I don't often get into the fiction sub-genre known as "alternative history". It's sometimes lumped together with science fiction and fantasy (which don't belong together, either). The typical setup is a hypothetical change in the outcome of a crucial historical event, framed as the question, "what would have happened if...". Quite a few of these novels involve ancient Rome.
In the case of The Seven Hills, by John Maddox Roberts, the question asked is "what would have happened if Hannibal had defeated the Romans (218–203 BC) and driven them out of Italy". That part of the story and its aftermath, wherein the exiled Romans establish a new hegemony in the northern forests of Germania, was told in Hannibal's Children (2002). The Seven Hills takes it from there to imagine the Romans' triumphant return, 100 years later, to reclaim the seven hills of Rome and take revenge against Carthage.
Roberts wrote The Seven Hills before beginning his popular SPQR series (see previous post), and the immaturity of style is evident. Even more evident is something I'd never really thought about before - it's really hard to create good fictional characters and "historical" events. Historical fiction writers have an advantage, in that they can start with real historical characters and events, with all their unlikely-but-true human quirks known to posterity. When starting with the tabula rasa of a fictional character and/or event, however, all those complex, idiosyncratic, self-contradictory human traits have to be invented and - even more difficult - made believable to the reader.
Roberts faced that challenge in The Seven Hills - and lost. The fictional Romans, Carthaginians and others are not nearly as interesting as the historical Hannibal and his treacherous family, or Fabius and the rest of the inept Roman generals who opposed the Carthaginian invasion. Roberts' invented course of events lacks the kind of granular detail and unexpected shifts that make historical accounts so interesting.
Unless you're a big fan of Roman alternative history novels, I don't recommend The Seven Hills. The SPQR series is much better, and a big advance for Roberts as a writer.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
SPQR series, by John Maddox Roberts
After Claudius, there doesn't seem to be an obvious next step in my chronological odyssey through the currently available Roman Empire novels. So I opted for an easy and enjoyable side trip into historical mysteries. The SPQR series, by John Maddox Roberts, follow the exploits of fictional but plausible Roman Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger.
There are thirteen books in the series so far, placed in the years 70-45 BC, roughly coinciding with the career of Julius Caesar. Roberts' protagonist, as a fictional member of a prominent family during this period, is well-placed to be privy to many of the most famous happenings of those well-chronicled years. His marriage to a fictional niece of Caesar himself adds even to his insider status.
Having previously read SPQR I-III (Roman numerals, of course), I picked up the series again at number IV, The Temple of the Muses, set in 60 BC; and proceeded in order to number XIII, The Year of Confusion (45-44 BC). The confusion alluded to came about because of dictator Caesar's calendar reforms.
Decius has risen in the Roman world along with Caesar, and by 45 BC is a veteran senator who has followed the cursus honorem as far as praetor. Books XI and XII are set during his year as praetor peregrinus - a sort of circuit judge who dealt with legal matters involving citizens' dealings with foreigners. Book XIV will be titled Dolabella, and will presumably bring in one of the consuls of 44 BC, Publius Cornelius Dolabella.
The five criteria:
- Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?
Yes. Roberts gets into a lot of the less-well-explored nooks and crannies of the Roman world, which inspires the reader (this one, anyway) to look for more.
Score = 5
Score = 5
- Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?
Yes. These short novels are a little light on the history, compared to Graves or McCullough, but there's plenty in there. Roberts is especially clever at working in a wealth of details about everyday life in ancient Rome.
Score = 4
Score = 4
- Was the depiction of historical events accurate?
Yes. All Roman historical fiction draws on the same finite set of contemporary writings, so it's not too hard to distinguish the Tacitus stories from the Suetonius anecdotes. Roberts has studied the historical sources, and does a good job of fitting his fictional embellishments into the known events.
Score = 5
Score = 5
- Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?
Yes, with qualifications. In particular, some of Roberts' physical and personality descriptions contrast sharply with other novelists. That just shows, however, that not much is really known about many of these characters - ones whose faces never appeared on coins or in frescos.
Score = 4
Score = 4
- Would I read another novel by this author, continuing in this historical period, with these characters (or new ones)?
Yes. I look forward to Dolabella.
Score = 5
Score = 5
Saturday, July 6, 2013
The Mask of Zorro (1998 movie)
While historical novels are the main subjects here, there's room for an occasional tirade directed at one of Hollywood's frequent crimes against historical accuracy - as if real history is not interesting enough or obscure enough to the average moviegoer. It's an old one, but the 1998 Mask of Zorro deserves mention as an especially egregious mishmash of a few historical events and characters thrown into a farcical horse opera plot. It would be entirely unworthy of mention here except for the inclusion of one historical character with connections to my adopted hometown of Santa Cruz, CA.
One of the baddies in the film is Captain Harrison Love, who hunts down and kills the notorious bandit Joaquin Murrieta and his accomplice "Three-Fingered Jack. He then cuts off Murrietta's head and keeps it preserved in a jar of alcohol. This much is historical fact, but pretty much everything else in the story is fiction, including a brother who escapes to become the successor to the original Zorro.
