[Book Review] A Serpent's Tale, by Ariana Frankliln

A Serpent's Tale

Ariana Frankliln

Mistress of the Art of Death Mystery Series

The Fair Rosamund is dead, poisoned by an unknown hand. The Bishop, Adelia Aguilar's former lover and the father of her child, asks her to investigate the murder in order to avoid a civil war between the king, Henry II, and his queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who is bound to be blamed.  Enter the famous labyrinth and a severe and crippling blizzard and you have all the props and plot twists you need for this CSI Oxfordshire episode.

This was my first Adelia Aquilar mystery, and I did mostly like Adelia herself.  She is all about her intelligenc and not at all fashion obsessed, unlike the Ursula Blanchards of the historical fictional world.  I liked the era too, the 12th century, and found the characters as an ensemble pretty satisfying.

I would venture to say the clues were just too easy, as I pretty much figured it all out about halfway through the novel.  There seemed to be a lot of cross-dressing going on, with underlying hints of homosexual relationships, both male and female.  That, I reasoned, had to be a clue or the book was just sloppy.  The former proved to be the case. 

Throw in some proto-feminism and a whole lot of "royal worship", ascribing far sighted and progressive qualities to Eleanor and Henry II, and you basically have this novel.  There is a phenomenon among many women readers, I have discovered, of extraordinary attachment to certain kings.  The most notable, of course, is the Ricardian Obsession, i.e. Richard III.  Then there are the Edward II groupies.  This was my first exposure to Henry II worship.  It seemed as if Franklin would not thank anyone for mentioning Thomas à Becket, whom she assails bitterly not only in the novel but in her author's note.

This was an easy read, satisfying most of the time, a little creepy in places.. everyone has their bugaboo issue in reading.. child sexual abuse, rape, in my case, animal cruelty featuring a cat, and this book has mine.  I skipped that part, something I once told another reviewer disqualified her from reviewing... mea culpa.  For some reason Franklin made Rosamund fat, perhaps to show that henry preferred women who were ample and comfortable, as opposed to Eleanor's sharpness.

I downloaded the novel from National Library Services' BARD site.

Robin Hood: My Turn

I was prepared not to like this movie, mostly for reasons of my own. Robin Hood is perhaps the single most influential fictional character in my life. I started watching the Richard Greene television series from England in the 1950s, when I was about six or seven. It molded the Nan who came to be and still is more than fifty years later. I refused to watch the cartoon foxes when that movie came out. I detest Kevin Costner on principle, dislike the Robins with modern sensibilities -- a non-violent Robin??? Oh please -- and mostly liked "the hooded man" because I liked the pagan religious content.

This said, you would think I hated the Russell Crowe movie, but I didn't. I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. It's not Robin Hood... maybe the sequel will be, But the movie has so many plusses that I could ignore that it wasn't actually really about my hero. In a way, it reminded me of the Clive Owen King Arthur from 2001. It seemed as if someone wanted to make a movie about Roman Britain's denouement with lots of battling Saxons, and the producer or whoever knew no one would go without a hook, that hook being Arthur. "Somebody fake a roundtable!" I can just hear him saying... I am sure what the producers of the current Robin Hood wanted was some cool 12th century battles, but also something about Robin Hood, a sort of "in your face, Kevin" deal.

So if it wasn't really Robin Hood, what did I like about the movie? The sets, the sets, the sets! The two shots of late 12th century London were worth the price of admission many times over. The only real problems I saw with the rest of the sets was that Sir Walter's hall was rather impoverished in the rushes department. Otherwise the nature, design and fidelity of the towns, roads, clothing, most of the props -- I exclude the amphibious personnel carriers the French had.. that was sort of a reverse D-Day, wasn't it? I was in hog heaven sitting as I always do in the second row at the theater soaking up all the authentic scenes.

