It was a year ago on March 6^th that I drove down to Maryland to meet Tristan, the elderly, frail white shepherd I was adopting from Echo Dogs White Shepherd Rescue.   He was named Hank then, and he hadn’t had a lot of luck in his life; the evidence suggests that he was an outdoor dog for he wasn’t housebroken or neutered and panicked the first time he was taken onto a surface that wasn’t grass; he also tried to walk through a glass door in his foster family’s house.    But his luck was about to change—win the lottery kind of change.  Joan Alexander took him from a high-kill Florida shelter on his last day.   She then found a good-hearted woman named Becky Dunne who agreed to foster him.   People who are willing to foster dogs perform an invaluable service; they literally save lives by opening their homes to dogs in need, dogs like Tristan who’d probably never even been in a house before.    The sad truth is that millions of dogs and cats are euthanized every year in US shelters.  The Humane Society estimates that six to eight million dogs and cats are turned into shelters each year; the ASPCA has the numbers at five to seven million.  Both organizations say that three to four million dogs and cats are put down every year.  If not for Joan Alexander and Echo Dogs, Tristan would have been one of them.

Tristan is my third rescue shepherd.  My first was Cody, adopted from the Gloucester County shelter in 2001.   This young, intelligent, energetic dog was chained up in a back yard 24-7, and then was dumped at the shelter by his owners because they complained they “could not control him.”    Cody was my once-in-a-lifetime dog; I wrote a blog about him titled Cody after his death in March, 2010.

A few months later, I adopted Shadow from the Burlington County Animal Alliance.  Shadow was a young white shepherd who’d been brutally beaten, kicked, starved.  He was terrified when he was brought into the shelter, but when one of the shelter workers went into his cage and sat down, he crawled over and put his head in her lap.  She took him home that same day and a few weeks later I found him on the wonderful site Petfinder.com.    I called Susan the next day and six days later, he was mine.   I’d never had a dog who’d been so abused, a dog who had so little reason to trust people.  But once he realized he was safe and loved, he blossomed.  Shadow had the sweetest nature of any dog I’ve ever known.  He was so happy for the first time in his young life; shepherds are usually aloof with strangers, but Shadow channeled his inner Golden Retriever and lavished love upon every one he met.   As many of you know, I only had nine months with Shadow, for in January of last year, his tragic past caught up with him and he became quite ill.  He was diagnosed with a diaphragmatic hernia, the result of blunt force trauma; two-thirds of his liver and spleen had migrated into his chest cavity.  The vets were optimistic that it could be repaired, but it was not to be, for he developed pulmonary edema just a week after the surgery.   He was the first young dog that I’d ever lost and it was very painful.  But at least he did have nine good months in a life of much misery, and there was some comfort in that.

I found it hard to bring another dog into my home after losing Shadow, and finally decided to adopt a dog that would be difficult to place, a dog not many people would want, and that led me to nine year old Hank, half-starved when he was found, with bald patches and wobbly hind legs.    A year later my frail senior shepherd has morphed into Godzilla!  He was sixty-four pounds when I adopted him; today he is a robust ninety-four pounds.  His skimpy, scarce coat is now so plush and thick that a polar bear might well envy it.  And he found the Fountain of Youth in the Jersey Pinelands, for my vet is convinced that the Florida vet over-estimated his age because of his poor physical condition and he was actually about seven, not nine.    So Tristan has thrived in his new life and I owe it all to Joan Alexander and Echo Dogs White Shepherd Rescue.   Since most of my readers and Facebook friends are my fellow animal-lovers, I thought you would be interested in learning more about rescue work and what motivates people like Joan, whom I call, only half-in-jest, Tristan’s Echo Angel.

Joan, welcome and thank you for agreeing to this interview.   Since my readers are familiar with Tristan’s rescue—many of them followed his pilgrimage up the East Coast to his new home last March—can you tell us how you happened to hear that there was a shepherd in dire need at the Orlando shelter and your first impression of “Hank.”

Hi Sharon, thank you for hosting me and bringing the subject of rescues to your readers.  Let me first give you a little background on how the “rescue network” operates.  As you probably know, the south is well-known for our pet over-population problem and the resulting abundance of high-kill animal facilities.  Pets are often saved and transported north where the epidemic doesn’t seem to be so prevalent.  In Florida, we have a dynamic network of rescue volunteers who spend countless hours scanning pets in need and posting them throughout the network and social media to increase their exposure, and ultimately save more lives.  One lady, Ellen Manning, takes on the task of compiling the “Animals in Need” list from every central Florida animal control facility and distributes the list to every No-kill shelter in the state (and beyond).  From that list (among others), we then get to work to network each pet and get as many as possible to safety, keeping in mind we often have less than 72 hours to locate a foster, arrange to “pull” the animal, then transport it out of the facility.

“Hank’s” plea came to me in the form of an email dated February 1, 2011 titled:  “Stunning white older GSD!  Fun-loving, beautiful, spunky.  Application fell off… SOS!” For the next 3 days, dozens of emails flew back & forth – was he good with cats?  Dogs?  What was his heartworm & other medical status?   Finding a foster who could take him in on short notice prompted another dozen-plus emails before we could officially commit to pulling him out of animal control.  Hank was at Orange County Animal Services (OCAS) in Orlando, FL.  Although their “save rate” is better than some, they too are a high-kill facility especially with older, less-adoptable dogs, and Hank’s “out date” (the date on which an animal can be put down) was February 4^th.  By the night of February 3^rd, we had located a foster, and committed to picking Hank up the next day in the mid-afternoon.

OCAS is a very busy facility with people coming and going pretty much constantly.  It took a long time to finally make it to a live person to complete Hank’s release papers, only to be questioned on why I would pull such a feeble old dog when there were “so many young, playful dogs” available.  I was told they’d be putting him down in about an hour anyway, so why not choose another, more adoptable dog.  I stood my ground and requested that they release Hank so we could be on our way to his foster mom Becky.

I was instructed to go to the back of the kennels as they didn’t want Hank coming through their office… Hmmm, what’s up with that?  I drove around back and they brought him out of his kennel and started walking towards me.  I don’t know how long it had been since he’d been out, but he stopped to relieve himself and did so for over 2 minutes!  He was such a sight – I’ll never forget thinking about that original email… Beautiful?  Stunning?  Spunky?  He was nothing of the sort.  I would have to describe my first impression of him as sad, defeated, broken, and lonely.  His hind quarters were covered in feces, matted into his tail and legs.  He was missing fur on his legs, tail, and back where he obviously had some sort of skin condition, and he stunk to high heaven.  He didn’t even attempt to get into my car – his head hung low, and he was far too weak to jump.  My friend Tarina and I (holding our noses) hoisted him into the back of my SUV and drove him out of there.

Knowing we couldn’t possibly deliver a dog to a foster in this condition, we took him straight to PetCo for a much needed spa experience!  I asked Tarina to walk him inside and find a crate large enough for him while I spoke to the groomers.  Tarina led him through the automatic doors and the moment his feet hit the linoleum floor, all four legs came out from under him and he lay sprawled on his belly and wouldn’t budge.  She carried him to the welcome mat, but he had the same reaction and refused to move.  He’d obviously never set foot on anything but grass or pavement before!  The groomers at Millennia PetCo were awesome and handled him with the utmost care & dignity.  I don’t know if Hank had ever been bathed, but he really seemed to enjoy the attention.

We hoisted him back into the car and headed for Becky’s – almost 2 hours late.  After being treated with respect and receiving a little affection, what I then saw in the back of my car was a beautiful, stunning, happy, and almost spunky boy – so thankful to be out of hell’s doors and on his way to safety.  Somehow, his expression said “Thank You” and he knew he’d just been saved.

How did you first become involved in rescue work?    In addition to your volunteer work with Echo Dogs, you have established your own rescue, Catnip Trails.    Could you tell us how that came about?

I’d have to say my first rescue was a grey cat named “Charkie” when I was 4 or 5 years old.  He wandered into our yard and my mom always teased me that my first words as a toddler were “Look what I found, can I keep him?”  My family was very altruistic, and it seemed we often had stray dogs & cats that my dad brought home from work.  My mother always found them good homes and they taught me respect & love for our furry-friends.

As an adult, I have simply carried on the way of life I was taught: Always help those in need.  When I met my husband Alan – also an animal lover – we started saving strays, but rarely adopted them out.  “Rescue” back in the early 90s wasn’t what it is today!  We didn’t have the internet or networking tools we have now to connect with so many people and gain so much exposure for pets in need.  We’d adopt out those we could, and the rest have lived out their lives with us.  In the beginning, it was hard to distinguish that fine line between helping & hoarding, and honestly it took a lot of soul searching to find the happy balance and respect our own limitations.    I think everyone in rescue goes through this and has equally a hard time finding their own balance.

By the mid-to-late 90s I’d become well connected in the rescue community, and decided it was time to spread the word to others.  I wanted to help mentor new rescues, bringing the younger generation to the table to teach them how to be successful at saving lives.  I wanted to bring humane education to our schools to help reduce abuse, over-population, and the general theme of ‘discarding’ pets.  And I wanted to share my resources with pet-owners who needed help, those looking to adopt a new pet, and sadly those faced with surrendering their pet.  So, we formed Catnip Trails in 1996 as a platform to build a name that the rescue community could trust.

In 2009, we adopted two beautiful white shepherd pups from Echo Dogs White Shepherd Rescue.  Shortly thereafter, an Echo Dogs officer approached me to volunteer for them as their FL Foster Coordinator.  Since the officers are all located in northern states, and there are so many white German Shepherds in need in the south, they knew they needed some help managing the incoming dogs – and foster families in Florida.  Echo Dogs is a reputable and responsible rescue group, and I’m honored to be working with such a fine team of rescue angels.

I’d like to know more about Catnip Trails’ operation.  Can you tell us what different kinds of help you provide and how that all comes about?