The real Harry Love (1810–1868) was the head of California's first law enforcement agency, the California State Rangers, and became famous for allegedly killing the notorious bandit. Love later retired to a homestead on present-day Love Creek, near the town of Boulder Creek in Santa Cruz County, CA.
The real Harry Love (1810–1868) was the head of California's first law enforcement agency, the California State Rangers, and became famous for allegedly killing the notorious bandit. Love later retired to a homestead on present-day Love Creek, near the town of Boulder Creek in Santa Cruz County, CA.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
I, Claudius and Claudius the God, by Robert Graves
Colleen McCullough's First Man in Rome series left off with Augustus' final victory over Antony and Cleopatra, which left him as undisputed Princeps over a Roman state that did not yet quite realize that the Republic had ended and the Empire had begun. Idealistic dreams of restoring a perfected Republic no doubt outlived the Julio-Claudian dynasty that began with McCullough's ultimate Roman, Julius Caesar, and ended with the assassination of Nero almost 120 years after the crossing of the Rubicon.
Those idealistic dreams lived on through more than half of those years in the heart of Robert Graves' fictionalized Claudius, the family embarrassment who was made emperor against his will and thought to open the Roman people's eyes to the evils of autocracy by arranging for the succession to pass from him to the worst possible candidate - his nephew Nero.
Rereading I, Claudius and Claudius the God after many years reminded me how seminal the novels were in the now-crowded field of Roman historical novels. Graves literally invented the sub-genre, so much so that he apparently feared that his audience would be put off by use of Latin words (or direct English translations) describing various aspects of Roman life, culture, politics and military matters. Indeed, my biggest criticism of Graves' writing is that the terms he chose to substitute, while undoubtedly more familiar to a British readership of the 1930s, are often highly inaccurate. To cite just one glaring example, a Roman legion was nothing like a British regiment. In other cases, however, Graves chose the obscure over the familiar - assegai instead of spear or javelin. As a poet, maybe he just liked the sound of the word.
That sort of nit-picking in 2013, however, is only possible because Graves showed that readers would pay money for historical fiction set in ancient Rome. As a result, readers who enjoy well-written Roman stories have had an embarrassment of riches over the past 30 years or so and, as a result, we Romanophiles know our aediles from our tribunes - we don't want them lumped together as "officials". For opening up the mysteries of that fascinating age to fiction readers, we still owe Graves a huge debt of gratitude. I've read that Graves did not think much of his own novels; that he only wrote them for the money, etc. It doesn't matter - he's the godfather of Roman historical fiction.
The other literary device that sets I, Claudius apart is the use by Graves of what I call "plausible alternative explanations" for historical events. Such subplots enliven what could otherwise be an unimaginative recital of known historical events, with a veneer of inconsequential fictional action. Speculative "hidden" history is great fun, and is employed to wonderful effect by the best modern hist-fiction authors. In addition, the ability to construct a truly plausible alternative history demonstrates the author's mastery of the history underlying the fiction.
The "hidden" history in I, Claudius is partly in the revealed depths of the Claudius character, but even more in the role of Livia, wife of Augustus. Graves casts her as the prime mover behind dynastic events throughout the reigns of Augustus and Tiberias, and on into Caligula's years before her death. Livia's evil genius is extrapolated from contemporary rumors of her being a poisoner and behind-the-scenes political schemer. The suspicions are entirely plausible and understandable, given the poorly explained deaths of so many of Augustus' designated successors who were not Livia's son Tiberias.
It's not easy to create and sustain dramatic tension in a historical story when everyone already knows how it ends, but Graves accomplishes that feat through Claudius' gradual realization of just how powerful and ruthless his grandmother really was, and his constant fear that he too will come to be seen as a threat to Livia's plans. The crowning irony of Graves' plot comes when it turns out that Claudius is the only one left who can grant Livia's last and greatest desire (no spoilers here).
By contrast, Claudius the God (and his wife Messalina) is weaker on both plot and dramatic development. Right off the bat, the narrative diverges into a background story of Herod Agrippa, a boyhood friend and schoolmate of Claudius who had become the Roman client-king of Judea. After Herod's untimely end, the remainder of the book follows the reign of the emperor Claudius and his aforementioned plans concerning Nero. Graves attempts to cast Messalina in a role similar to Livia in the first book, but with less success.
Continuing my efforts to keep some factual backup near to hand while reading historical novels, I found an excellent concise history called The Sons of Caesar: Imperial Rome's First Dynasty, by Philip Matyszak. It actually goes a bit farther than Graves to cover Nero's brief reign and the following 'Year of Four Emperors', which was as chaotic as it sounds.
There's not much criticism in the five criteria for these two novels:
Those idealistic dreams lived on through more than half of those years in the heart of Robert Graves' fictionalized Claudius, the family embarrassment who was made emperor against his will and thought to open the Roman people's eyes to the evils of autocracy by arranging for the succession to pass from him to the worst possible candidate - his nephew Nero.
