an unwilling participant.  He's already regarded as suspect because his father is an abolitionist preacher, but when they discover that a Union intelligence officer named James Starbuck is corresponding with someone  in the southern ranks, someone feeding him potent information,  trouble ensues for Nate, and leads to him meeting Death.

de'Ath, that is -- it's French.  I'll not spoil anything,  but the spy games are  on the level of Where Eagles Dare.  What makes the novel for me is the unexpected transformation of Nate's best friend Adam, from a soft plantation prince  into a man who seizes the reins and becomes a rebel of an altogether different sort. (This continues in the third novel, Battle Flag, which I had to check out immediately after finishing this one, because I've been well taken by the story.)  Other characters shine; the aforementioned de'Ath, who is a Confederate intelligence officer,  and....the Son of Sharpe!   I didn't make the connection until I was finished with the novel, but I immediately liked the fellow as presented in the story, and when I later realized, I liked him all the more. (He reappears in Battle Flag, so much the better!)   Nate is still by far the weakest Cornwell protagonist I've encountered:  as amusing as his weakness for the ladies is, it doesn't compensate for the fact that he's a character without spirit: he's a rebel without a cause,  and he seems more self-indulgent than anything else.

Even if the main character is a bit of boob, I'm steadily enjoying this series --  mostly for the cast, but with the usual honors given to Cornwell's  strengths.  His wicked sense of humor is on full display, too, moreso than in his more recent works.

Apologies for the multiple Gone with the Wind references, but I've been rewatching the movie this week.

Excalibur

Excalibur: a Story of Arthur
© 1999 Bernard Cornwell
436 pages

In Britain's darkest hour, a man named Arthur came to rule. With the high king dead and enemy Saxons filling the shores looking for land to settle, he confronted the tremendous challenge of uniting the feuding British kingdoms and guiding them to victory against a foe superior in numbers and in spirit. He faced adversaries from within his camp, as well,  as even longtime companions proved treacherous when tempted by ambition. Now Bernard Cornwell tells the final story of Arthur with Excalibur, a fitting conclusion to an extraordinary trilogy.

The trials that Arthur has faced would break lesser men,  even other heroes. It would be easy to give into despair, to abandon hope -- but here in Excalibur, Arthur again looks  adversity square in the face.  Although an uneasy peace prevails at the start of the book, the aftermath of Enemy of God's epic ending, for Arthur and his ally (our narrator, Derfel), the growing might of the Saxons will soon need to be reckoned with. The unity Arthur fought for seems to have dissolved, but he remains determined to defy the inevitable, and this culminates in the Battle of Baden Hill, which is incidentally the only historical reference we have to an Arthur of any kind.  But Baden Hill is not the end, for this King Arthur trilogy is inspired both by history and by myth, and the final battle is between Arthur and a final betrayal, that of the dark prince Mordred. The conclusion is masterful, beautifully appropriate: this being a trilogy about King Arthur, it could not end but with a flourish.

Excalibur lives up to Cornwell's usual legacy, but reveals an additional strength of this trilogy in particular: character evolution. Although Cornwell doesn't shy away from writing evil characters, in the Arthur trilogy the lines between heroes and villains isn't a clear cut. Guinevere, for instance, was utterly despicable in Enemy of God, but moves toward redemption in this final volume, while someone who has been Derfel's friend since his childhood becomes monstrous, continuing a trend that began in Enemy of God.  It points to the complexity of life, of people and our motivations, and the fact that nothing can be taken for granted.

...nothing, that is, except for the quality of a Cornwell novel. This trilogy has been absolutely stunning, and I'm sad to have finished it. Happily, though, it can always be re-read.

Enemy of God

Enemy of God: A Novel of Arthur
© 1996 Bernard Cornwell
416 pages    

      Enemy of God  stunned me. I thought I knew what to expect from a Bernard Cornwell novel: a solid, irreverent hero with a talent for fighting, enticing and dramatic narration of historical battles, and a lot of wry commentary thrown in.  And Enemy delivered that, but it’s a much different beast than I anticipated. Second in his King Arthur trilogy, it sees Cornwell flirt with the realms of fantasy and horror. Although I opened it planning to continue an thrilling historical series, Cornwell surprised me with a read very much appropriate for the Halloween season.

        The Winter King set the stage:  it is the twilight of the fifth century, the dawn of the sixth, and Britain is going mad as the year 500 approaches. The isle is rifle with conflict between the invading Saxons and the defending Celtic Britons. The Britons were once united under High King  Uther, but his death left a baby on the throne, and now all of the British kingdoms fight with one another as eagerly as they do against the Saxons. In Winter King,  Arthur emerged as the baby king’s half-uncle, the eldest son of the deceased high king but illegitimate. Arthur strove to unite the Britons, and succeeded – but in Enemy of God, he must defend the  peace from internal strife, dark conspiracies,  and the growing Saxon hordes.

