Unlikely Allies, by Joel Richard Paul (2009)

Every so often, there's a straight history book written in such compelling style that it reads like fiction, and thereby earns a mention in this blog. Such a book is Unlikely Allies: How a Merchant, a Playwright, and a Spy Saved the American Revolution, by Joel Richard Paul. Once the reader gets past the overly wordy subtitle, this book is indeed "wildly entertaining", as proclaimed in the book review quote featured on the cover.

The factual story related in Unlikely Allies is itself so unlikely that it probably would never work as fiction, except perhaps in the hands of someone like Gore Vidal - a black humor genius who understood all too well the darkest corners of human nature. To get an idea how outlandish this tale really is, consider the cast, who at the beginning of this book knew nothing of each other:

• The Merchant: Silas Deane, self-made successful merchant in pre-Revolution Connecticut. His fatal flaw - an idealistic faith in the concept of an independent America. Again and again, he found those ideals sorely lacking in most of his fellow revolutionaries.
• The Playwright: Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, a successful French inventor and playwright who wanted to be an international statesman.
• The Spy: One of the most fantastic characters of the time, the Chevalier d'Eon was a cross-dressing social climber fascinated with the hidden world of political intrigue.  

Unlikely Allies tells the unlikely story of how these three stumbled and bumbled together to create a convoluted Rube Goldberg-esque (or maybe Jacques Tati-esque, since two of the three were French) scheme whereby France supplied arms, supplies and ammunition to the fledgling American Revolution - at the critical moment just before the tide-turning rebel victory at Saratoga. Paul makes a compelling case that, without that French aid, the outcome of British General Burgoyne's campaign would have been reversed. No Saratoga victory; no French alliance; and much less likelihood of American independence.

In addition to the three main characters, there's a large supporting cast. The well-known names are there: Franklin, Adams, Lee; but also some fascinating lesser lights. British radical John Wilkes deserves to be better known among Americans. Arthur Lee, Edward Bancroft and Charles Wentworth probably deserve to be forgotten (except as moral lessons), but play crucial roles in this story. Lots of names for future reading!

I can't recommend this book highly enough. Joel Richard Paul joins David Hackett Fischer on my short list of historians whose writing is better than fiction.

The Cousins' War (books 1-3), by Philippa Gregory

The White Queen (2009), The Red Queen (2010), and The Lady of the Rivers (2011) are the first three of a six-novel series known as The Cousins' War. "Cousins" refers to the fact that the rival royal claimants involved in England's War of the Roses were great-great-grandsons of King Edward III. The rival families of Lancaster and York were branches of the Plantagenet line that produced all of England's monarchs from 1154 to 1485. This series covers the end of the Plantagenets and the beginning of the Tudor dynasty. Chronologically, The Lady of the Rivers should be read before the two "Queens".

Philippa Gregory's approach to historical fiction in these novels, each one a first-person account of a female "insider" in one of the royal families, yields a unique perspective on the events of the day. Interjection of modern ideas leads these ladies, at times, to some contemporary-sounding feminist protests against their patriarchal society, but it would be surprising if the historical characters did not occasionally have similar thoughts.

Those readers who prefer a blood-and-guts focus on warfare and battle descriptions may be tempted to skip over some of the lengthy interior dialogs and emotional struggles of Gregory's protagonists, but the feminine viewpoint is a nice counterpoint to male-centric writers. Also, because the women usually stayed behind when the men went to war, they were privy to all of the behind-the-scenes court politics and juicy gossip.

The Wars of the Roses is fertile ground for historical fiction writers. The Edward III deathbed scene in Conn Iggulden's War of the Roses: Stormbird makes a good lead-in to The Cousins' War, then jumps forward (as the title indicates) to cover the same "Roses" years from the male perspective. Bernard Cornwell's Agincourt is set during the French campaigns of Henry V, father of the unfortunate Henry VI, whose incompetence as a monarch set off the "Roses" conflict.

Also deserving mention and, in my estimation, the best of all the "Roses" novels, is The Sunne In Splendour: A Novel of Richard III (2008), by Sharon Kay Penman.