Rereading I, Claudius and Claudius the God after many years reminded me how seminal the novels were in the now-crowded field of Roman historical novels. Graves literally invented the sub-genre, so much so that he apparently feared that his audience would be put off by use of Latin words (or direct English translations) describing various aspects of Roman life, culture, politics and military matters. Indeed, my biggest criticism of Graves' writing is that the terms he chose to substitute, while undoubtedly more familiar to a British readership of the 1930s, are often highly inaccurate. To cite just one glaring example, a Roman legion was nothing like a British regiment. In other cases, however, Graves chose the obscure over the familiar - assegai instead of spear or javelin. As a poet, maybe he just liked the sound of the word.
That sort of nit-picking in 2013, however, is only possible because Graves showed that readers would pay money for historical fiction set in ancient Rome. As a result, readers who enjoy well-written Roman stories have had an embarrassment of riches over the past 30 years or so and, as a result, we Romanophiles know our aediles from our tribunes - we don't want them lumped together as "officials". For opening up the mysteries of that fascinating age to fiction readers, we still owe Graves a huge debt of gratitude. I've read that Graves did not think much of his own novels; that he only wrote them for the money, etc. It doesn't matter - he's the godfather of Roman historical fiction.
The other literary device that sets I, Claudius apart is the use by Graves of what I call "plausible alternative explanations" for historical events. Such subplots enliven what could otherwise be an unimaginative recital of known historical events, with a veneer of inconsequential fictional action. Speculative "hidden" history is great fun, and is employed to wonderful effect by the best modern hist-fiction authors. In addition, the ability to construct a truly plausible alternative history demonstrates the author's mastery of the history underlying the fiction.
The "hidden" history in I, Claudius is partly in the revealed depths of the Claudius character, but even more in the role of Livia, wife of Augustus. Graves casts her as the prime mover behind dynastic events throughout the reigns of Augustus and Tiberias, and on into Caligula's years before her death. Livia's evil genius is extrapolated from contemporary rumors of her being a poisoner and behind-the-scenes political schemer. The suspicions are entirely plausible and understandable, given the poorly explained deaths of so many of Augustus' designated successors who were not Livia's son Tiberias.
It's not easy to create and sustain dramatic tension in a historical story when everyone already knows how it ends, but Graves accomplishes that feat through Claudius' gradual realization of just how powerful and ruthless his grandmother really was, and his constant fear that he too will come to be seen as a threat to Livia's plans. The crowning irony of Graves' plot comes when it turns out that Claudius is the only one left who can grant Livia's last and greatest desire (no spoilers here).
By contrast, Claudius the God (and his wife Messalina) is weaker on both plot and dramatic development. Right off the bat, the narrative diverges into a background story of Herod Agrippa, a boyhood friend and schoolmate of Claudius who had become the Roman client-king of Judea. After Herod's untimely end, the remainder of the book follows the reign of the emperor Claudius and his aforementioned plans concerning Nero. Graves attempts to cast Messalina in a role similar to Livia in the first book, but with less success.
Continuing my efforts to keep some factual backup near to hand while reading historical novels, I found an excellent concise history called The Sons of Caesar: Imperial Rome's First Dynasty, by Philip Matyszak. It actually goes a bit farther than Graves to cover Nero's brief reign and the following 'Year of Four Emperors', which was as chaotic as it sounds.
There's not much criticism in the five criteria for these two novels:
- Did the novel(s) inspire me to further historical research?
Yes, as they did when I first read them years ago. Score = 5
- Did the novel(s) include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?
Yes. Inclusion/description of historical events and people was actually more comprehensive than in Matyszak's history. Score = 5
- Was the depiction of historical events accurate?
Yes. I found no significant conflicts with the companion history text. My only criticism, as noted above, is the unnecessarily confusing use of non-congruent descriptive terms. Score = 4
- Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?
Yes, within the normal limits set by contemporary sources. Graves' assignation of subjective judgements of character and motive often differ from Suetonius or Tacitus, but don't require alteration of known facts. Indeed, contemporary sources often differed from one another when assessing historical actors. That's the genius of Graves' fictional "hidden" history - it works without resort to outlandishly implausible behavior or extremely unlikely actions. Score = 5
- Would I read another novel by this author, continuing in this historical period, with these characters (or new ones)?
Yes. I haven't read any of Graves' other historical novels, but eventually I will. Score = 5
Saturday, April 13, 2013
The First Man in Rome, series by Colleen McCullough
Imperium and Lustrum, by Robert Harris, got me back into an ancient Rome groove, but the sudden availability of Istanbul Passage at my local library necessitated a brief detour. After that atmospheric Joseph Kanon read, it's time to get back to my Roman holiday. The First Man in Rome series by Colleen McCullough contains seven of the very best novels of ancient Rome. Having read all seven before, I decided to skip rereading the first two, First Man in Rome and The Grass Crown, to start with Fortune's Favorites, which picks up about where Harris began with Cicero and Caesar.