         Cornwell’s usual strengths are present here, but the Arthur books are exceptional because of their larger-than-life characters and the fantasy elements, which are not found in any other of Cornwell’s novels to my knowledge.  Arthur and Merlin are the titans;  Cornwell’s Merlin surpasses even Albus Dumbledore for being a half-mad mentor – and like Dumbledore, Merlin has his own plans and ambitions which ensnare Arthur and his lieutenant, our narrator Derfel; plans  that may run contrary to those of the heroes.  Merlin is a chessmaster, forever pulling the strings, and there’s a shadow of malevolence to his  hoped-for future. Mordred, Morgan, Galahad, and Lancelot are here as well. I didn’t mention Lancelot* in my comments on The Winter King, in part because he’s a truly unpleasant character, ambitious, vain, and deceitful. Believed by most (especially the ladies) to be a mighty white knight in shining armor, he manages to achieve great praise despite never accomplishing anything, aside from keeping his pretty face free of battle scars.  Arthur, of course, dominates the novel, and is legendary – an almost perfect leader, but he is hopelessly in love with Guinevere and doggedly loyal to his friends. Alas for him and Britain,  he is not as sound a judge of character as he is a friend, and the result is disaster...and for Arthur, heart-rending pain.

All this makes for a fantastic story: this series is truly set apart from Cornwell's other work. If the characters, humor, historical details, and intense storytelling weren't enough, the backdrop is faintly fantastic, and increasing horrific  Regular fantasy readers may not notice it, but it's a jarring difference from Cornwell's other work, and definitely gives the story and edge.Arthur and Derfel go on quests to dark ruins, fight against monsters (people given to madness, rather reminiscent of the Reapers from the Firefly universe),  and return to find  hell releashed on the peaceful world of Camelot. It would have made for perfect Halloween reading, especially as one of the incidents fell on Samhain and Celtic mythlogy plays a crucial role.

Enemy of God is magnificent.I await Excalibur to arrive in the mail.



* Think of Prince Charming from Shrek 2. Seriously, I watched the movie last night and thought, "That's who Lancelot reminded me of!".

The Winter King

The Winter King: a Story of Arthur
© 1997 Bernard Cornwell
433 pages

The high king of Britain is dead, and the land lies in peril. Surrounded by implacable enemies, from the vicious Irish to the aggressive and hungry Saxon invaders, scarcely a day goes by without a village being reduced to smoke and its granaries looted. Some folk cling to the old gods, while others embrace the new Christ – but all need a hero, and they get it in the unexpected form of Arthur, the exiled and bastard son of the old king, who has been named protector of the young Prince Mordred, his nephew and the high king’s chosen heir. Arthur is loved by neither the druids nor the bishops: he is not of the royal blood. His authority has been earned, not granted, but it will be sorely put to the test in the days that lie ahead. Such is the beginning of Arthur’s story, The Winter King, Bernard Cornwell’s captivating treatment of the Arthurian legends.

            Search the lists of English kings, and you will find no Arthur. Yet, his memory lives strongly in the mind of English and American culture, and has since the medieval era. He is the ideal king: strong, just, and benevolent, incorruptible and inspiring.  Historically, there are only faint traces of a man named Arthur who may have led the British armies against the Saxons in the 400s. From those traces, Cornwell creates the noblest character he’s ever attempted, a leader with great dreams and all the virtues to make them a reality…until he lays eyes on the Princess Guinievere,  who “turns his blood to smoke” and his story into tragedy.

            Cornwell tells Arthur’s story through another character’s eyes, namely a soldier named Derfel who becomes the ruler’s ally and friend. Like other Cornwellian protagonists, Derfel begins as an outcast without pedigree, who must prove himself as a warrior and leader.  Spending time with  Cornwell’s main characters is always part of the appeal of his works: though possessing many faults, they’re utterly guileless (except when tricking their enemies on the field). Though surrounded by men who have deceived themselves into thinking they are powerful, clever, or righteous, his heroes stand, content to be just themselves, warts and all. Thus it’s interesting here that Derfel tells the story of a man who doesn’t regard himself as heroic, but who will nevertheless be considered as such by history, and can’t help but read larger-than-life.

            The Arthur legends are rich with fantasy, and Cornwell weaves that into his own story. Magic exists in Cornwell’s world not as supernatural reality, but in the minds of people; it is there that the wizard Merlin casts his spells. Ritual permeates this world of dark-age Britain, but it’s not forced or hokey, readers are allowed to experience the mystery of Cornwell’s world as his characters would. Other aspects of the Arthur legends, like the search for the Holy Grail,  are also worked into The Winter King, but in a way that makes sense in the context of the story. Arthur isn’t challenged to find an artifact of Christianity, but a treasure from Celtic mythology.

            The Winter King is a magnificent story, succeeding both as a “realistic” treatment of King Arthur and a historical novel about the cultural conflict between not only Britons and Saxons, but between Christianity and the native religion. As usual, the weight of historic details is impressive, and the characterization -- always  one of Cornwell's strengths -- is superb, but then his characters are legends.  I am astonished that I've owned the first two books for well over a year and am only just now reading them.

           A final thought:  Cornwell's story has so filled my imagination that despite spending the past few days reading about King Arthur, only once have I had an issue with quotations from Monty Python cheerfully invading my focus.  (That happened only recently, halfway through the second book when Camelot was mentioned. You can guess what song played in my head for an hour thereafter...)