With a phone number of 439-PETS, I get all sorts of calls here.  Most of the time, people call with the notion that I can dispatch a driver to pick up the pet they need to “get rid of” – for one reason or another.  Little do they realize, I’m a “one-woman show” so to speak.  Sometimes those calls have happy endings whereby the pet owner just really needed some guidance, training, and support.  That was the case with a call from a young mother that went something like this:

Caller:  I have to find a new home or shelter for my cat – it just scratched my daughter!

Me:  Really?  I’m sorry your daughter was hurt, is she bleeding?  How old is she?

Caller:  No, but she’s very upset.  She’s 7 years old.

Me:   Were you in the room when she got scratched, or do you know what happened?

Caller:  No, I was in another room, but my daughter says she was just sitting on the couch and the cat came up and just reached out and scratched her for no reason.

Me:  Hmmm, cats don’t normally scratch unless they are provoked.  They are generally very content being independent or receiving affection, but they don’t like to be taunted.  Is there any possibility that just maybe your daughter provoked a scratch?

Caller:  Well, possibly…  She does tend to taunt the cat sometimes.

Me:  Do you have any other children?

Caller:  Yes, I also have a 10 year old son.

Me:  Have your son & daughter ever disagreed, played too rough, or had a fight where one of them ended up crying?

Caller:  Yes.

Me:  Did you ever consider “getting rid of” one of them because they had a fight?

Caller:  [Laughing and a little embarrassed] Oh, I see your point.

Me:  Ask your daughter to sit on the couch and gently bring the cat to her side.  Ask her to make up with the cat and see if the two of them can be nice to each other in your presence.  This is a golden opportunity for you to teach her how to resolve conflict.  Please call me back and let me know the outcome.

She called back to thank me for being so understanding and helping her realize that maybe her daughter was being just a little dramatic.  She then thanked me for helping her keep her cat.

While that story had a good outcome, the most difficult calls are from those people who have a real crisis and re-homing their pet is inevitable.  And in this economy those calls are on the rise.  With the extreme over-crowding in no-kill shelters, often times the only answer is a local SPCA or Humane Society with an open-admission policy.  But sadly, those facilities are usually not No-Kill and cannot guarantee their pet will be safe.  If the owner has enough time to let me help, I will then get to work on creating flyers and emailing them to every vet and pet related business in the area, and will heavily network their pet on social media.  The most successful advertising we use is posting flyers at local vet’s offices.  The people who go in their doors are usually already pet owners, and/or pet lovers and often contact their vets when they’re ready for another pet.  Because these people are usually in such despair, I always provide my services for free.

Other times, I deal with irresponsible people who just want to transfer their problem to someone else without trying to find a resolution and keep their pet out of a shelter.  They are generally the people that try to emotionally blackmail me into taking their pet with, “If you don’t take it I’m going to drop it at animal control.”  I don’t take kindly to being emotionally blackmailed, and sometimes my response is not as diplomatic as I’d like.  But regardless of the issue, I always try to offer advice or resources and talk them through it with the pet’s best interest in mind.

I often feel like I’m the Pets-411 line pointing people to the resources they need, from low-cost vet care, trainers, boarding facilities, and other pet related services to shelters that may be taking in pets.  Luckily, our vet’s office takes in kittens and adopts them out for us, so I often refer people there, then urge them to get the mom cat spayed.  I sometimes even pay for the spay surgery myself to stop the cycle, and ensure they don’t call me back in 6 months with another litter.

Sadly, the one thing I hear the most is, “Thank you for taking [or returning] my call.  You are the only one who responded to me and offered me advice after leaving messages at dozens of other places.”  It’s very frustrating that people in need can’t find the resources they’re looking for or at least get a call-back.  I understand rescues are overwhelmed, I get the frustration of dealing with uncaring and irresponsible people, and I feel the despair that comes with the “job”.  But I also know that a certain percentage of these callers/e-mailers just need advice that only comes from years of networking with local resources.  So, while my family gets frustrated at the number of calls I take, or hours I spend answering emails, I find solace knowing that my time today has probably saved at least one life.

The other facet of my work with Catnip Trails comes in the form of emails.  All rescuers receive the “Weekly Animals in Need” email I referred to earlier.  These are the emails with hundreds of faces behind bars hoping their plea will be heard and someone will be out there looking for a pet with their qualities.  These are the pets that have already ended up in animal control facilities that now have approximately 3-5 days to find a rescue angel to save them.  They know it, they smell it, and they are the most grateful when rescued.  It’s usually the moms & seniors that get to my heart first.  Seems there are several “puppy brokers” out there calling themselves rescues that will sweep in to save the puppies because they are the easiest to adopt.  But they often leave the moms behind to die.  And the seniors are almost always over-looked and passed by for a younger more active dog or cat.  Their fate is often sealed the moment they cross through the intake door at these facilities.

But, as the terms “Rescue”, “No Kill”, and “Adopt” become more prevalent and accepted in our society, I see more & more advocates stepping in to help however they can.  Some angels spend their time forwarding emails, posting them on social media and contacting breed-specific rescue groups.  Others offer free transport services, some provide foster services, yet others volunteer on the front lines – at the shelters – to ease the suffering of the pets inside.  I always say it takes a village to save a homeless pet and nothing could be closer to the truth.  It’s very sad that our society has deemed “homelessness” as an illness worthy of death.  So as a member of this rescue village, I do all I can – from posting, emailing, pulling, fostering, transporting and adopting, to offering free resources & referrals to save as many lives as I can while I’m on this earth.  Everyone who contributes their time, money, and/or energy to saving a life – is part of the solution, and part of my village.

I enjoyed this interview so much that I kept throwing questions at Joan and before we knew it, we were going for a world-record-length blog.   I couldn’t bring myself to cut any of it, so I decided to make two blogs out of it; that worked well with Lionheart and A King’s Ransom, after all.   So in the next installment, Joan will tell us about her adopted animals; not surprisingly, she has a full house.    She will also relate some of her more memorable rescues and offer suggestions for what the rest of us can do to help animals in need.   Meanwhile, you can visit her website at www.catniptrails.com and Echo Dogs White Shepherd Rescue’s website at www.echodogs.org to see their pets for adoption, to read interesting articles about animals, or to donate or volunteer or just to find out more about rescue work.     In the next blog, I’ll post photos of Joan’s furry family.  But it seemed a good way to end this one with a Before and After shot of Tristan, which really shows his dramatic transformation in just a matter of months.   And without Joan, it would never have happened.

April 19, 2012

On March 13, 1194, the real King Richard reached England after his involuntary stay in Germany.  My fictional Richard has just landed.  I am happy to report that Lionheart is now in British bookshops at long last.  It is also available as an e-book.   And it looks as if Richard is going to get bragging rights over Henry again, which, if I know my Angevins, is going to tick Henry off–royally, of course.   My British publisher tells me that Lionheart debuted as #21 on the UK hardback bestseller list—sorry, Henry.

This seems like a good time to discuss a book I mentioned in the Lionheart AN.  I recommended a number of books relating to the research I did for Lionheart, primarily chronicles.   I did list several biographies, too, among them Frank McLynn’s Richard and John, published in the UK under the more memorable title Lionheart and Lackland.    I explained that I had not read the second half of the book that deals with John’s reign, but I found Richard’s section to be historically accurate.   I should have been more specific, saying that I read the portions of the book that began with Richard’s coronation.  I had not read the earlier sections as they were not relevant for my research.   Well, recently I browsed some of these chapters and I was taken aback by the very negative views he takes of both Geoffrey and Henry.    I most definitely do not agree with his conclusions about either man.   I still say read the book if you are interested in the time period, just do not accept his “take” on Geoffrey and Henry as gospel.   We know that mine is the accurate depiction, after all.  🙂

In terms of research and historical accuracy, I think the definitive biographies of Henry and Richard remain the ones written by W. Warren and John Gillingham.     There is no definitive biography of Eleanor, but there are a number of them out there, more than for her husband—sorry again, Henry.    Ralph Turner’s biography is particularly good on his analysis of the scandal in Antioch.  I highly recommend Eleanor of Aquitaine, Lord and Lady, a series of essays about our favorite queen.   The biographies by Amy Kelly and Marion Meade are beautifully written, but their views on the Courts of Love must be discounted as they are very outdated.   For some reason, biographies do not seem to have proof readers, for I am sure many of the mistakes about names are just that, errors due to fatigue or a momentary mental lapse.  For example, McLynn tells us that William Marshal’s father was named Geoffrey, not John.   I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt there.  Same for Dr. Kessler’s excellent German biography of Coeur de Lion, Richard I. Lowenherz, when she misidentifies the brothers, Lord of Gorz, whom Richard encounters on his ill-fated journey home from the Holy Land.

But I’d be the last one to lambaste someone for fumbling a name after my latest mental lapse.  I was answering a Facebook reader’s question about the name of Richard’s illegitimate son, Philip, assuring her that he was not named after the French king, Philippe Capet.  I then pointed out that Richard’s own name was not a common one in either of his parents’ families.   So far, so good.  But then I had to mention his second son, Fulk, whose existence has not been confirmed, saying that was unusual, too.   Yikes.   As my friend Chuck kindly reminded me, Fulk is an Angevin staple.  How could I have forgotten Henry’s grandfather, the fifth Fulk of that name to rule Anjou, who went on to wed the Queen of Jerusalem.  Or the notorious Fulk Nerra, who’d probably give the Demon Countess of Anjou a run for her money.   I lost track of all the penitential pilgrimages he had to make to the Holy Land, but I remain haunted by the fate of his wife, who’d been reckless enough to take a lover.  Fulk had her burned at the stake in her wedding gown.    So I cast no stones for name mishaps.