It was also useful to employ, once again, the enlightening technique of reading straight biography/history works alongside the novels - first the concise biography Julius Caesar, by Philip Freeman; then Augustus, by Anthony Everitt. While biographers tend to become admirers of their subjects almost as much as novelists, both Freeman and Everitt make careful distinctions between established facts and hearsay in the contemporary sources. That helped me know when McCullough was inventing and/or embellishing, or selecting between conflicting reports by contemporary Roman historical writers who were both less well-informed and less rigorous than modern historians. An additional twist when examining the lives of Cicero and Caesar is that much of what we know about them came from their own pens - both were prolific writers.
Fortune's Favorites narrates the rise and fall of many Roman politicians and military men who competed for the informal title of "First Man in Rome" during the turbulent late-republic years between Sulla's retirement from public life in 79 BC and the commencement of Caesar's Gallic campaigns in 58 BC. Largest among these was Pompey, whose military successes enabled him to chart his own path up the cursus honorum of Roman political life.
One of the many other contenders was Marcus Tullius Cicero, and it was interesting to see him from McCullough's perspective after the Harris treatment. Predictably, Cicero comes off better than Caesar in the Harris biographical-novels, while the reverse is true in Fortune's Favorites, whose parade of notables serves as merely a lead-in to the brilliant and dominating career of Julius Caesar.
Caesar (subtitled Let the Dice Fly) opens in Brittania (54 BC), in the middle of the Gallic Wars. The narrative moves both forward and back in time from that point, mainly in Gaul but continuing through the famous crossing of the Rubicon, the civil war against Pompey, and concluding with Pompey's murder in Egypt (48 BC).
The October Horse picks up from there, covering Caesar's dalliance with Cleopatra and his last years in Rome leading up to his assassination (44 BC). At that point the focus again splits to illustrate both sides of the war against Caesar's assassins, led by the "republicans" Brutus and Cassius. Mark Antony and young Octavian (the future Augustus) become allies to finally defeat them at Philippi, and the book ends as Octavian prepares to return west to Rome while Antony goes east.
The final book in the series, Antony and Cleopatra, switches back and forth between Octavian in Rome and Antony in Egypt and Roman Asia. As indicated by the title, the queen of Egypt is also a prominent character, choosing to ally herself and her country with Antony against Octavian for ultimate control of the Roman world.
Like many biographical novelists, McCullough's protagonists tend to come across as larger than life - none more so than Julius Caesar. The reader of McCullough's novels gets a portrait of Caesar as the embodiment of the Roman ideals of auctoritas, gravitas, and especially dignitas, an untranslatable concept that combines our ideas of dignity, honor, legacy and personal responsibility. As the exemplar of these most-highly-prized personal values, McCullough's Caesar is also the culmination of all the Roman history that came before. It's not hard to draw parallels between this idealized Caesar and Ayn Rand's leading men, including the consuming jealousy of lesser mortals that ultimately led to the assassination in 44 BC.
My "five criteria" are unnecessary with the First Man in Rome novels - they get highest marks in all categories. My only quibble is that McCullough characters tend to be idealized, romanticized, and simplified - and so tend to come off as not quite human. That's OK - these are historical novels, not character studies. I'd rather read more about the history and less about the inner emotional struggles.
It was also useful to employ, once again, the enlightening technique of reading straight biography/history works alongside the novels - first the concise biography Julius Caesar, by Philip Freeman; then Augustus, by Anthony Everitt. While biographers tend to become admirers of their subjects almost as much as novelists, both Freeman and Everitt make careful distinctions between established facts and hearsay in the contemporary sources. That helped me know when McCullough was inventing and/or embellishing, or selecting between conflicting reports by contemporary Roman historical writers who were both less well-informed and less rigorous than modern historians. An additional twist when examining the lives of Cicero and Caesar is that much of what we know about them came from their own pens - both were prolific writers.
Fortune's Favorites narrates the rise and fall of many Roman politicians and military men who competed for the informal title of "First Man in Rome" during the turbulent late-republic years between Sulla's retirement from public life in 79 BC and the commencement of Caesar's Gallic campaigns in 58 BC. Largest among these was Pompey, whose military successes enabled him to chart his own path up the cursus honorum of Roman political life.
One of the many other contenders was Marcus Tullius Cicero, and it was interesting to see him from McCullough's perspective after the Harris treatment. Predictably, Cicero comes off better than Caesar in the Harris biographical-novels, while the reverse is true in Fortune's Favorites, whose parade of notables serves as merely a lead-in to the brilliant and dominating career of Julius Caesar.
Caesar (subtitled Let the Dice Fly) opens in Brittania (54 BC), in the middle of the Gallic Wars. The narrative moves both forward and back in time from that point, mainly in Gaul but continuing through the famous crossing of the Rubicon, the civil war against Pompey, and concluding with Pompey's murder in Egypt (48 BC).
The October Horse picks up from there, covering Caesar's dalliance with Cleopatra and his last years in Rome leading up to his assassination (44 BC). At that point the focus again splits to illustrate both sides of the war against Caesar's assassins, led by the "republicans" Brutus and Cassius. Mark Antony and young Octavian (the future Augustus) become allies to finally defeat them at Philippi, and the book ends as Octavian prepares to return west to Rome while Antony goes east.