As for the characters, they were a mixed bag. I agree with something Erastes said in an email: "Russell, what is that accent?" Crowe is well known for his disinterest in adopting accurate accents, but in this movie he seemed all over the map of the English speaking world except America. maybe he was confused by the soundtrack, since it was made up largely of Irish tunes -- and I own a Celtic music station, so believe me, I know. Otherwise old Russell is adequate, though he was not Robin Hood. Kate Blanchett's Marian followed in a recent tradition of making the traditional heroine kick ass, which I applaud. I was mostly surprised that Max von Sydow is still alive. Lucky, lucky William Hurt to get to play that pinnacle character, William Marshall. The bad guy was thoroughly unappealing. Can't remember the actor's name, but I could have done without him. Poor old King John, always portrayed as a weasel, but at least this time they acknowledged that Richard the Lionhearted may have been romantic but he was as bad a king as England has had. I liked the take on him, that he at forty was afraid of losing his mystique-- that made me wonder if someone on their writing team actually knew something. . Philip of France was a hoot. I hope the Merry men and the Sheriff get larger roles in the sequel. I like Alan and Tuck, but Little John and Will Scarlet were almost invisible. Not to forget Eleanor of Aquitaine.. the irony here is that in this less than masterpiece movie she was far more accurately portrayed than in the vaunted Becket, where she and her mother in law Empress Matilda are portrayed as simpering females.

I suppose the reason they made Robin "Long stride" and killed off Locksley was for the subplot that he was an imposter allowed to continue as such for the sake of the cause.  Again, not really Robin Hood, but did they pretend he was?

One thing I urge people to remember is that Robin Hood is not history. He is legend. Many different people went into creating that legend, many of whom were archetypes without flesh. So the story is up for grabs for interpretation and reworking. I should even be chastised for saying this one is "not Robin Hood". He may not be the Robin Hood I ingested with my Frosted Flakes, but as he is elemental, he is whatever the interpreter wants to create. Well, except, no cartoon foxes.

The Outlaws of Sherwood Forest, a parody

The following is from the continuing stories, authorized and otherwise, based on characters from An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England, by Nan Hawthorne, which you can find at http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com/.

Rory and Shannon, by Laake

Now you didn't think there was only one set of outlaws in that forest, did you??

As the two minstrels headed north from Nottingham into the north half of the forest on the old Roman road through the heart of Sherwood Forest, Shannon leveled a considering look on Rory.

Rory, who had been smiling at some inward thought, looked back at him and asked, "What?"

Shannon replied, "So what was all that back there at Mary's house?"

"What was all what back there?" Rory countered peevishly. He was mixed up enough in his own mind, without being interrogated.

Shannon just smiled a slightly sardonic grin for a moment. "All that, 'I may ne'er see ye again but..'" He said the last in a mock dramatic voice."

Rory thought, "I can be after doin' without this particular Shannon O'Neill.. the unsmiling and sarcastic." To Shannon he said, in a soft voice, "Shan, me friend, I dinnae know… I just dinnae know."

Shannon gazed at him a while longer, then turned his eyes to face the direction they were walking and kept silent.

Rory was becoming accustomed to this silence, so out of character for the normally buoyant friend of his childhood. So he was startled when Shannon quipped, "D'ye know why they call it Sherwood Forest?"

Rory looked over, "Och, nay, I dinnae know that."

Shannon gave him an impish grin. "For the reason that if ye ask a forester if he'd like a drink, he always says, 'Sure and I would.'"

Rory stopped and looked after his friend. Then he laughed, one single guffaw. "Does me heart good to hear ye jest, even if 'tis a terrible jest," he said, and started to walk again.

Shannon's face was already sour again. "Well, dinnae get used to it.. ye heard what Mary said, I be not out o' the woods yet.." He looked around at Rory. "And that was NOT a jest."

Just as the two started into the forest, which would someday be the most famous one in England in spite of the fact its most famous resident had never existed, Rory happened to see a small girl sitting on the stone at the place where two different paths converged into the one leading into the forest. He was struck by her look. She was maybe six years old, had straight flaxen hair, and was dressed in a pale blue dress. Blue was a hard color to come by for dyes in that time.. in fact in Ireland, only the High King of Tara was even allowed to wear it. He also noticed how clean she was. This was no trivial matter. Small children in the countryside were never clean since they played int eh dust all day and probably never got a bathing.