It is more difficult to explain another historian’s faux pas; he tells us that when a teenage John invaded his brother Richard’s lands in Aquitaine, he was accompanied by his brother Geoffrey, the future Archbishop of York.    Definitely the wrong Geoffrey there, sir.   I was truly taken aback by David Boyle’s speculation that Richard I could have been a secret Templar.  And I remain infuriated with the French historian Jean Flori who labeled Henry a pedophile for his alleged affair with the unhappy Alys of France.   As I’ve said repeatedly, I have no problems whatsoever if someone concludes that there was indeed an affair, for these rumors were current during their lifetimes.    I was rather disappointed, in fact, when I concluded that these rumors were political slanders put about by Henry’s multitude of foes and given some credence by his history of womanizing.   Writers crave drama the way my dogs crave liver, and what could be more dramatic than a man seducing his own son’s betrothed?    What wonderful scenes I could have written…sigh.   But no one suggested any liaison between Henry and Alys before Rosamund Clifford’s death, when Alys was in her 17^th year.   Now today an older man and a seventeen year old girl would likely stir up some disapproval, but this was the 12^th century, Monsieur Flori.   By his standards, Llywelyn Fawr would be a pedophile for wedding Joanna at age fourteen.  Now John did raise some eyebrows by bedding his twelve year old bride, Isabelle a’Angouleme, but that is another story for another time.

Okay, end of rant.   I should alert my British readers that the Lionheart Author’s Note is lengthy even by my self-indulgent standards—11 pages.   The novel itself weighs in at a brisk 600 pages.   I thought it might be fun to include physical descriptions  of my Angevins.   Here is a contemporary account of Richard’s appearance.  “He was tall, of elegant build; the color of his hair was between red and gold; his limbs were supple and straight. He had long arms suited to wielding a sword. His long legs matched the rest of his body.”
From the Itinerarium peregrinorum et gesta regis Ricardi by Richard de Templo.”

Here is one of Henry, his sire.  “He was a little over medium height, a man blessed with sound limbs and a handsome countenance, one upon whom men gazed a thousand times, yet took occassion to return. In physical capacity he was second to none, capable of any activity which another could perform, lacking no courtesy, well read to a degree both seemly and profitable, having a knowledge of all tongues spoken from the coasts of France to the river Jordan, but making use of only Latin and French.”
From De Nugis of Walter Map.

And here is a wonderfully detailed one of Henry by Peter of Blois.    “The lord king has been red-haired so far, except that the coming of old age and gray hair has altered that color somewhat. His height is medium, so that neither does he appear great among the small, nor yet does he seem small among the great. His head is spherical…his eyes are full, guileless, and dove-like when he is at peace, gleaming like fire when his temper is aroused, and in bursts of passion they flash like lightning. As to his hair he is in no danger of baldness, but his head has been closely shaved. He has a broad, square, lion-like face. Curved legs, a horseman’s shins, broad chest, and a boxer’s arms all announce him as a man strong, agile and bold… he never sits, unless riding a horse or eating… In a single day, if necessary, he can run through four or five day-marches and, thus foiling the plots of his enemies, frequently mocks their plots with surprise sudden arrivals…Always are in his hands bow, sword, spear and arrow, unless he be in council or in books.”
From the Epistolae of Peter of Blois (1070-1117)

Here is one of Geoffrey and John.    John, King of England, son of Henry II (1166-1216)
Geoffrey and John both “were of rather short stature, a little below the middle height, and for their size were well-shaped enough.”
From The Topography of Ireland by Gerald of Wales    John’s body was exhumed in 1797 and measured at five feet, six inches and half, as related by Valentine Green in The Gentleman’s Magazine, 67, pt 2, 1797.

Notice who is missing?   Yes, while they praised her great beauty, not a single medieval chronicler thought to mention the color of Eleanor’s hair or eyes.  That did not stop Frank McLynn, though, from telling us she had black hair and eyes and a voluptuous figure.  I don’t mean to pick on him, but he has strayed into the province of the historical novelist here. I can do that; so can Elizabeth Chadwick.  As novelists, we have to be able to paint a word picture for our readers.  But writers of non-fiction need to throw in a “I think” or “it is likely” before presenting their readers with such a detailed description.

However, thanks to a Saracen chronicler who actually sounds rather smitten, we do have this poetic image of Isabella, Queen of Jerusalem, an important character in Lionheart.    Isabella of Jerusalem “One of the daughters of heaven; her face, shining white, appeared like the morning in the night of her very black hair.”
From the Conqu阾e de la Syrie et de la Palestine par Saladin of Imad ad-Din al-Isfahani

And here is Richard’s nemesis, Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, the Holy Roman Emperor.  Henry VI, Holy Roman Emperor, son of Frederick Barbarossa and Beatrix of Burgundy, father of Frederick II (1165-1197)
“[His] face was pleasant but very thin, and he was only moderately tall with a slight and frail physique.”
From Burchard of Ursperg.

And while Heinrich’s son does not appear in Lionheart, his birth is dramatized in my first ever short story, so here are two remarkably contrasting views of this extraordinary man.   Frederick II, Holy Roman Emperor and king of Sicily, son of the Emperor Henry VI and Constance of Sicily, grandson of Frederick Barbarossa and Roger II of Sicily (1194-1250)
“The Emperor was covered with red hair, was bald and myopic. Had he been a slave, he would not have fetched 200 dirhams at market.”
From the Muntazam by Sibt Ibn al-Jawzi

“He could read, write, sing, and compose music and songs. He was a handsome man, well-built but of medium stature.” From the Cronica of Salimbene.

Most of the time, historical novelists have to rely upon happenstance to get a contemporary description of the people we write about.   One of my favorites comes from the chronicler who explained that when Llywelyn Fawr’s son Gruffydd attempted to escape from the Tower of London, the knotted sheets broke, plunging him to his death, because he was such a large man and had grown corpulent in captivity.   In the final analysis, though, we can only image what these historical figures actually looked like….unless they have effigies that the gifted Jude  Maris can resurrect for us.    If you have not seen her work on YouTube, you’re in for a treat.    Here is the link.   Click onto it and you will watch as Eleanor and her favorite son Richard come to life like Sleeping Beauty.   Say what you will about the Angevins, they were a very good-looking family.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvCodhi9nXU&list=UUTy1lP38Za7MgbfWsJ-2u-A&index=7&feature=plcp And   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVOFwLfchWA

For my readers who’ve already read Lionheart, thanks for indulging me in this.  For my British readers, I hope you find the Richard of Lionheart to be as surprising as I did.

March 28, 2012

This is a rather late entry about our Eleanor tour in June.  This one deals with our visit to the place where we’d be most likely to find Eleanor’s spirit — the abbey where she passed her last years, where she chose to be buried, next to her beloved son, Richard, and her beloved enemy, Henry.

ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE TOUR—NIGHT FOUR, TOUR OF FONTEVRAULT ABBEY

Fontevrault Abbey is unique, founded in 1101 by Robert d’Arbrissel, who was an anomaly in the 12^th century, for he was “committed to a new and exalted conception of the status of women;” see “Fontevraud, Dynasticism, and Eleanor of Aquitaine,” by Charles T. Wood, in my favorite book about our favorite duchess, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Lord and Lady. Fontevrault was a double monastery for both monks and nuns, and the monks were subordinated to the nuns in temporal and spiritual matters, ruled by an abbess, who was preferably a widow, not a virgin; Robert d’Arbrissel believed that his abbey could best be managed by a Martha, not a Mary. He was a very interesting figure in his own right and I think one day I’ll have to devote a blog to his unusual history.

Fontevrault encompassed four monasteries. The monks dwelled outside the walls, in St-Jean de l’Habit, the women in the other three convents. The Grand Moutier was only for virgins; the other nunneries were Sainte Benedict and the Magdelene, the latter reserved for “repentant girls” and married women, widows or not, who wanted to retire from the world. Our current hotel was the priory of St Lazarus, in which the lepers were treated. The abbess, elected for life, was always chosen from among the most noble of the nuns. There would be 36 abbesses in the years from 1101 to 1792, 14 of them of royal blood. Among them were Henry II’s aunt and first cousin; his aunt Mathilde was the widow of Henry I’s sole legitimate son, who’d gone down on the White Ship.  Eleanor’s granddaughter Alix was an abbess, too, daughter and namesake of Eleanor’s younger daughter by the French king Louis. Fontevrault was also home to some very interesting highborn ladies, including both wives of Eleanor’s grandfather, Duke William IX.

Even the notorious Bertrade de Montfort took vows at Fontevrault. The wife of Count Fulk IV of Anjou, she’d created a huge scandal by running off with the French king Philippe I, aptly known as Philippe the Amorous, grandfather of Eleanor’s ex, Louis. Philippe and Bertrade were wed, a bigamous marriage since they both had spouses, but they showed little contrition. After the Pope excommunicated the guilty lovers, Bertrade had a church door broken open when she was denied entry and forced the priest to perform Mass for her. The French king and Bertrade lived openly in sin for 16 years, once even entertaining her cuckolded husband. Fulk himself had a rather chequered marital history, wed a number of times, shedding unwanted wives like a snake shedding its skin. A chronicler said of Bertrade that no man ever praised her save for her beauty, and she seems to have exercised her charms upon Robert d’Arbrissel, for in 1114, she persuaded him to allow her to take vows at Fontevrault. A year later, she left Fontevrault to become the prioress of Our Lady of Haute Bruyere near Paris and died c. 1118, thus managing to have her cake and eat it, too, dying in God’s Grace after a life of breaking all the rules with defiant abandon. She was our Henry’s great-grandmother.

Fonvrault continued to thrive through the MA and beyond; from the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries, the abbesses were all members of the Bourbon dynasty.  King Louis XV (“after me, the deluge.”) sent four of his daughters to Fontevrault to be educated in 1738. But the French Revolution brought almost seven hundred years of history to an abrupt end; in August of 1792, an edict would evict the nuns. Fontevrault suffered the fate of many French churches; in 1793, the abbey was sacked, the tombs broken into, and many of the statues destroyed. But like Mont St Michel, Fontevrault would be saved by being converted into a prison by Napoleon Bonaparte. It would be used as one until 1962, and among its inmates was the controversial French writer, Jean Genet. The following year it was declared a historical monument and excavation and restoration began. Today Fontevrault is a tourist attraction with its beautiful buildings of a bygone age and the royal necropolis of the Angevin dynasty.