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. The Woodville family, in particular, had an interesting history.
Score = 4

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes. As noted above, there may not be enough of the preferred history subjects for some readers, but the royal court politics is also interesting. Unfortunately, because documentary evidence is less abundant, that focus requires more guesswork and speculation. So it's "reader beware".
Score = 3

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Yes. In this female-character, first-person-narrative style, much of the historical action happens in other places, so events are related second-hand to the protagonists. While that detracts from the immediacy of the narrative,  I found no instance where Gregory alters history in any major way merely to serve the story arc.
Score = 3

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

Who knows? For many of these characters, the historical record contains only a few names and dates, so a novelist must invent personalities for them, and narratives to connect them. A good example of how this can lead to very different characterizations is to compare the treatment given to Margaret of Anjou in The Red Queen and in War of the Roses: Stormbird, respectively. Character invention should be a familiar hazard to hist-fict readers, however, and doesn't detract from our enjoyment unless obvious (and unexplained) conflicts with recorded history arise.
Score = 3

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and characters plausible?

Yes/No. Earthy and perceptive Elizabeth Woodville in The White Queen was much more plausible than the hyper-religious hypocrisy of Margaret of Anjou in The Red Queen. I suspect that some of the author's personal history underlies that characterization.

On the other hand, the plot with its cut-throat ambition, treachery, mendacity and family rivalries was all too believable. I look forward to following this history through the remaining three novels in The Cousins' War.
Score = 3

The Day of Atonement, by David Liss (2014)

Each new novel by David Liss is eagerly anticipated by fans of clever and fast-paced plotting that nevertheless refuses to sacrifice historical accuracy. The Day of Atonement is their reward. This tale continues the Liss mastery of creatively-evolving plots with surprising twists and turns, even when readers already know the historical climax.

Set mostly in Lisbon, Portugal, in the year 1755, the curtain opens as our protagonist flashes back ten years to when, as 13-year-old Lisbon-born "New Christian" Sebastiao Raposa, he was smuggled to London to escape the Inquisition that took his parents. He returns as English merchant-adventurer Sebastian Foxx, bent on revenge.    

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. I hadn't realized that the terrors of the Inquisition lasted so much longer in Portugal than in neighboring Spain. Neither had I heard of the devastating 1755 earthquake and tsunami that destroyed Lisbon.

Liss once again does a nice job of connecting Jewish religious beliefs and practices to the plot. The observance referred to in the title, The Day of Atonement, is known more commonly by Americans as Yom Kippur. The meaning of the central concept, in Foxx's mind, evolves during the story along with his self-discovery and maturing understanding of what seemed at first to be a straightforward mission.
   Score = 5

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes, although not as much as it might have. Although the setting was historical, along with some general activities like the Inquisition and the England-Portugal trade, more specific historical events and characters were in short supply.

That's not always a bad thing, however. Many historical novels are dragged down by the author's noble attempt to cram in a lot of history. A recent lesson to me on how that can happen was Master and God, by Lindsey Davis.
   Score = 4

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Yes, as far as I can tell. Descriptions of historical settings are generally consistent with what I've read elsewhere. An accurate picture of pre-earthquake Lisbon is problematic, but Liss seems to have put a lot of research into that area. One thing I really missed was a map of the city which, even if partly fictional, would have helped the reader to follow the movements that are so important to the story.
   Score = 4

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

There aren't many, so accuracy is not much of a concern. For example, the historical "Count of Oeiras" is not actually a character but is mentioned in passing toward the end of the story. Liss doesn't try, however, to be biographical, so the lack of historical characters is not a criticism. Accuracy is the criterion: is it more accurate to fictionalize historical individuals or to leave them out altogether? Still, inclusion of a few historical names is fun, even if only in non-speaking roles.
   Score = 4

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and characters plausible?