As they approached she smiled brightly at Rory and Shannon. Rory bowed graciously and took off his hat to her. Shannon just nodded. The girl giggled but said nothing and did not move. "Pretty wee thing, "Rory commented after they had passed. Shannon grunted assent inn reply.

Rory had a great deal of time to think about anything he wanted as they took the winding road through the forest. Even the Romans, with their road building skill, could not straighten out a path through the ancient oaks and other trees in this old forest. He thought about Shannon and the depths to which he had sunk in Nottingham. Rory had seen him drunk to the point of stupor, but never distraught as he had been.

He took his heart in his hands and asked, "Shan, what happened that night?"

Shannon shot him a look that said, "Watch ye'rself!" He glared at Rory for a minute, then his shoulders sagged.

"I cannae remember all o' it." He continued walking, his head bowed except for brief glances up along the road they were traveling. "I gave ye the slip, I remember, and found another tavern. As soon as the innkeeper saw me lute, he was all smiles and tankards of ale and urgin' me t' sing. The same happened at the next inn, and the next."

He sighed and his face took a pained look. "Then I met this colleen, pretty thing, shapely. I was very drunk by then, it seemed almost more than I usually get when I've had that much. She plied me with drink, then said we should go out into the street for some lovin'. I dinnae know if I could have followed through with the lovin' part, but I was game t' try. Me Heather was the furthest thing from me mind."

Shannon reached up and touched his broken nose. His eyes were both blackened. He walked with a slight limp from being kicked in the kneecap. He moved his jaw painfully. Mary had not been sure if it was broken too, like his nose. Rory winced just looking at his friend's swollen and bruised face.

"Sure and as soon as we got outside and I was after startin' to kiss her, I was grabbed from behind. There were two thugs a-standin' there, grinnin'. They told me they wanted me money.. I told them I dinnae have any. They dinnae believe me. One o' them held me while th'other searched, all the while the wench stood and smiled. O' course, they dinnae find any. "

He walked along in silence for a while. "The bigger one flew into a rage and snatched me lute. I cried out to leave it, but that just made the blackguard grin and he threw it into a puddle. When I tried to get it, th'other one tripped me. I felt them both kickin' me, and one kick found me knee." He leaned down to rub it. "Then one o' them pulled me up and they took turns punchin' me in the face. I dinnae know if I stayed conscious. I barely recall ye comin' t' find me. All I know is I wanted to crawl under somethin' and die."

Rory nodded, "Ye were that bad hurt."

Shannon shook his head. "'Twas not that. I felt like that big an ass. All me brave words and promises. I dinnae know how I got here, Rory. How did I become this besotted man?"

Rory knew there was no comfort, no answer for that. Perhaps it took that to make his friend find a way out. "Ye reached the bottom, Shan, I think. I don't think ye can fall any further. It will be all uphill from here."

Shannon looked at him, considering. "I hope so," he said, then fell back into silence.

Robin Hood's Merry men were not the only outlaws, real or imaginary, to people the many haunts of the Forest. Many rather less romantic brigands lived there and kept close watch on travelers, robbing from everyone to give to themselves. The two types of travelers that generally went unmolested were poor friars.. and minstrels. Musicians and players were known to bring more joy than gold into the huge track of woodland. Rory knew that at some point they would be waylaid, but all that would be stolen from them is some time and music.

He and Shannon were well along their way to Sheffield in the north of the forest when at last they came to a small band of outlaws standing casually in the road. Rory bowed elaborately and Shannon, looking wary, nodded his head. The man who seemed to be in charge of the small party stepped forward.

"Well met, good fellows. I see ye are musicians by this fellow's lute. Come and entertain us at our camp." Both of the minstrels knew this was not an invitation and Rory, acting as spokesperson, accepted the command graciously. He and Shannon followed the men deeper into the forest away from the road.