The final book in the series, Antony and Cleopatra, switches back and forth between Octavian in Rome and Antony in Egypt and Roman Asia. As indicated by the title, the queen of Egypt is also a prominent character, choosing to ally herself and her country with Antony against Octavian for ultimate control of the Roman world.
Like many biographical novelists, McCullough's protagonists tend to come across as larger than life - none more so than Julius Caesar. The reader of McCullough's novels gets a portrait of Caesar as the embodiment of the Roman ideals of auctoritas, gravitas, and especially dignitas, an untranslatable concept that combines our ideas of dignity, honor, legacy and personal responsibility. As the exemplar of these most-highly-prized personal values, McCullough's Caesar is also the culmination of all the Roman history that came before. It's not hard to draw parallels between this idealized Caesar and Ayn Rand's leading men, including the consuming jealousy of lesser mortals that ultimately led to the assassination in 44 BC.
My "five criteria" are unnecessary with the First Man in Rome novels - they get highest marks in all categories. My only quibble is that McCullough characters tend to be idealized, romanticized, and simplified - and so tend to come off as not quite human. That's OK - these are historical novels, not character studies. I'd rather read more about the history and less about the inner emotional struggles.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Istanbul Passage by Joseph Kanon
Istanbul Passage is the latest (2012) work by American historical novelist Joseph Kanon. Kanon has carved out a niche for himself in the turbulent days immediately following the end of World War II. Previous Kanon novels set in this time period include The Good German (Berlin), Alibi (Venice), and Stardust (Hollywood). Istanbul Passage revisits those days, but this time in 1945 Istanbul, Turkey.
Protagonist Leon Bauer is an expatriate American working for R. J. Reynolds during the war, buying Turkish tobacco to be blended into American cigarettes. On the side, he does some low-level spy work for the State Dept., while his German-Jewish wife works with the with the Mossad le Aliyah Bet to get Jewish refugees out of Eastern Europe (especially Romania in this story) before the Soviets assume control, and then to smuggle them into Palestine. Then, in 1942, she witnesses the horrific torpedoing and sinking of the refugee ship Struma. She never recovers from the shock, gradually withdrawing into a non-responsive trance and confined to a psychiatric clinic. Bauer stays in Istanbul where he can afford his wife's care, and continues his work and spy tasks.
With the end of the war, however, Bauer's spy contact looks forward to returning home. He has one last job for Bauer before quitting his post - meet a boat carrying an anonymous but apparently important man smuggled out of Europe, keep him safe for a day or two and get him on a plane for the US. A simple job - what could go wrong? Of course, everything goes wrong and Bauer's tidy, somewhat boring world gets turned upside down.
As with Kanon's other historicals, the ambiance of the exotic locale and period detail play leading roles in the story. Ancient, complex and mysterious, Istanbul is a perfect setting for a spy novel. How does it rate in the five criteria?
Protagonist Leon Bauer is an expatriate American working for R. J. Reynolds during the war, buying Turkish tobacco to be blended into American cigarettes. On the side, he does some low-level spy work for the State Dept., while his German-Jewish wife works with the with the Mossad le Aliyah Bet to get Jewish refugees out of Eastern Europe (especially Romania in this story) before the Soviets assume control, and then to smuggle them into Palestine. Then, in 1942, she witnesses the horrific torpedoing and sinking of the refugee ship Struma. She never recovers from the shock, gradually withdrawing into a non-responsive trance and confined to a psychiatric clinic. Bauer stays in Istanbul where he can afford his wife's care, and continues his work and spy tasks.
With the end of the war, however, Bauer's spy contact looks forward to returning home. He has one last job for Bauer before quitting his post - meet a boat carrying an anonymous but apparently important man smuggled out of Europe, keep him safe for a day or two and get him on a plane for the US. A simple job - what could go wrong? Of course, everything goes wrong and Bauer's tidy, somewhat boring world gets turned upside down.
As with Kanon's other historicals, the ambiance of the exotic locale and period detail play leading roles in the story. Ancient, complex and mysterious, Istanbul is a perfect setting for a spy novel. How does it rate in the five criteria?
- Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?
Yes. Older readers like me remember the novel (and movie) Exodus, by Leon Uris, that told some of this same story about the Jewish refugees, but I'm glad Kanon decided to revisit it now. I was not familiar with Istanbul's central role as a
way station for the refugees. Score = 4
- Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?
Yes - although perhaps lacking depth of historical detail. The broad outlines provide an inspiring and cautionary tale about what humans are capable of -
both good and bad. However, I can't help but compare this novel to Kanon's Los Alamos, which included a lot more historical detail and characters. Score =3
- Was the depiction of historical events accurate?
Yes, although again there's not a lot of detail. Score = 4
- Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?
No historical characters have speaking roles. Score = 3
- Would I read another novel by this author, continuing in this historical period, with these characters (or new ones)?