Mostly. Some of the characters' dialog and/or inner soliloquy, along with some of the actions those thoughts led to, made me ask: "Seriously?" Although it's common novelistic practice to imbue archaic characters with modern ideas, historical novelists can also get away with a lot of questionable thinking by characters. Would you expect the rantings of an 18th-century priest of the Inquisition to make sense?
   Score = 4

Master and God, by Lindsey Davis (2012)

Fans of "light" historical fiction will recognize the name Lindsey Davis as the British author of the "Falco" series of historical murder mysteries set in ancient Rome. The adventures of protagonist Marcus Didius Falco are always entertaining and absorbing.

Master and God is a more ambitious effort, though sharing some character and plot elements with the Falco novels. Set in the time of the Emperor Domitian (81-96 AD), the protagonist is a fictional ex-legionary named Gaius Vinius Clodianus. His fortunes rise along with those of the younger brother of the Emperor Titus, who became the third and last of the Flavian emperors.   

As the novel opens, Clodianus is a non-com in the vigiles: the loosely-organized neighborhood police force of Rome. Through skill and luck, he rises to become a trusted officer of the Praetorian Guard, charged with accompanying and protecting the Emperor. As such, Clodianus is well-placed to witness and participate in the rise and fall of Domitian. 

The complicated and egalitarian relationship between Clodianus, the stereotypical clueless male, and Lucilla, the self-made successful hairdresser to the imperial family, is a lot of fun - similar to that of Falco and Helena.

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. Historians, both contemporary and modern, have had mixed opinions about Domitian. In many ways, his reign was a very successful one for the Roman Empire, yet his cautious foreign policy and heavy-handed domestic policies earned him few admirers. As a result, historical novelists have been drawn to the more flamboyant figures of the late Republic and first Emperors. With this novel, Davis filled a gap in ancient Roman fiction. The Dacian campaigns, in particular, were an interesting and previously unfamiliar subject to me.   
Score = 5

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes. I hesitate to say this but, if anything, there's too much history. Davis seemed to sense that many readers would be unfamiliar with Domitian's reign and the historical figures of the time, and therefore perhaps tried too hard to include lots of historical background setup and detail. That effort results - especially early on -  in a tone that sometimes borders on pedantic. Missing is the easy familiarity of the Falco novels, where the history seems less forced. The story flows better as it progresses, once the stage is set.
Score = 4

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Mostly. Davis is a thorough researcher and scrupulous about accuracy. Chronology and descriptions of events never departed from authoritative sources. Inclusion of a closing "Author's Note" is always a nice touch.

One large quibble: Davis departs from most sources in her explanation of Roman names. The "praenomen, nomen, cognomen" convention is fairly well understood, but Davis invented a different rationale in Master and God.
Score = 3

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

Yes. As noted, contemporary sources varied widely in their assessments of Domitian, and his alienation of the Senate resulted in derogatory biographies by Tacitus and Suetonius. Davis used those portrayals to construct her fictionalized Domitian as insecure and suspicious, tending toward paranoia later on. She resisted the temptation, however, to paint a one-dimensional negative portrait of a deranged evil tyrant. Other historical characters of the time are known largely through their own writings, which can be problematic. The satirical poets Juvenal and Martial have cameos, but could perhaps have been used to greater effect.

A number of those involved in Domitian's assassination are included as characters (thanks to the detailed account of Suetonius). A number of the imperial women also have roles, because of Lucilla's contact with them.
Score = 4

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and characters plausible?

Yes. Like Falco, Clodianus hovers near the boundaries of stereotype, but Davis resists the temptation to ever let him become a total macho jerk and/or a total blockhead. Lucilla is perhaps more thoroughly liberated than is plausible for that time, but it works. Her thinking certainly confounds Clodianus, who is easily confused anyway where women are concerned.

Davis' fictionalized historical Romans lack the devious depth of Graves - mainly because they're not central characters - but come across as plausibly real people.
Score = 4

Emperor (series), by Conn Iggulden

As mentioned in my review of Conn Iggulden's Wars of the Roses: Stormbird, it was the first of his many novels I've read. Having enjoyed Stormbird, I looked for other books by Iggulden and found the Emperor series, based on the life of Julius Caesar. Always up for novels based in ancient Rome, I was pleased to discover a series not yet read. First in the series is The Gates of Rome (2003), followed by four sequels.