Rory tried to come next to Shannon to warn him to be careful not to anger their "hosts". He feared Shannon would refuse to sing as he had done at their inn. He would look over at his friend and see him staring warily at the outlaws, and never could get a moment to speak with him. So instead he went up to the leader and explained, "Please, me good sir, me friend is terrible sick. He cannot sing or play. I shall entertain ye."

The man laughed. "He be not sick, man. He be thrashed. If he keeps himself calm, we will not bother him."

"Let me be after tellin' him, then," Rory requested.

The leader eyed him suspiciously. "Nay, I will not. He is on his own."

They were taken to a clearing with numerous campfires and makeshift cottages, with men, women and children all about. The minstrels' appearance drew the attention of all, and they crowded around. A path was made among them for what was obviously the leader of all these people, a man with no nose and one missing ear and a long throw from the handsome Robin Hood. He eyed them and spoke, "Where are ye from, minstrels?"

Rory answered, "Me friend Shannon here and I are from Ireland, in the north counties. But we be employed in the court of Lawrence in Christenlande."

The man looked pleased. "Ah, aye, many years ago I was an outlaw in Christenlande, and that same King gave me a chance to come out of outlawry. Had it not been that outlawry was my nature I should still be there in Lawrencium. Welcome, Shannon and.." He paused for his name.

"Rory. Rory McGuinness."

Rory found himself suddenly staring at a half dozen daggers pointing in his and Shannon's direction. They lifted their hands and the dagger Rory wore was taken from him.

The outlaw leader said, "Ye cannot be Rory McGuinness. Rory McGuinness is dead. He was hanged. Everyone knows that.'

♫ (Ballad of Rory McGuinness, performed by Druidsong.)

Rory tried to laugh, "Och, ye mean that song. Here be the man who wrote that song, Shannon O'Neill. He will tell ye that it was a mistake. He thought I was hanged, but sure and I was rescued."

The leader stared at Shannon. "Be this true?"

Shannon croaked out a weak, "Aye, 'tis true. I am O'Neill and this is McGuinness and we are both livin'."

The leader watched them both from under glowering eyebrows. "How do I know ye are speakin' the truth? "

Rory and Shannon exchanged looks. Shannon ventured, "What if I sing the ballad, will ye believe me?"

"Everyone knows the ballad. Everyone can sing it. What would make your singin' it prove who ye are?" The daggers were still pointing in their direction along with some cocked arrows and a sword or two.

Shannon actually smiled, one of his old grins, and asked in a cheerful voice, "But can everyone sing so the women faint all about?"

The leader considered this. He nodded and signaled his men to step back. "Let's see what ye can do."

Rory and Shannon were ushered to a stump in the middle of the camp and quickly surrounded by all manner of outlaws and their families. His lute had been taken from him on the march to the camp, and now it was handed back to Shannon. He began to tune it, worried that the soaking it had taken would have ruined the sound. While he did this, Rory leaned to him and whispered, "I hope ye can do this. Ye are not exactly a handsome man at the moment."

Shannon's irritable retort was cut off by a warning from the leader of the outlaws. "No plottin' an escape or nothin'."

Shannon gave Rory a resigned look and said, "Sure, and here goes." He geld his lute and began to sing the song. Rory as usual joined in a higher voice on the chorus.

The outlaws were clearly enchanted. Shannon's voice was not its usual fine self but it was a far piece finer than any these people had heard. Rory worriedly watched the younger women, who unfortunately did not seem particularly moved. The outlaw leader occasionally dragged his attention from the singers too, to look at the listeners, and frowned.

"Sing a tooralay tooralay farewell me son, For Finnegan O'Donnell his evil has done."

Shannon and Rory finished and, their hearts in their throats, waited. An old crone made her way to where the outlaw leader stood and whispered something in his ear as he leaned low for her to reach him. Rory saw the woman shake her head.

"Och, sweet Jesus," he heard Shannon breathe. "Looks like I may get my wish after all.. and today I dinnae want it so much." They waited to learn the verdict.