For us, the most interesting aspect of Fontevrault is the four gisants, the effigies of Henry II, his queen, Eleanor, their son Richard, and John’s queen, Isabelle d’Angouleme. Richard’s sister Joanna was also buried at Fontevrault, as was her son Raymond, the seventh Count of Toulouse, but sadly, their tombs have been destroyed. The hearts of John and his son Henry III are said to have been sent to Fontevrault for burial, too. The British government made several attempts to have the effigies transferred to Westminster Abbey, and in 1866, Napoleon III actually offered them to Queen Victoria, but he was forced to renege when the French protested. It is believed that they were originally located in the nuns’ choir, and were commissioned by Eleanor after Richard’s death at Chalus in April of 1999. The effigies of Henry and Richard were done by the same artist, Eleanor’s effigy done a few years later. They were among the  first fully sculpted, life-sized effigies of monarchs, and even in their damaged state, are remarkable works of art. There is one major difference between the gisants. Those of Henry and Richard depict them in death, laid out in their coronation regalia. Eleanor’s image shows her alive, reading a book, with what might be the hint of an enigmatic smile. Isabelle seems like the party crasher, and indeed she was, for when she died in 1246, three years after taking refuge at Fontevrault in the wake of an unsuccessful rebellion against the French king, she was buried modestly in the sale capitulaire, the burial place for the nuns. When her son, Henry III, visited the abbey in 1256, he was distressed that his mother lacked a royal tomb and commissioned a wooden effigy, requesting that she be moved into the church with his illustrious kin.

While today Fontevrault is associated with Eleanor, it was Henry who was the abbey’s most generous patron. He exempted Fontevrault from royal taxes, founded a sister house in England  as penance for the part he’d played in the murder of Thomas Becket, supported the lazar house, entrusted the nuns with the education of his children, Joanna and John, and bequeathed 2,000 silver marks to the abbey in his will. But despite the favor he’d shown Fontevrault, it was not his wish to be buried there; he’d made clear his desire to be buried at Grandmont in the diocese of Limoges. Circumstances dictated his interment at Fontevrault, for he died at Chinon in the heat of high summer and William Marshal decided it was easier to transport his body to Fontevrault.

But if Henry’s burial at the abbey was accidental, with the others it was quite deliberate.  Richard’s dying wish was that he be buried at Fontevrault, at the feet of his father; an act of contrition, perhaps? Joanna took the veil upon her deathbed, and she, too, requested burial at the abbey. Eleanor assumed this heartbreaking task, for what could be more painful for a mother than to bury her own children? In this, Eleanor was truly accursed, for she would outlive all but two of her ten children. In 1199, she pledged one hundred pounds yearly to the nuns that they might observe in perpetuity the anniversary of her death and pray for the souls of her husband Henry, her sons Hal and Richard, and her other children. Until now, she’d not favored Fontevrault as Henry had. Her first recorded gift to the abbey was not made until 1185, when she enjoyed a brief period of greater freedom. She was clearly thinking dynastically, though, and chose Fontevrault to be the Angevins’ St Denis, the necropolis of the French kings. She would spend most of her remaining years after Richard’s death at Fontevrault and, like Joanna, she would take holy vows on her deathbed. This was fashionable in the 13^th century; Llywelyn Fawr and his son Davydd also took holy vows on their deathbeds, as did William Marshal. Had John not lost Normandy and Anjou to the French king, Fontevrault may have been the burial place of English royalty, not Westminster Abbey.

I had been looking forward to our night tour of the abbey, for I’d never experienced one, always having visited Fontevrault in the off-season. I have to confess that I did not enjoy it, mainly because my back pain had flared up again. I’d also had a vision of Fontevrault bathed in silvery moonlight and it was raining. And much to my surprise, our tour guide was not very good. Her knowledge of Eleanor and the Angevins seemed superficial and, accustomed to tourists who knew even less than she did, she had no idea that she would be swimming with sharks, very polite sharks but sharks, nonetheless. We did not suffer fools gladly, not where our Eleanor and Henry were concerned, and she was gently corrected when she erred, such as when she informed us that William the Conqueror was Henry’s grandfather. I was also surprised that a floor plaque declared that Eleanor had died at Poitiers. Now it is true that there is some disagreement as to whether she died at Poitiers or Fontevrault, but I’d assumed Fontevrault’s claim would have prevailed here, of all places. We were amused to find an error in the plaque’s recounting of her history. In French, it was correctly reported that she was held prisoner by Henry for sixteen years, but the English translation reduced her long captivity to two weeks!

Despite my disappointment with such minor matters as the weather and our guide, it is impossible to enter the abbey church and not be moved at the sight of those effigies. The church itself is very beautiful, aglow with blinding white light during the day, utterly unlike the shadowy stillness to be found in most medieval churches and cathedrals. It is a memorable and fitting resting place for our Angevins, Henry and Eleanor resting side by side, enjoying for eternity the peace that so often eluded them in life.

March 22, 2012

It has been a while since I’ve had a new blog, but my Facebook friends know there were extenuating circumstances; my hip went out of alignment so far that my chiropractor had to launch a search and rescue mission to find it and my computer woes escalated to the point where I was ready to perform an exorcism upon Demon Spawn and his evil accomplices, my printers.  I am happy to report, though, that my chiropractor has been able to work his usual magic; if this man ever decides to move, I’ll just have to follow him, even if he relocates to the Falkland Islands or the arctic tundra.  And Demon Spawn finally over-reached himself, discovering that he could be replaced—in this case by a laptop as sleek and speedy as a dolphin, Melusine, named after the Demon Countess of Anjou, one of Henry II’s more interesting ancestors.  So now that life has gotten back to normal—or as normal as it ever gets for a writer—I can stop neglecting my blog.

A world without books is a frightening prospect to most of us.  But despite the gloom and doom pervading the publishing industry, I don’t think this dire prediction will ever come to pass.  Yes, there are people, probably millions of them, who go from year to year without even picking up a book, much less reading one.  That is certainly understandable when life is a daily struggle for survival, and it is a sad fact that in many parts of our world, illiteracy is the norm.  But what of those who have the opportunity to read and choose not to take advantage of it?  I confess I do not understand a choice like that, for to me, books are as essential as air to breathe, or almost so.  Books open so many doors for us.  They teach us about history and empathy and our common humanity.  They give us a blessed refuge from reality when our lives become too pain-filled or too hectic or too stressful.  They strengthen our friendships; what book lover has not wanted to share books with friends?   They offer entertainment and a way to exercise our imaginations.   They make us think.  And they help us to understand our own world and the world that has been obscured by the mists of time.   One of my favorite quotations is the following insightful observation by William Faulkner:   “The past is not dead.  It is not even past.”    But of course that would resonate with me, wouldn’t it?   I am lucky enough to be a historical novelist, after all.

Last year I was given a signal honor.  The National Public Radio asked me to choose the Five Best Historical Novels of 2011 and then to write about them.  I was delighted to have such an opportunity, although it was a challenge to narrow the field down to five.  I finally selected: Elizabeth I by Margaret George, Caleb’s Crossing by Geraldine Brooks, The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman, Death of Kings by Bernard Cornwell, and The Paris Wife by Paula McLain.  But there were other historical novels I’d read and enjoyed last year, even some that were not historical.  So….being fortunate enough to have a forum, I would like to mention some of these other books, all of which I recommend with enthusiasm.

One was a first novel, a remarkable debut by Priya Parmar, Exit the Actress.   This is a well-researched and well written novel about the most celebrated of the mistresses of King Charles II—the very appealing actress Nell Gwyn.  I confess to harboring a fondness for Charles, who seems to have had a good heart as well as an overly-active libido, more charm than the law should allow, and a sardonic sense of humor.  So I was a natural audience for Exit the Actress, perhaps predisposed to like this book.  But I think Priya did justice to Charles and Nell and the other colorful characters who inhabit her re-creation of Restoration England.  I thought this book was a delight, from first page to the last.

Another book I enjoyed last year was Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English.  As many of you know, I do not normally read other authors’ novels about the historical figures closest to my heart.  A perfect example—I have great respect for Edith Pargeter, the British author.  I think her A Bloody Field by Shrewsbury is brilliant, and I was a great fan of the mystery series she wrote under the name Ellis Peters.  But I have not read her novels about the Welsh princes, known as The Brothers of Gwynedd quartet, for I am too emotionally invested in Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Ellen de Montfort, and Davydd ap Gruffydd.  In the same way, I do not read other novels about Richard III, Henry II, and Eleanor of Aquitaine.  I made an exception, though, for Lady of the English.  Yes, it covers some of the same events that I dramatized in When Christ and His Saints Slept, but our approaches were different and I think that the two books complement each other rather than compete with each other.  It was very interesting for me to see Elizabeth’s depiction of characters I’d written about, although in almost every case, we were on the same page.  My portrayal of Stephen’s queen, Matilda, is probably more sympathetic than hers, but since the readers see Matilda only through the eyes of the empress, that makes perfect sense; she had no reason to think kindly of the usurper Stephen or his capable consort, after all.   A slight digression here as to the names, for I get asked this quite often and I am sure Elizabeth does, too.   Maude and Matilda are the same name; Maude is the vernacular, the French version, and Matilda is the Latinized form of the name.  She would have called herself Maude, but she appeared in legal documents and the Latin chronicles as Matilda.  Since she shared the name with Stephen’s queen, I chose to call her Maude and use Matilda for Stephen’s wife.    But whatever she is called, you will want to read about Elizabeth’s empress and her friend and stepmother, Adeliza, her father’s young widow, who share star billing in Lady of the Engllish.

My next recommendation is a slight departure in that it is not a historical novel.  But it is sure to interest anyone who has read The Sunne in Splendour, for Joan Szechtman has done something remarkable, something I could not do—she managed to give Richard III a happy ending.  She does this by transporting Richard from the battle at Bosworth Field just before he dies and bringing him to our time.  The novel is called This Time and is a clever, imaginative depiction of how it would be for a medieval man to find himself in a world foreign to him in every aspect.  Talk about culture shock!   And for those who read This Time and enjoy Richard’s foray into the twenty-first century, I have good news.  Joan has written a sequel, Loyalty Binds Me.  My killer deadline for A King’s Ransom has kept me from reading it yet, but I have no doubt that it will be as entertaining as This Time.