Definitely. Kanon is always a good read, even when he goes light on the history. Score = 4.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Imperium and Lustrum, by Robert Harris
Imperium (2006) and Lustrum (2009) comprise the first 2/3 of a fictionalized biography trilogy focusing on the ancient Roman politician Cicero, by British novelist Robert Harris. My first exposure to Harris was his earlier novel (and only previous Roman setting) Pompeii, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Adding to my interest in these two newer works is previous exposure to a fictionalized Cicero, in the Masters of Rome series of novels by the formidable Colleen McCullough. I decided it would be fun, after finishing Imperium and Lustrum, to re-read Fortune's Favorites and Caesar's Women (an unfortunate if accurate title), which contain McCollough's version of Cicero. That gave me two fictionalized portrayals of both Cicero and Caesar to compare.
The main revelation in this exercise was in how a skilled novelist can take a brief historical account of an event and fill it out to create a convincing yet entirely fictional scene. Equally interesting is the extent to which details may be altered in different directions to support a novel's plot. Without getting into a detailed reading of the historical sources myself (a task for which I lack the patience), reading both pairs of novels allowed me to see which details have support from historical sources and which are pure fiction.
A case in point is the contrasting accounts of the "Bona Dea scandal", in which a man profaned the annual women-only "Bona Dea" religious rite by trying to sneak in, disguised as a woman. McCullough's version has the offender apprehended right away while attempting to enter the house (Caesar's house). Harris, however, allows the intruder to be discovered only after the sacred and secret rites have begun - well within the house - and adds some entertaining invented detail thereafter.
Another interesting thing, although I really shouldn't be surprised, is that the main historical characters in these novels are treated more sympathetically than their contemporaries. Harris' Cicero is ambitious but principled, political but ethical. McCulloch's portrayal is not uncomplimentary, but much less glowing. The reverse is true of Julius Caesar - the ultimate Roman hero in McCullough's series but seen as a dangerously ambitious schemer by the Cicero of Lustrum. This same phenomenon occurs frequently in straight historical biographies. A writer can come to love and admire (or sometimes hate) his subject while doing research, to the point that objectivity suffers. With subjects like Cicero and Caesar, there's the added problem that much of the information about their lives comes from their own writing. Imagine if, 2000 years from now, you wanted to write a biography of Adolf Hitler and your main source of information was Mein Kampf.
I won't use the five criteria this time, as Harris gets uniformly high marks on all five. I look forward to the third and final entry in the Cicero Trilogy.
The main revelation in this exercise was in how a skilled novelist can take a brief historical account of an event and fill it out to create a convincing yet entirely fictional scene. Equally interesting is the extent to which details may be altered in different directions to support a novel's plot. Without getting into a detailed reading of the historical sources myself (a task for which I lack the patience), reading both pairs of novels allowed me to see which details have support from historical sources and which are pure fiction.
A case in point is the contrasting accounts of the "Bona Dea scandal", in which a man profaned the annual women-only "Bona Dea" religious rite by trying to sneak in, disguised as a woman. McCullough's version has the offender apprehended right away while attempting to enter the house (Caesar's house). Harris, however, allows the intruder to be discovered only after the sacred and secret rites have begun - well within the house - and adds some entertaining invented detail thereafter.
Another interesting thing, although I really shouldn't be surprised, is that the main historical characters in these novels are treated more sympathetically than their contemporaries. Harris' Cicero is ambitious but principled, political but ethical. McCulloch's portrayal is not uncomplimentary, but much less glowing. The reverse is true of Julius Caesar - the ultimate Roman hero in McCullough's series but seen as a dangerously ambitious schemer by the Cicero of Lustrum. This same phenomenon occurs frequently in straight historical biographies. A writer can come to love and admire (or sometimes hate) his subject while doing research, to the point that objectivity suffers. With subjects like Cicero and Caesar, there's the added problem that much of the information about their lives comes from their own writing. Imagine if, 2000 years from now, you wanted to write a biography of Adolf Hitler and your main source of information was Mein Kampf.
I won't use the five criteria this time, as Harris gets uniformly high marks on all five. I look forward to the third and final entry in the Cicero Trilogy.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Mission to Paris, by Alan Furst
After months on my local library waiting list, I was able to check out and read Mission to Paris, the twelfth and most recent entry in the series of historical-espionage-thriller novels by Alan Furst that began with Night Soldiers in 1988. As the title makes clear, the city of Paris is once again a leading character in Furst's tale of amateur espionage in the tense years leading up to World War II.
The lead character in Mission to Paris is an Austrian-American actor named Fredric Stahl. Stahl arrives in Paris in late summer of 1938 to star in a movie as part of a studio exchange deal. Those were the days when the big studios owned exclusive contracts with their stars, and were mostly able to dictate when and where those stars worked.
The movie-making business is complicated, however, by the pre-war politics of Europe. Stahl is gradually drawn into anti-Nazi activites, acting as a courier to smuggle secrets out of Berlin. Another complication is a love interest, a German emigre costume designer.