The leader came over to the two of them and gave each a grim look. He reached and put one hand on each man's shoulder. He looked sharply at them and said, "My old mother said she does not belief this is O'Neill." The minstrels' hearts sank. Shannon started muttering a Pater Noster. The man continued. "She has seen both men some years back. She tells me this may be an older O'Neill. But she knows ye, McGuinness. So ye must live, as this other man claims." He smiled broadly and clapped them both hard on the shoulders. "So c'mon, give us another song!"

Shannon found that if he kept singing, while he had been given a tankard of ale, if he just did not drink it, tempting though it was, and he kept on singing, it was not refilled. He and Rory entertained the outlaws for almost three hours, with no intermission. They shared songs of all kinds, funny tales and inspiring tales, and were a complete and unarhuable success.

In the morning they were taken back to the road and deposited there, with claps on the back and much thanking and farewells. As the outlaws left them, the leader leaned to Rory and said, "Ye should get this poor man a drink. He'd be the better for it." Rory smiled and nodded.

When they were alone, he turned to Shannon. The leader said ye need a drink."

"Perceptive man," Shannon replied. Then he smiled wanly. "D'ye still have that drinkin' skin of water?"

Want more?  You can read what led up to and what happened after this episode by searching for "Shannon's and Rory's journey" at http://aninvoluntaryking.blogspot.com -- where there are many, many, many more stories.

Back to reviews of the new Robin Hood movie tomorrow.

The New Robin Hood Movie, Reviewed by Novelist Jeri Westerson

By Jeri Westersaon, Author of the Crispin Guest Medieval Noir series

It's the sort of action-packed, swash-buckling, sword-fighting, down-and-dirty medieval film I love. There was a lot of sweat (you could almost smell everyone), a lot of grime, muddy streets, and a cool shot up the Thames of twelfth century London. Those were the things I gleefully noticed. What struck me later was the generally joyless characters that strolled through. Not as Merry, these men.

There is very little of the traditional "Robin Hood" one might wish to see in this movie. I know, I know. It's a pre-quel of all that robbing from the rich and giving to the poor stuff, Where He Came From and all that. But it still had promise (with a little Martin Guerre thrown in) and some other good bits that I enjoyed.

Mostly the fighting. Lots and lots of fighting. Grr!

One of the screenwriters, Brian Helgeland, gave us as writer and director A Knight's Tale staring a sparkling Heath Ledger. And I liked A Knight's Tale, the story anyway, even though I hated the modernized costumes, music, and ethnic casting of the lady love. But the movie itself grew on me with all the great jousting and manly mannishness.

Brian Helgeland and Robin Hood director Ridley Scott can write and direct my Crispin Guest movie anytime they wish. Because what they got right was what matters most to me, and that is the feel and sense of the time period. You can definitely walk those streets and feel the texture of the clothing and what it meant to be an honorable man despite the odds.

Russel Crowe was the war weary Robin Longstride, an archer in Richard Lionheart's crusader army. Richard, of course, didn't give a damn about England and maybe spent six months there in his entire life. Still, it's nice to be king, isn't it, and England was great even if (in Richard's eyes) he couldn't be King of France.

Prince John quickly becomes King John in this tale (and at last! We get to see Eleanor of Acquitaine!) Some might say that King John is portrayed over the top, but truly, he was a really bad king and made a lot of very poor choices. Greedy choices. So you have at least here a decent portrayal.

However, what I wanted, and I'm sure many people did, is the "real" Robin Hood story, only grittier. I guess I mean the legend. And maybe what I really want is a mini series so we can get all that and the Robin and Marion ending as well. We wanted the meeting of Robin and Little John over the brook and fighting with quarter staffs. We wanted the meeting up with Friar Tuck (and it was the marvelous Mark Addy playing that role in this one. He's my Gilbert the tavern keeper in the Crispin novels, so casting directors take note). We wanted to see his meeting and romancing Maid Marion, fighting the bad guys, hanging out with the Merry Men, going to the archery tournament--all that stuff that made Errol Flynn's career (and let me tell you, The Adventures of Robin Hood played a BIG role in my ideas of swash-buckling adventure as I grew up that seem to creep into my stories).