Other books that I read in the past year that I enjoyed include The Confessions of Catherine de Medici by C.W. Gortner and his mystery, The Tudor Secret.  Catherine de Medici is one of history’s more controversial queens, but she emerges as a believable flesh-and-blood woman in Christopher’s novel and his research revealed some surprising things about her; who would have guessed that she was so far ahead of her time in her concern for animals?  And his depiction of the infamous St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre is riveting.  As an added bonus, he gives us one of my favorite French kings, Henri IV of Navarre, who realistically if cynically disavowed his Protestant faith to gain a crown, saying “Paris is worth a Mass.”

In previous blogs, I’ve praised Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon series, which I devoured after I was drawn in by Death of Kings, and George R.R. Martin’s Ice and Fire series, which captivated me after I watched HBO’s  Game of Thrones.  Margaret Frazer had a new mystery, A Play of Heresy, published in December, starring her clever, laid-back, and charming player-spy, Joliffe.   In an earlier blog, Hide Your Wallets and Checkbooks, I praised Priscilla Royal’s excellent medieval mystery series set in 13^th century England; her eighth book, A Killing Season, had just come out and I wanted to share my impressions with my readers.  I want to mention her novels again for the benefit of those who did not read my earlier blog.  And for a change of pace that takes us away from the past into the present, I am a huge fan of Dana Stabenow’s Kate Shugak Alaskan mysteries and cannot recommend them highly enough.  Her latest, Restless in the Grave, is fun to read from the first page to the last, and often had laugh-out-loud moments, which aren’t always found in mysteries.

Well, now that I have—I hope—added to your TBR piles of books, it is only fair that you get to make recommendations of your own.  So I’d love to hear your views of books you’ve read recently and why you enjoyed them.  I’m sure I am forgetting several that I also liked this past year, but I have a stack of research books about medieval Germany on the floor and I’ve noticed that Holly, my little spaniel, has been eying them with too much interest.  She is usually good about confining her chewing to her own toys, but she does seem to think that anything left on the floor is fair game, so this is probably a good time to wrap this up.  I will be waiting with interest to see which books you all recommend.  We already know you guys have great taste in novels, for you like mine!

February 26, 2012

For years, friends told me I must read George R.R. Martin’s Ice and Fire series, which is loosely based upon a subject close to my heart, the Wars of the Roses.  I trusted my friends’ judgment, but I have never been drawn to fantasy; more to the point, I already had a TBR pile that rivaled the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  If I hadn’t already had bumper stickers on my car for the University of Texas, the Philadelphia Eagles, Wales, and German shepherds, I’d have added one that said, “So many books, so little time.”

But then HBO launched its series, Game of Thrones, and I knew I had to watch it, for it starred Sean Bean, and I’d follow him anywhere.  Well, I was hooked from the first episode.  So naturally then I had to read the books, for it has been my experience that no matter how good a film is, the book is always better.  Real life then screeched to a halt as I caught up with George Martin’s millions of devoted readers.  It is an amazing series, one I highly recommend.  Yes, it is technically fantasy, but it is rooted in a gritty, medieval reality and that makes all the difference.  Also, I love the dragons and the dyrewolves.

It is fun trying to match Martin’s characters with the people who may or may not be their real-life counterparts.  A few seem easy.  Robert Baratheon is clearly Edward IV.  Queen Cersei has to be Elizabeth Woodville, and Joffrey Baratheon is an unkind version of the uncrowned Edward V.   And I think Ned Stark is Richard III, although some of my friends disagree with me on this one.   After that, all bets are off.  Is Jon Snow meant to be Henry Tudor?   (I hope not, for I really like Jon!)   The dragon queen, Daenerys?   Does she represent the deposed House of Lancaster?    Or is she Elizabeth of York?  Only George Martin knows.  Then, too, the Wars of the Roses was the launching pad for the series, but he is lucky enough to control the destinies of his people and so he can send them down any road he chooses.  Do I ever envy him that freedom!  I’d have let Richard III win the battle at Bosworth Field, and sent Henry Tudor off to the Mediterranean as a galley slave.

One caution for new readers.  He believes in Tough Love.  He literally has a cast of thousands, with five books done in a projected seven book series, each one heavy enough to serve as a door stop in a pinch.  And when a character reappears after a long absence, he does not offer any clues or hints to jog a reader’s memory.  It’s sink or swim!   Thank-fully, he does provide a detailed genealogy for each House of the Seven Kingdoms.   And the sweep of the story line is so powerful that it carries the readers along like twigs in a flood-tide, too caught up in the action to fret because they can’t quite remember which one of the despicable Freys has just surfaced.

Why do I like this series so much?   I think it is because he has created such three-dimensional, nuanced, memorable characters.  We care about their fates, want the ones we like to prevail and want the evil ones to pay for their often unforgivable sins.  My own favorite is Cersei’s brother Tyrion, AKA the Imp, brilliantly portrayed by Peter Dinklage in the HBO series, winner of a Golden Globe for his riveting performance.  After Tyrion, I guess I’d choose Jon Snow and Daenerys.   So….my fellow Martin addicts, name your own favorites!

There was one great advantage in coming so late to the party.  The fifth book in the series, A Dance with Dragons, was published in July, after an agonizing six year wait for Martin’s fans….six years!   But party crashers like me only had to wait a few months.  Now, of course, the countdown begins for Book Six., The Winds of Winter.  To read an excerpt, click here.  http://georgerrmartin.com/if-sample.html

I had a similar experience later in the year, finding a treasure trove long after others had discovered its riches.   When the National Public Radio asked me to write about the Five Best Historical Novels of 2011, one of the books I selected was Bernard Cornwell’s new one, Death of Kings.  I am a great fan of his writing; I loved Agincourt and his Sharpe series, set during the Peninsular Wars between Napoleon and the English.  I don’t think there is another writer on the planet who can match Cornwell’s battle scenes, and I have a bit of experience myself in that area, the Middle Ages not being fertile ground for pacifists.  But I defer to the master here; whether he is describing a battle in 19^th century Spain, one in 15^th century France, or 9^th century England, he will have readers smelling the gun smoke, hearing the twang of arrows and the clash of swords.  They’ll be half expecting to see blood seeping onto the page!

A possible problem with Death of Kings was that I had not read the first five books in Cornwell’s Saxon Series, and in order to choose it for the NPR assignment, I had to be sure that it could be read as a stand-alone novel.   Since I was not familiar with the earlier books, I was the ideal guinea pig, and within half a dozen pages, I could e-mail the people at NPR and assure them that Death of Kings was a perfect choice.  I then plunged happily back into the novel, marveling all the while how I had somehow missed these books.  After I’d finished Death of Kings and written about it for NPR, I ordered the five earlier books in the series, and once again real life came to a screeching halt while I followed the adventures of Uthred, the Saxon youth captured by the Danes, which would make him a man able to move easily between the two worlds but never fully at home in either one.  I’d never done much reading about this period in English history, so it was fascinating and surprising to discover how close the Danes came to winning their war with Alfred, the only English king to be called The Great.   Think how different British history would have been if Alfred had not prevailed.  Maybe we’d be speaking Danish today!   Of course that would also mean no Plantagenets, and without Richard III to write about, I’d probably have been doomed to keep practicing law.  So, thank you, Alfred; I owe you one.

I found Uthred to be a wonderful character: bold, courageous, clever, sardonic, stubborn, with just enough dark corners in his soul to be truly interesting.  It was fascinating to see Christianity in its early stages, viewed through the cynical eyes of Uthred, who’d been raised as a Dane and taught to worship their gods.   He is easily my favorite of the characters given life by Bernard Cornwell, and that even includes Richard Sharpe.   The Saxon series also features some very strong women, not always present in earlier Cornwell books, and the secondary characters are born scene-stealers, while the action is adrenalin-fueled, and he outdoes himself in Uthred’s battles, which are his best ever– high praise, indeed.

Just as I felt the need to alert readers about George Martin’s cast of thousands, there is something I think I should mention for those readers unfamiliar with Cornwell’s Saxon series.  He is a very honest writer.  In other words, he anchors his people firmly in 9^th century England.  They are very much men and women of that distant age, and they often do things that will jar modern sensibilities.   Some writers try to soften the hard edges of historical reality; you can find novels in which southern slave owners are secret abolitionists at heart and medieval women are all feminists and religious tolerance flourishes at a time when people of all faiths were utterly convinced theirs was the one true god.    That is not the road you’ll travel in a Bernard Cornwell novel.  Readers will not like the way Alfred’s daughter is treated by the men in her life.  They may not like entering a world in which human life is held so cheaply.  I know some of them will hate what happens to Ragnar’s stallion and Uthred’s dog.  And others might not like Uthred’s caustic opinions about priests and the new religion of the Christians.   He is a pagan, proudly so, even though he realizes that the ancient Danish gods are not going to win this war.     So a reader must be willing to accept Uthred on his own terms, willing not to judge the past by the standards of our present.

Just as with the Ice and Fire series, I was fortunate in coming late to Cornwell’s party.   Others had to wait between books.  I had the luxury of finishing one novel and then picking up the next one.  For a reader, it does not get much better than that.   Now I can only hope that both men are living like monks, chained to their computers, doing nothing but work on the next volumes.

Thanks to one of my Facebook friends, I recently came upon a very interesting interview of Bernard Cornwell by George R. R. Martin.  Not surprisingly, they are fans of each other’s work.   I can’t think of a better way to end this blog, therefore, than to provide the link to their interview.    http://www.georgerrmartin.com/news.html

January 20, 2012

I am pleased to announce that the winner of my Lionheart drawing was Johnny Pez.   I’ll do another drawing in coming months, so you’ll all have a chance to win again.  I’d like to thank everyone who entered the drawing for the lovely comments posted about my writing.  Writing is a strange profession in many ways.  It is sadly, a solitary one, and it is subjective, which can be difficult for writers to accept.  We naturally want every living soul on the planet to love our books.   All writers suffer through dry stretches, those barren patches when inspiration has shriveled and confidence has withered and I find myself wondering if I can write a shopping list, much less another five hundred page novel.   But because I am fortunate enough to get such generous and eloquent feedback from my readers on my blog and Facebook pages, I don’t listen to those insidious inner voices, and the holiday season seems a good time to thank you all for that.