As usual in this series, several recurring characters from earlier books return in Mission to Paris. In Berlin, Stahl meets the mysterious Russian emigre actress and spy Olga Orlova, who previously appeared in The World at Night and Red Gold. Jean Casson, French film director and protagonist of those two earlier novels, is mentioned in passing when Stahl passes the door of his Paris office. The Hungarian Count Polanyi appears as the owner of a partly-ruined castle used as a filming location. And, of course, the Brasserie Heininger - which I believe appears in every one of these novels - is the setting for a Paris dinner.
Since the twelve novels are so similar in plot and structure, my five criteria can be applied to them as a unit.
The five criteria:
The lead character in Mission to Paris is an Austrian-American actor named Fredric Stahl. Stahl arrives in Paris in late summer of 1938 to star in a movie as part of a studio exchange deal. Those were the days when the big studios owned exclusive contracts with their stars, and were mostly able to dictate when and where those stars worked.
The movie-making business is complicated, however, by the pre-war politics of Europe. Stahl is gradually drawn into anti-Nazi activites, acting as a courier to smuggle secrets out of Berlin. Another complication is a love interest, a German emigre costume designer.
As usual in this series, several recurring characters from earlier books return in Mission to Paris. In Berlin, Stahl meets the mysterious Russian emigre actress and spy Olga Orlova, who previously appeared in The World at Night and Red Gold. Jean Casson, French film director and protagonist of those two earlier novels, is mentioned in passing when Stahl passes the door of his Paris office. The Hungarian Count Polanyi appears as the owner of a partly-ruined castle used as a filming location. And, of course, the Brasserie Heininger - which I believe appears in every one of these novels - is the setting for a Paris dinner.
Since the twelve novels are so similar in plot and structure, my five criteria can be applied to them as a unit.
The five criteria:
- Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?
Yes - less so with Mission to Paris than with some of the earlier books, but the descriptions of the workings of the French and German film industry of those years is interesting. Also piquing my interest are the stories of the Nazi foreign propaganda efforts in those pre-war years.
Score =3-4
Score =3-4
- Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?
Yes. Furst's novels include more historical ambience than fact, but the settings seem to be accurate in general tone. For example, Stahl happens to be in Berlin on Kristallnacht, but only hears noises and sees running shadows from his hotel window.
Score = 3-4
Score = 3-4
- Was the depiction of historical events accurate?
Yes. Again, earlier novels in the series contain more historical detail, but Furst's history seems generally to be accurate.
Score = 3-4
Score = 3-4
- Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?
No historical persons appear as characters in any of these novels, though many are mentioned in background stories.
Score = 3
Score = 3
- Would I read another novel by this author, continuing in this historical period, with these characters (or new ones)?
Definitely. As historical novels go, these are more style than substance but are fun to read, and certainly never heavy-handed with the history.
Score = 4.
Score = 4.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
The historical-spy novels of Alan Furst
The period leading up to and during WWII is fertile ground for espionage novels. Few novelists working in this sub-genre are better at the underlying history than Alan Furst. His novels are spiced up with all of the standard spy thriller plot elements: shady and/or murderous characters, dangerous situations, narrow escapes, unexpected plot twists and sex. Beyond mere entertainment, however, Furst makes the historical places and events central to his story lines.
After four stand-alone novels, Furst hit his stride with Night Soldiers (1988). All of his subsequent stories are set in the Night Soldiers world, containing recurrent fictional supporting characters and places, especially in Paris (see the Wikipedia article for lists of titles and characters). After reading a few novels in the series, it's fun to start a new one and encounter a familiar character - with one possible exception. The ubiquitous field operative known simply as S. Kolb sometimes becomes a deus ex machina who arrives with a valise full of cash just in time to get the hero out of jail or out of a country.
Earlier entries in the series are uniformly strong, while later efforts Spies of Warsaw and Spies of the Balkans live down to their unimaginative titles. I have yet to read Furst's latest, Mission to Paris. Judging only by the title, I'm expecting it to be better.
After four stand-alone novels, Furst hit his stride with Night Soldiers (1988). All of his subsequent stories are set in the Night Soldiers world, containing recurrent fictional supporting characters and places, especially in Paris (see the Wikipedia article for lists of titles and characters). After reading a few novels in the series, it's fun to start a new one and encounter a familiar character - with one possible exception. The ubiquitous field operative known simply as S. Kolb sometimes becomes a deus ex machina who arrives with a valise full of cash just in time to get the hero out of jail or out of a country.
Earlier entries in the series are uniformly strong, while later efforts Spies of Warsaw and Spies of the Balkans live down to their unimaginative titles. I have yet to read Furst's latest, Mission to Paris. Judging only by the title, I'm expecting it to be better.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Pompeii: A Novel by Robert Harris
Pompeii (2003) is not the latest novel by British novelist Robert Harris, and I can't say how it compares to his many others. It is, in fact, the first Harris novel I've read. I can say, however, that it was easily good enough to make me want to read more of his work. The novel's attractions for me were fourfold:
Indeed, the novel mentions that the sibyl lived in the area, but fails to mention the continuing existence of the mystic cult in the area. Judging from archaeological evidence, the story was not a forgotten legend - there are several elaborate underground sites in the area that were probably connected with the sibyl - probably maintained by competing charlatans claiming to be the descendent of the original sibyl. One of the sites even contains a heated, sulferous underground river that could have been easily passed off as the river Styx. Here's a link to a good article in Smithsonian about the archaeological studies conducted there. I can think of many fascinating ways the underground complex could have been incorporated into Pompeii.