But, as I said, it was still an all right movie if you just didn't think of the main characters as Robin Hood et al. I wonder if they plan on a sequel.

By the way, don't leave at the end. The credits are pretty cool. They use a digital painterly swash of the images with some of the main credits and it's great to watch.

Jeri Westerson is the author of the highly regarded and way fun Crispin Guest medieval noir mysteries, Veil of Lies and Serpent in the Thorns. Her blog, Getting Medieval, is the source of this review. Thanks for permission to reprint, Jeri!

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Have your say!  We want to hear all opinions.  Send us your review or point us to a published review we may reprint.  Send to hawthorne@nanhawthorne.com .

Robin Hood, a Review by Novelist John Wright

By John Wright

Author of The Healer and Knight Haralde.

The legend that is Robin Hood has been shape-shifted through the centuries by writers, television and movies and we have loved this lone bandit in all his guises. Many have cast their own vision of this solitary man and his band of few and we have on the whole have been entertained by his cause célèbre, to rob from the rich and give to the poor. Russell Crowe and his favorite director, Ridley Scott, have now cast their 21st Century vision and the only robbing of the rich in this movie was the money you plunked down to get in only to be disappointed by their counterfeit version.

Like the movie, this Robin Hood is an imposter. He is Robin Longstride who assumes the identity of one Robert of Locksley, one of King Richard the Lionheart’s chief lieutenants. The movie opens with Richard, newly back from his failed Crusade in the Holy Land, laying siege to a French castle, one that had sworn fealty to him originally, then rebelled during his absence. He is killed (historically correct) and the same fate soon befalls Locksley. Longstride, a peasant warrior in the king’s army, assumes Locksley’s identity in order to return the nobleman’s sword back to his fiefdom in England’s Sherwood Forest.

The beginning is excellent. The costumes, the customs, the village poor life are very authentic. It is the best part of the movie. You have to give Scott his due here, as a scholar and cinematographer. He is crack on exciting when he attempts to draw you into his medieval world. I got lost in the atmosphere. It was thrilling; how close it was to my imaginings of those times. Robin is adopted as the new lord of Locksley. However, it turns out this Robin is a great swordsman, a leader of vast armies, a mingler in the upper circles of noblemen and a chaste lover of Maid Marion, the wife of the dead Locksley. There is little of thievery, of the loner and skilled archer and forester at this point.

And from here on in, the legend falls apart. Instead of being in a small cast with a few men teasing and harassing forays by king’s men into his forest citadel, he leads armies, he is surrounded, crowded with warriors and fighters and horses and people. And then there is a final battle scene where Locksley and Marian bump into each other as they both fight to stave off a naval invasion by the king of France (since when did the French king invade England?).

Wait a minute. Isn’t Robin Hood about a solitary runner of the woods in an obscure part of rural England striking the cord of loyalty in the hearts of a few men who band together to fight royal persecution and tax oppression. The legend grows around this power of one because of his single-mindedness to right wrongs with the only skill he had, the longbow. The longbow for us signaled his physical and psychological commitment of his ethics and belief in justice for even the common man.

Crowe and Scott’s Robin Hood only emerges in the final five minutes of the movie when King John declares him an outlaw.

What took them so long? Do you suppose there is a sequel in Robin’s future, one that will allow them to again lift a little money from your purse? If so, let them not tax us again with a middle-aged actor, blowsy in the face who seems bored with the untruth of his betrayal of the great legend of English history.

The Robin Hood review by John Wright is based on speculations about his own Robin character who appears near the end of his novel, The Healer. Rhys of Gwent is regarded by his fellows as the best longbow man in northern Wales. My two protagonists, Haralde Longshield, a Welsh lord, and his Norman brother Riennes de Montford, come upon him poaching deer in what is the Longshield fiefdom. Rhys regards himself to be a free man, and thus adamant that he owes no tax, geld or fealty to Haralde. Haralde begs to differ and demands Rhys submit. Mischevous, cunning, Rhys continues as a runner of the woods to hunt game and feed his two children who roam the forests with him. This tug of war between Rhys and his lord Haralde contiues in the second novel, Knight Haralde, where a secret admiration one for the other begins to develop in the battle of wits between the two. Rhys in Knight Haralde convinces Haralde to hold an archery contest as entertainment for his mother's wedding, and then talks him into putting up three silver coins to invited contestants, prizes he undoutedly will win. The novel takes place following the 1066 invasion of England by William the Conqueror, who sends three powerful warrior Earls up into the Marcher border country between Wales and England to subdue Welsh rebellions.