For those who haven’t been by my Facebook page recently, I am delighted to report that I adopted a cocker spaniel or spaniel mix last week.  She was listed on Petfinder as a poodle-spaniel cross, although the rescue later told me they thought she is a purebred cocker spaniel.  I have my doubts, for she is much smaller than the spaniels I’ve seen.  She is, however, sweet and loving and playful, and if there were a contest for World’s Cutest Dog, she’d be a shoo-in.   I was looking for a companion dog for Tristan, my shepherd, as he got along very well with my poodle, Chelsea.   But he surprised me by showing some ambivalence toward his new roommate.  Holly would come over and lie down beside him and he’d get up and stalk away like a crotchety old uncle irked at having to babysit.  She did not give up, though, and she is winning him over.   I caught them playing together yesterday, and he has been sharing his toys with her, even his beloved stuffed duck.

I have a number of blogs planned for the coming year.  I’d like to do one for those who’ve read Lionheart, as not even an eleven page AN could cover all that I’d like to share with my readers—more assurances that the most improbable events come from the crusader and Saracen chronicles, information about the fate of some of the minor characters, those who cannot be googled.   I still have three blogs left to do about the Eleanor of Aquitaine Tour in June.   I plan to do one about rescue groups and the remarkable work they do.  I was permitted to select only five books when the National Public Radio asked me to write about the Best Historical Novels of 2011, and there are others worthy of mention, too, so that will be another blog.   I hope to do interviews with writers I admire and to call my readers’ attention to websites sure to appeal to those who love books and history.    I want to do blogs about two remarkable series—George R.R. Martin’s Ice and Fire series and Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon series.   And I also would like to do occasional updates about the progress of A King’s Ransom—or the lack thereof.   So far Coeur de Lion is being unusually cooperative for an Angevin, but in dealing with the Devil’s Brood, I never know how long that will last.

I want to mention, too, that I have updated my website recently, and it now has links to many of the interviews I did for Lionheart; there are also links to reviews of the book, and no, I did not include the one relatively unfavorable one, not being a masochist.  I’ve added new writers and websites to the My Favorites section, as well, and have expanded my Medieval Mishaps section, in which I confess to mistakes that have infiltrated my books, including one so mind-boggling to me that I did a Mea Culpa for it in the Lionheart AN even though the error itself occurred in The Reckoning.    I have not yet added the link to the interview I did for NPR, but here is the link to their website and my piece about the Best Historical Novels of 2011.  http://www.npr.org/2011/12/24/143149380/a-passion-for-the-past-2011s-best-historical-fiction And as my Facebook friends know, I have actually managed to write a short story, proving that the Age of Miracles is not dead. It features Constance de Hauteville, unhappy wife of Richard I’s nemesis, Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, the Holy Roman Emperor who could have taught Colombian drug lords something about abduction and extortion.  Lionheart readers will have met Constance with Eleanor at Lodi, where she performs a kindness for Berengaria.  Her story will appear in the upcoming anthology by George R.R. Martin and Gardner Dozois, Dangerous Women.

I want to close with something that one of my friends posted on my Facebook page. I added it to the comments section of the last blog, but I know not everyone reads through them all, so here it is again:  “If I make it to Heaven, I’m asking Richard III if he knows what happened to his nephews.  If I don’t make it to Heaven, I’ll ask Henry Tudor.”

I haven’t had a chance yet to take some photos of Holly, but I do have a beautiful one of Tristan to share, taken by the photographer for the Atlantic City Press to accompany an interview they did with me about Lionheart.    I think he looks very regal, not at all like the dog that came so close to death in that Florida shelter.  Thanks again to Joan, his savior, and Becky, his foster mom, and all those wonderful Echo volunteers who drove him up the East Coast to his new home and new life, his pilgrimage described so aptly by my friend Glenne as “like the passing of the Olympic Torch.”

All good wishes for a happy and safe New Year’s Eve.  Let’s hope that the New Year will be a better one for us all.

December 28, 2011

As promised, I am holding a drawing for a signed hardback copy of Lionheart.  Any one who leaves a comment on this blog will be eligible to win.  I usually keep the drawing open for two weeks, but this one may run longer as we all get caught up in the holiday hoopla.

First, quick updates.  I have been assured by my publisher that the Lionheart audio book will be available within the coming week.  Here is the link for anyone who’d like to listen to Emily Gray, the woman who’ll be doing the reading. http://www.audiofilemagazine.com/gvpages/a1571.shtml Lionheart will also be available in large print, although I don’t have the date for that yet.  It is now available as a trade paperback Down Under and should be available as an e-book there very soon.  As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, it will be published as a hardback in the U.K. next April.   And I am very happy to report that the American edition is in its third printing.

Okay, now on to other issues.  National Public Radio asked me to do a brief article on the Best Historical Novels of 2011, which ought to be up on their website http://www.npr.org/ in early December.  And I had fun doing a slideshow for the Huffington Post about New Jersey writers.  Here is the link, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/sharon-kay-penman/12-authors-you-didnt-know_b_1108262.html I was surprised that so many renowned writers were born and bred in New Jersey, which is often an object of ridicule for the rest of the country.   I’d originally created seven categories:  Those Fluent in Sarcasm, Trail Blazers, Historical Novelists, Poets, Miscellaneous, Writers We Stole from NYC, and Newark, which unexpectedly emerged as a literary Eden.  The powers-that-be at the Huffington Post asked me to trim it back, and we eventually ended up with twelve slideshows, one for each of the following New Jersey stars:   Norman Mailer, Dorothy Parker, Phillip Roth, Janet Evanovich, George R.R. Martin, Stephen Crane, James Fenimore Cooper, Allen Ginsberg, Judy Blume, Harlan Coben, and two we “borrowed” from NYC, Jon Stewart and Peter Benchley.  I was able to praise the Ice and Fire series, explain that Jaws was actually based upon a horrific series of attacks off the Jersey coast by a Great White shark in 1916, and showcase my favorite Dorothy Parker quote; she was once challenged at a dinner party to use “horticulture” in a sentence, and without pausing for breath, she purred, “You can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think.”   Another Parker response I like is when she was sitting morosely at a bar and when the bartender asked, “What are you having?”, she sighed, “Not much fun.”

But there were a number of other gifted New Jersey writers who didn’t make the final cut simply because the Slideshow space was limited.  I felt badly that I couldn’t even mention them.  Fortunately, I have a blog.

So…in addition to the above-named dazzling dozen, New Jersey can boast the following native-born sons and daughters:

1) Fran Liebowitz–writer, columnist, and social critic, known for her acerbic wit and one of the world’s worst cases of Writer’s Block, as she has been working on one novel for decades.

2) Gay Talese–writer, reporter, essayist, noted for what is often called the New Journalism.

3) Robin Maxwell, novelist, screenwriter, and blogger.  Among her novels are The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn, and her most recent work, O Juliet, an imaginative retelling of the story of Shakespeare’s doomed lovers; she is currently working on a novel about Tarzan and Jane.

4) C.K. Williams, acclaimed poet and Pulitzer Prize winner.

5) Amiri Baraki—poet, novelist, dramatist, essayist, teacher, often embroiled in controversy, a former Poet Laureate of NJ.

6) Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)—journalist, poet, critic, editor, best known today for the poem so many children have memorized as a class assignment, Trees; he died in WWI at the Second Battle of the Marne.

7) William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)—a major American poet, novelist, essayist, and physician, mentor to Allen Ginsberg, Pulitzer Prize winner, and member of the New Jersey Hall of Fame.  (Yes, we have one!)

8) Anne Morrow Lindbergh (1906-2001)—author and aviator, best known for Gift From the Sea, probably better known to the general public as the wife of Charles Lindbergh.

9) John Angus McPhee—author, staff writer for the New Yorker, Princeton professor, Pulitzer Prize winner.

10) Jacqueline Friedrich, a writer who focuses on a subject dear to my heart—wine; check out her blog, The Wine Humanist. http://www.jacquelinefriedrich.com/

11) Albert Payson Terhune (1872-1942)—author of the collies of Sunnybank books; his Lad was almost as beloved in his time as Lassie.  I’d originally put Terhune in the Newark slideshow, although I wasn’t sure he belonged there.  Wikipedia says he was born in Newark, but I couldn’t confirm it.  While I loved his books as a child, when I reread them years later, I was startled by his casual bias against those not of his “class.”  He was a believer in bloodlines—for dogs and people—and scornful of those he considered members of the lower order: immigrants, laborers, people of color, dogs that were not purebred.  So it appealed to me to think of this aristocratic, rather pompous man being born in a gritty, blue-collar city like Newark.  (The other writers able to claim Newark as their hometown are Harlan Coben, Stephen Crane, Allen Ginsberg, Phillip Roth, C.K. Williams, and Amiri Baraki.)

We were having a lively discussion on my Facebook page recently about “celebrity” authors, people who are famous for being famous, and then parlay their notoriety into book deals.  It was triggered by my discovery that a novel written by the Kardashian sisters (Kim, Kloe, and Kourtney), about three high-profile sisters named Kamille, Kassidy, and Kyle, is on the Publishers Weekly bestseller list.  One of my readers then suggested, tongue firmly in cheek, that we add Snookie from Jersey Shore to the list of NJ writers for her novel, It’s a Jersey Thing, in which she becomes a local celebrity after she—according to the book description—nearly burns down her rented bungalow, invents “tan-tags” (don’t even ask) and rescues a shark.  I confess I was almost tempted to read about the shark rescue.  But I decided Snookie didn’t make the cut.  To borrow Voltaire’s comment that the Holy Roman Empire was neither holy nor Roman nor an empire, Snookie is not a writer and I don’t think she is even from New Jersey.