To be fair, the central place in the novel is Pompeii, not Cumae or Baiae. Attilius visits the underground reservoir at the terminus of the aqueduct above Misenum (Miseno) and a nearby fish farm, not far from Baiae, but the story gives him no reason to visit the home of the sibyl. Harris shows he's done his research by his description of the reservoir itself (which can be visited today) and the Misenum naval base. Another interesting detail is the mention that Misenum was supposedly named for a character in the Aeneid. The story later features detailed descriptions of the streets and buildings of Pompeii, drawn from archaeological researches that have excavated and studied much of the Roman town buried by that disastrous eruption of Vesuvius.
My second quibble is minor, but is one that's common to most historical fiction: the juvenile style of the writing about relations between the sexes. Yes, the history is the main thing, but real people just don't act the way historical novel characters act toward each other. The scenes between men and women in Pompeii would be more at home in Dickens than in the 21st century (or in ancient Rome). Okay, that's too harsh - not Dickens - a John Ford 50s western movie, perhaps. Of course, 1st-century Romans didn't act like 21st-century Americans, either (or John Ford characters). We do know that upper-class Romans were pretty conservative and tended to be rather prudish, so maybe Harris was not far off in his characterizations.
The five criteria:
- It's about ancient Rome - one of my main areas of historical interest
- It's not about legions and wars and emperors. That's very unusual and refreshing. Of course, natural disasters are not exactly unexplored territory in fiction, but I haven't found any other novels about the great volcanic eruption of A.D. 79.
- It's secondary setting is the great Roman aqueduct, the Aqua Augusta, that brought fresh water from inland springs to the coastal towns around the bay of Naples. The main character is the engineer in charge of maintaining it. As a building designer, the marvels of Roman engineering fascinate me.
- It was in my local library - always important to the reader on a budget.
Indeed, the novel mentions that the sibyl lived in the area, but fails to mention the continuing existence of the mystic cult in the area. Judging from archaeological evidence, the story was not a forgotten legend - there are several elaborate underground sites in the area that were probably connected with the sibyl - probably maintained by competing charlatans claiming to be the descendent of the original sibyl. One of the sites even contains a heated, sulferous underground river that could have been easily passed off as the river Styx. Here's a link to a good article in Smithsonian about the archaeological studies conducted there. I can think of many fascinating ways the underground complex could have been incorporated into Pompeii.
To be fair, the central place in the novel is Pompeii, not Cumae or Baiae. Attilius visits the underground reservoir at the terminus of the aqueduct above Misenum (Miseno) and a nearby fish farm, not far from Baiae, but the story gives him no reason to visit the home of the sibyl. Harris shows he's done his research by his description of the reservoir itself (which can be visited today) and the Misenum naval base. Another interesting detail is the mention that Misenum was supposedly named for a character in the Aeneid. The story later features detailed descriptions of the streets and buildings of Pompeii, drawn from archaeological researches that have excavated and studied much of the Roman town buried by that disastrous eruption of Vesuvius.
My second quibble is minor, but is one that's common to most historical fiction: the juvenile style of the writing about relations between the sexes. Yes, the history is the main thing, but real people just don't act the way historical novel characters act toward each other. The scenes between men and women in Pompeii would be more at home in Dickens than in the 21st century (or in ancient Rome). Okay, that's too harsh - not Dickens - a John Ford 50s western movie, perhaps. Of course, 1st-century Romans didn't act like 21st-century Americans, either (or John Ford characters). We do know that upper-class Romans were pretty conservative and tended to be rather prudish, so maybe Harris was not far off in his characterizations.
The five criteria:
- Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?
Yes. The whole Bay of Naples area is full of interesting historical and geological sites, rarely visited in other ancient-Rome novels.
Score = 5
- Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?
Yes. The novel lacks a bibliography or "Historical Notes" that are so helpful to readers interested in the history, but there's plenty of historical detail. Score = 4
- Was the depiction of historical events accurate?
It seems to be - I haven't done any follow-up research to see how much of the description of events during the eruption is drawn from historical sources. Again, some historical notes by the author would have been enlightening.
Score = 4
- Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?
The only indisdutably historical character in Pompeii, and the only one extensively involved in the story, is the man known to us as Pliny the Elder. At the end of a long career, Pliny served as admiral of the fleet at Misenum, and died during an attempted naval rescue operation of victims of the volcanic eruption. The fictional Attilius is familiar with the writings of Pliny, and enlists the admirals' help in the crisis situation. A few other characters may be historical, but their roles in the story are minor.
Score = 3
- Would I read another novel by this author, continuing in this historical period, with these characters (or new ones)?
Definitely - especially his trilogy of biographical novels about the Roman orator and politician Cicero; Imperium, Lustrum and Conspirata.
Score = 5.
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