John Wright is a retired columnist and reporter in Ontario, Canada. He lives with his wife Elaine on the Bruce Peninsula on the shores of Lake Huron.

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Have your say!  We want to hear all opinions.  Send us your review or point us to a published review we may reprint.  Send to hawthorne@nanhawthorne.com .

The New Robin Hood - What Did You Think?

Have you seen the Russell Crowe film Robin Hood yet?  Did you like it?  Was it what you expected?  Was it faithful to the era?  Was the history on track?  What did you like best and least about it?

We have invited some writers of medieval historical fiction to weigh in on the new Robin Hood.  We would love to have your reviews as well.  If you have already published one, we would like to reprint it.  If you have not and want to, just drop us a note at hawthorne@nanhawthorne.com .

You are of course welcome to post your comments here. .

My own review is forthcoming.  Hint: I liked it.  And the scene towards the end when King John is making his decree, could you hear it?  The crowd was quietly chanting, "Sequel! Sequel! Sequel!"

Please also take the poll in the sidebar.

How Does a Book Change You?

How can a book transform a reader into a new person, as so many books I have read have done? It is palpable, this change, this growth, and you know somehow at the finish of a book that there has been some molecular change in you, and that you will never be the person you were before.

Of course, in some cases a book calls to some inner being and draws it out, setting you on a path you will follow for some time, if not all your life. Though not a book, the British series, The Adventures of Robin Hood, starring Richard Greene and Alan Wheatley , accomplished my transformation when I was about six or seven years old. I don't recall any interest in the Middle Ages before that, but once I reflected in the series something elemental and part of me, I was irrevocably changed. I quite literally never was the same again. Perhaps the series did not change me but simply pulled something out, something already part of my DNA. I don't know where that would have been born, but that's a topic for anther conversation.  Somehow the influence has continued to have an impact, not only in favorite subjects, but my personality, my values. I have gone on with my life with an everpresent WWRHD? way of dealing with the world.

That series, and books like Elizabeth Linington's The Proud Man, which tuned me in as did The Fighting Prince of Donegal, a Disney movie, turned my steps, already on the road, in a particular direction, i.e. Ireland. But so many other books have had more subtle, more, shall we say, visceral effects. The one that comes to mind most forcefully for me is a relatively recently read series, Dorothy Dunnett's Lymond Chronicles. The first volume alone, The Game of Kings, left me stunned, breathless, blown away by the complexity of the main character, the emotional impact of his journey. How did it change me? It added what I might call a vivid new thread in the weave of my psyche. Just having met Lymond makes me a more richly complex person. Nor is this particular transformation complete. This book, this series will go on sculpting me anew.

I could probably more easily count the books that have not had at least some transformative impact on that weave that is the innermost me. The particular thread is different with each. Ruth Sims' The Phoenix, Brandy Purdy's The Confession of Piers Gaveston, Morgan Llywelyn's The Lion of Ireland are just three of the books where the sense of molecular shift was most pronounced. It is like having had these characters in my head and heart made me more than one person. The same goes for Sharon Kay Penman's Welsh novels, Here Be Dragons, Falls the Shadow and The Reckoning, where it feels like several souls now crowd together within me. The Heaven Tree trilogy by Edith Pargeter, though not my favorite books, had moments in them that froze me for a time.

I wish I could articulate this with more precision, but perhaps you will help me? I would like to hear from you, either directly or, preferably, in the Comments to this post, whether you have had this sense of being jarred into a new reality by certain books, and how you might express what I have tried to.

And of course, I want to hear what books did this to you, why and how.