Since this blog began with Lionheart, it seems right to end it with A King’s Ransom.  Some of my readers have asked for reports on its progress—or the lack thereof.   Well, I have just finished a chapter in which Richard was shipwrecked twice, so he is not in the best of moods.   I am putting up photos of the site of his first shipwreck—the island of Lokrum, one-half mile from Dubrovnik; in Richard’s time, they were known as La Croma and Ragusa.  In Lionheart, Eleanor crossed the Alps at Mont Genevre, which is today a posh ski resort, and I wondered what she’d make of that.  Well, the place where Richard came ashore on Lokrum is now a celebrated nudist beach!   The chapter ends with the second shipwreck, where they find themselves in a desolate, barren, deserted marsh, and Richard speaks for them all when he says, “Where in God’s Holy Name are we?”

In case I don’t get another blog up before Christmas, I want to wish everyone the best of holidays.  Let’s hope the New Year is a better one for us all, especially Mother Earth.

December 2, 2011

Yes, it is that time again—when I seek to take as many of you into book bankruptcy with me as I can.  So it may be better for your budgets to give this blog a pass.   It is just that when I find a book I really enjoy, I want to share it with the world.   For some books, I am hard put not to stop strangers on the street.  So, my fellow book-lovers, this is for you. But keep in mind that bookstores are not your only option; most of us live in towns that thankfully have libraries.

One benefit of my Lionheart book tour was that I finally had some time for pleasure reading; what else was I going to do at 30,000 feet?   I’ve already blogged about one of my book tour finds, Alice Hoffman’s The Dovekeepers.   I was also able to plunge into the world of thirteenth century England, courtesy of Priscilla Royal’s new mystery, A Killing Season.   In the interest of full disclosure, Priscilla is a friend.  But I would not recommend her books if I did not enjoy them thoroughly.    I think most writers worry when we are sent a writer friend’s new book, for what do we do if we don’t like it?   Since I wouldn’t want to be publicly critical of a friend’s book, I would have to find a way to dodge the bullet if asked outright.   Luckily, I’ve been spared such awkwardness, for my writer friends are very good at what they do!

A Killing Season is the eighth book in this successful series, set in England during the years after the battle of Evesham.  Edward I is now king, although he has yet to make an appearance in any of the books.  Like the Brother Cadfael mysteries by Ellis Peters and the Dame Frevisse mysteries by Margaret Frazer, Priscilla’s series revolves around a monastery, Tyndal Priory, one of the daughter houses of Fontevrault, set near Norwich.   The highborn and prideful prioress, Eleanor, rules over a community of nuns and monks, and shares star billing in the novels with Brother Thomas, who was compelled to take holy vows in the wake of a scandal that almost destroyed him.  Thomas is a fascinating creation, for it is rare to discuss sexuality in novels set in the Middle Ages.   But what of those men and women who could not conform, whose natural urges ran counter to the teachings of the Holy Church?   How did they cope in a world that showed them neither understanding nor mercy, a world in which they themselves believed they were sinners, most likely doomed to eternal hellfire?      With a deft touch, Priscilla shows us Thomas’s inner anguish of spirit as he struggles to honor the vows he’d not wanted to take and forges a close bond with Eleanor and the others who share his new world.   Oh, yes, and she writes corking good mysteries, too!   Eleanor and Thomas, like Brother Cadfael and Dame Frevisse, keep stumbling over bodies; who knew medieval monasteries were such hotbeds of crime?

In A Killing Season, the action  shifts to a haunted castle, perched at the back of beyond, where the sons of a newly returned crusader are being struck down under bizarre circumstances.  The lord of the castle is a friend of Eleanor’s brother, and responding to his plea for help, they find themselves in a harsh landscape where everything is suspect and nothing is as it seems.  Readers will be caught up in the action from the first pages, when Eleanor and Thomas arrive at the windswept, isolated fortress in time to witness a truly shocking death.   My only complaint with the book was that I had to keep closing it every time my plane landed and then I couldn’t start reading again until I was back in my hotel room much later that evening.

It may be unfair to recommend this next book, for it will not be available to us until next year.  But what I read of it was so spectacular that I have to share my enthusiasm.  My readers know I really liked Mary Sharratt’s novel, The Daughters of Witching Hill,  based upon an actual witchcraft trial in 17^th century England.   Mary’s new novel, Illuminations, takes us back to the 12^th century and introduces us to one of the most remarkable, enigmatic, and famous women of the Middle Ages, the German abbess, writer, composer, visionary, and mystic, Hildegard of Bingen.   It is very challenging to write of someone like Hildegard, one reason why I was never tempted to take on Joan of Arc!   But Mary was up to the challenge, and she has written a book that I think my readers will find as fascinating as I did.

For a total change of pace, I’d like to recommend Until Tuesday, by Luis Carlos Montalvan, a former army captain, who served two tours of duty in Iraq, won two Bronze Stars and the Purple Heart, and came home shattered in body and spirit.   What saved him was a service dog, a golden retriever named Tuesday.   The author writes movingly of the bond that develops between him and his dog, but what I found even more compelling and disturbing was his account of what it is like to deal with an often indifferent world while suffering from PTSD and physical injuries that will never fully heal.  It is a troubling and often infuriating story, for we owe our returning soldiers better than this.  Thank God for programs that provide service dogs like Tuesday; these animals are angels without wings for so many soldiers…and for others with disabilities, too.  Dogs truly are humankind’s best friends, and all they ask is a little love…and some juicy treats like hamburger every now and then.  Captain Montalvan believes that Tuesday was his salvation; read Until Tuesday and I think you’ll agree with him.

Now I have some interesting tour news.  I’ve mentioned before that plans are in the works for Academic Travel (my Eleanor tour company) to do a William Marshal tour with Elizabeth Chadwick and a Tudor tour with Margaret George.   Many of my readers share my appreciation for the novels of C.W. Gortner.  So I am very happy to announce that Academic Travel and Christopher are considering two possible tours, one to Spain, the site of his excellent The Last Queen, or one to France to visit the places associated with the controversial French queen who is the subject of another of Christopher’s books that I recommend, The Confessions of Catherine de Medici.    As Academic did with my tour, they are asking for feedback and input from people who might be interested in going on one of these tours.  You can respond to their survey here.   http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/WEB22DSXYCVG4A

I was hesitant about mentioning this last item, for I’ve never asked my readers to rally round one of my books, to post reviews on Amazon, etc; I just didn’t feel comfortable doing that.  But Coeur de Lion has no such qualms.   Kings are rarely shrinking violets, after all, especially when we’re dealing with those pushy Angevins.   So I am bowing to his royal will and revealing that Lionheart is one of the semi-finalists in the 2011 Goodreads Choice Award for historical fiction.  It is even harder for me to urge people to vote for Lionheart because there are some wonderful books on the list.  But I am feeling you-know-who’s hot breath on the back of my neck and so here are the details.  The voting started November 1^st and continues until November 30^th.   I feel honored that Goodreads readers have deemed Lionheart worthy of inclusion; Richard takes it as his just due, of course.   Here is the link to the site where readers can vote for the book of their choice.  http://www.goodreads.com/award/choice/2011#56595-Best-Historical-Fiction It is also a good place to find new books to read—just in case you have any money left after being bombarded with my recommendations all year long.

November 16, 2011

First of all, I’d like to announce the winner of the second Devil’s Brood book giveaway that I ran on the Richard and Ragusa blog.  The winner is Karen Johnson, and I will mail it to you, Karen, as soon as I get your address.   I will do a Lionheart book giveaway before the end of the year, so stay tuned.

I have updated my website, although my webmaster has not added the new material yet.  I will have a section for Lionheart interviews and reviews, which I will probably put up as a blog, too, to make it easier to find.  I’ve added to the writers I recommend, to my favorite websites and blogs, research recommendations, and my Medieval Mishaps.

The book tour was wonderful, if tiring, since I was in a different state each night.  I don’t have as much energy as I once had, especially now that I am what the French so delicately call “a woman of a certain age.”  But adrenalin can compensate for sleep, at least in the short run.    What I enjoyed the most was getting to see old friends in several cities and to meet so many of my Facebook friends.

At my first stop, the Chester County Books in Westchester, PA, I was delighted to have a brief reunion with several members of my Eleanor Tour, including Emilie, who flew in from Canada.  I’ve talked about how much I enjoyed that tour, but the best of it was that I came home with so many new friends.  Elizabeth Chadwick is doing a William Marshal tour next September and Margaret George will be doing a Tudor tour for Elizabeth and Henry VIII, and I hope they are half as lucky as I was, for I found 36 kindred spirits, and how rare is that?

From Westchester, I went to Cincinnati, home of one of my all-time favorite interviewers, Mark DeWitt of Cover to Cover, on WRRS-FM; if any of my readers live close enough to catch Mark’s show, I am so envious!   I also got to spend a little time with good friends I hadn’t seen in years, and that evening I had an event at Joseph-Beth Booksellers, which is one of my favorite bookstores.   One of my readers drove all the way from Memphis, over eight hours, and when Michael Link, the manager of the store, heard that, he gallantly presented her with a tee-shirt for her loyalty.   The next day I was at Schuler Books in Lansing, Michigan, and had a very interesting discussion about animal rescue before the reading.  On Friday, October 7^th, I was still in Michigan, but this time in Ann Arbor, home to another bookstore I love, Nicola’s Books.  Here I ran into the only glitch on the trip, when the hotel did not have room service in the afternoon.  Writers depend upon room service to keep us from starving when we are on the road, as meals are never scheduled as part of the itinerary, and it is not that unusual to have nothing to eat all day after an early morning, hurried breakfast.  Fortunately, I was meeting old friends before the reading, and so they swept in like the cavalry and took me off for a hasty, late lunch.  I live in a county that now has no full-service bookstores since Borders closed; we hadn’t had an independent bookstore here for over twenty years.   So when I am doing book tours, I find myself envying readers able to visit bookstores like Nicola’s any time they like; I hope you realize how lucky you are!   Ann Arbor is also where Tristan was given a toy that he loves almost as much as his stuffed duck; photo on Facebook for the curious.

When I said there’d been only one “glitch” on the tour, that wasn’t quite accurate.  There was actually a major snafu, thanks to Facebook.  It began in Philadelphia, when Facebook declared that it did not recognize my netbook, the same one I’d used in France and at home this summer.  I was told I needed to answer security questions to have my account unlocked.  I was willing to do that—until I saw what they were demanding, that I identify five pages of photographs of my Facebook friends.  Since I had close to 2,400 Facebook friends at the time, the vast majority of whom I’ve never met, I couldn’t have met that challenge with some personal help from Merlin.  To add insult to injury, Facebook’s alternative was a snarky comment that if I could not identify the photos, I should log on with a computer they could recognize.  If any of you heard a primal scream of frustration wafting across the country, now you know the source.  For four days, Facebook exiled me to Siberia, and then, suddenly and without explanation, they allowed me to access my account in Texas.  That lasted just one day, for as soon as I crossed into Arizona, I was back in purgatory again.  If you all will indulge a mini-rant, this photo identity idea is beyond stupid.   Many Facebook users “friend” people they have never met, especially for business purposes.  Moreover, I’d wager that some of us would have trouble identifying flesh-and-blood friends since many use photos of their children or pets as their Facebook I.D.   When I got home, I was not happy to discover that apparently there is no way to contact Facebook directly; their Help Center only offers forums, no phone numbers or e-mail addresses. It is like dealing with the C.I.A. M-5, or Mossad.   So short of hiring a plane to sky-write over Mark Zuckerberg’s mansion, I am not sure how to communicate my complaint.  Suggestions welcome.

Murder by the Book in Houston is a wonderful bookstore; I love to come there.  We had a good turnout, I got to meet several of my Facebook friends, and learned how Texans pronounce Palestine.  (I’ve always been interested in regional flavors; when I lived in the French Quarter years ago, my apartment was on Burgundy Street, which they pronounced with the accent on the second syllable.)   I can recommend a nice restaurant, too, that is not far from the bookstore, the Raven Grill, where I was able to have dinner with friends afterward; this free time was a rare treat, made possible by the fact that the reading was an afternoon event.

Returning to the Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale, Arizona is always like a homecoming.  While I was very sorry to miss seeing Barbara and Rob, the owners, who were out of the country, I was grateful to Diana Gabaldon for offering to host the event in their absence.  We had another long-distance reader for this signing, who flew in from Atlanta, saying that Diana and I were her two favorite authors and she wasn’t going to miss it.   I got to meet quite a few Facebook friends here, and because it was an afternoon signing, too, I had more time to chat with people afterward, which meant a lot to me.   Sadly, the reality of an ungodly early flight the next morning kept me for being able to have dinner with a friend; maybe next time, Christy?   But I was able to extract some information from Diana about her new book, The Scottish Prisoner, due out next month.  This is one in which Lord John will share star billing with Jamie, as it takes place in 1760.   For anyone who has not read Diana’s Outlander series, you’ve been missing a lot.  But on the other hand, you’ve been spared the interminable wait between her books, just as by coming so late to George R.R. Martin’s Ice and Fire party, I missed fuming and fidgeting for five years as his readers yearned for A Dance with Dragons to be published.    It is such a lovely feeling to discover a writer, become smitten, and then find out that this new love is a prolific one, with many backlist books waiting to be read.

The next day, I was in St Louis for a reading sponsored by Left Bank Books and the St Louis County Library.  Another very good turnout, and—drum roll here—new readers, people who confided to me afterward that they’d never read one of my books but were going to remedy that with Lionheart.  I also got to chat with several of my Facebook friends, which made the evening special for me. This was my first visit to St Louis, and of course I never got to see any of the city, but at least I got a glimpse of their famous arch and my hotel offered a dramatic view of the Mississippi.

I then got to come home for several days, and on Saturday, the 15^th of October, the tour ended at one of Barnes and Noble’s flagships in Princeton, NJ.  This is a remarkable store, so well stocked and well organized.   Because it was an afternoon event and I arrived early, I had more time than usual to chat with the audience, so it was a perfect way to end the tour.  Again, I was taken aback by the distances some of my readers had come: a couple from Rhode Island, Facebook friends from Long Island and Staten Island, and one man all the way from Washington, DC.   That is such a huge compliment, and reassuring proof that there are still so many people who love to read, love books, and find history as fascinating as I do.

October 30, 2011.

During my book tour for Lionheart, we had a discussion of one of the saddest episodes in English history—the tragedy at York in March, 1190. So often anti-Semitic outbursts followed when a crusade was preached; there were bloody pogroms in Germany at the time of the Second Crusade and England was the site of some ugly occurrences in 1190. After the London rioting at the time of his coronation, Richard had sent writs to the major cities of his realm, warning that the Jews were not to be molested, and peace held—until he sailed for Normandy after Christmas. But like a virulent virus, anti-Semitism soon broke out again in East Anglia, spreading to Bury St Edmunds, Stamford, and Lincoln. Mobs rampaged through the Jewish quarters in these towns, forcing the Jews to flee to the royal castles for protection.

Eventually the madness reached York. But the rioting there differed from the violence in the other English cities; in York, the mob was urged on by men of rank, men who owed money to Jewish money-lenders. As in other towns, the Jews took refuge in the royal castle, but apparently they did not trust the castellan, for as soon as he left the castle, they overpowered the garrison and refused to allow him back in.

The castellan panicked and summoned the sheriff of Yorkshire, who happened to be the brother of the celebrated William Marshal. He foolishly decided to assault the castle, and the mob was only too happy to join in, egged on by a demented hermit who assured them they were doing God’s Work. By the time the sheriff and castellan realized their mistake and tried to call it off, it was too late; the mob was in control. The Jews held out for two days, but when siege engines were brought out, they knew they were doomed. Rather than be murdered by the mob, drunk on wine, ale, and blood lust, they chose to commit mass suicide. It is thought that about one hundred fifty men, women, and children died in Clifford’s Tower on the Eve of Palm Sunday. There were a small number who did not kill themselves and sought mercy from the mob, offering to convert to Christianity, and they were promised that their lives would be spared. Instead, they were brutally slain as soon as they emerged. The leaders of the mob then forced their way into York Minster, where the Jewish money lenders kept their debt bonds, and compelled the monks to turn them over. They then burned the bonds right there in the nave of the church.

Richard was in Normandy, making preparations for the crusade, when he heard what had happened. He at once sent his chancellor, Longchamp, back to England, and the latter led an army north. But the citizens of York swore they’d played no part in this atrocity, claiming it had been done by strangers and soldiers who’d taken the cross. Longchamp did what he could, dismissing the sheriff and castellan and imposing such steep fines upon the city that there would be no further outbreaks of violence in England, but the killers escaped the punishment they deserved.

I’ve often discussed medieval anti-Semitism in my books and my blogs, the ugly underside of life in the Middle Ages. It was a bias people breathed in from birth, and the vast majority were infected by it to some degree. But there was something particularly horrifying about the slaughter in York; it haunted me for years and I welcomed the chance to help publicize it in Lionheart. In my discussion with readers on my book tour, I told them how shocked I was when I first learned about it, after moving to York to research The Sunne in Splendour, and said that it has often been called a medieval Masada.

Not all of them were familiar with the story of Masada, and I had to explain that in the first century, nearly a thousand Jewish Zealots had taken refuge upon the mountain fortress at Masada after the fall of Jerusalem. Masada was thought to be impregnable, but the Romans were as skilled as they were ruthless when it came to waging war, and after a siege of several months by the Tenth Legion, the trapped Jews realized defeat was inevitable. Rather than surrender, knowing that meant a brutal death for many and slavery for those who survived, they chose to commit suicide. When the Romans finally entered Masada, they encountered a city of the dead, the bodies of 960 men, women, and children lying in streets dark with blood. Israeli soldiers today take an oath that Masada will not fall again, and it was said that one of the most heroic rebellions of World War II, the uprising in the Warsaw ghetto, was inspired in part by an epic poem about the tragedy of Masada.

When I discussed the medieval Masada with my readers on the tour, I had not yet read The Dovekeepers, a powerful, compelling account of the events in that mountain citadel in the Judean Desert. The author is one I’ve long admired, Alice Hoffman, but this was a departure from her usual work. It is obvious that she did extensive research, but it is her unique talent that brings Masada and its people alive for us. For a story so shadowed by tragedy, it is a remarkably lyrical novel. Alice Hoffman can send words soaring like swallows; her phrases are so vivid, so evocative, that you can feel the scorching desert heat, see the bleached-bone white of the sky over their heads, hear the soft cooing of the birds in their dovecotes. Her characters seem as real as the arid, unforgiving land around them. And therein lies the problem. I came to care about them, and knowing the horror that awaited them, my reading slowed. It took me days to read the last fifty pages, just as it took me three weeks to get Richard III out of his tent and onto the field at Bosworth when I was writing Sunne. But Alice Hoffman was up to the challenge, one of the greatest a writer can face. She manages to make the final tragedy bearable while still staying true to the history of Masada,

Is this a book for everyone? Probably not. A dear friend told me that she did not want to embrace so much pain, however brilliantly it was depicted. I can understand that. But I am glad I was willing to take this journey, to go back in time with these doomed women and their men and share their world for five hundred haunting pages. It is always hard to choose a “favorite,” be it a book, a film, a flower, or even a color. I inevitably want more choices. But when I am asked to name books that have lingered in my imagination years after reading them, books that I need to reread and to remember, I round up “the usual suspects,” to borrow one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite films, Casablanca. To Kill a Mockingbird usually tops the list. I also include Mila 18, Lonesome Dove, Jane Eyre, Angel in the Whirlwind, And No Birds Sang, A Thousand Splendid Suns, and Schindler’s List. Now I will add The Dovekeepers.

October 16, 2011