Unfortunately, I was hugely disappointed. I found it impossible to enjoy novels filled with familiar historical characters and events, yet exhibiting such blatant disregard for historical accuracy. Even the author's concluding "Historical Note" section, where novelists usually confess their sins regarding historical accuracy, was a letdown. No mention is made of any of the many, obvious, egregious departures from known history.

No thorough fact-check will be attempted here, but one example will serve to illustrate the level of historical abuse. Dates are well documented for the major events in the life both of Julius Caesar and his great-nephew Octavian, who eventually succeeded him as Caesar Augustus. Julius was praetor in Spain just before his first election as Consul in 60 BC. Only three years old in Caesar's consular year, the "young man" Octavian of these novels becomes one of Caesar's trusted lieutenants during the Spanish military campaigns.

These were Iggulden's first efforts at historical fiction, so I can at least say that he's come a long way since then, and Stormbird was a tremendous improvement.
If you're at all interested in historically-accurate fictionalized treatments of Julius Caesar and his times, stay far away from these novels. Read Colleen McCullough instead.

Lone Star Rising: The Texas Rangers Trilogy (2003), by Elmer Kelton

In general, "western" novels tend to be light on actual history, so I haven't read many. I made an exception for Lone Star Rising: The Texas Rangers Trilogy (2003), by Elmer Kelton, after reading a very interesting straight history work called Empire of the Summer Moon : Quanah Parker and the Rise and Fall of the Comanches, by S. C. Gwynne (2011).

As expected, Kelton's novels contain few historical events or characters, although he does attempt to be even-handed in characterizations of the different peoples involved: Texans, Comanches, Spanish-speaking New Mexicans. Critical historical factors are underplayed or ignored entirely - particularly the role of European diseases in the catastrophic destruction of all Native American tribes. In my 5 criteria, I'd give the novels 2s or maybe 3s across the board. It was a fun read, however, and Kelton is a skillful teller of tales.

For a good account of west Texas history in the middle 1800s, get Gwynne's book instead. Readers might question the characterization of the Comanche as "the most powerful Indian tribe in American history", but Gwynne makes a strong case.

P.S. A few more thoughts about why this novel didn't mention smallpox or cholera. "Western" novels have some archetypical characteristics. One of those is anthropocentrism: the view that "man is the measure of all things". That viewpoint can't stand up to the fact that disease had far more to do with the near-extinction of native Americans than any deliberate actions by humans.

 A dualistic good-evil morality is another staple of western novels. The "good" people struggle to meet and overcome challenges, while the "evil" people act badly. Smallpox and cholera, however, don't care who's good and bad. The universe doesn't care about humans. That point of view doesn't work in a western novel.

The Sot Weed Factor, by John Barth

No one failing to read The Sot Weed Factor until 2015 can claim to be among the cognoscenti of historical fiction. So be it. It's still a great post-modern American novel - not just a great hist-fict novel, and still merits commentary 55 years after its publication. Lacking the qualifications for a more general review, the focus here will be on the historical aspects of the novel. For more, a Google search will lead to numerous reviews, discussions, plot summaries, etc.

Barth's historical jumping-off point was a satirical poem published in London in January of 1708, attributed to one "Eben. Cook, Gent.". The complete title is The Sot Weed Factor: Or, a Voyage to Maryland. A Satyr. In which is described, The Laws, Government, Courts and Constitutions of the Country; and also the Buildings, Feasts, Frolicks, Entertainments and Drunken Humours of the Inhabitants of that Part of America. In Burlesque Verse. 

I found a copy (literally - photocopied pages of the original) of this composition at my local Santa Cruz Public Library, and read it along with Barth's extrapolation. I recommend the exercise, despite the archaic language and spellings (e.g. "alfo" rather than "also") It's truly impossible to imagine any other author composing such a fantastical fictional framework for Cook's "satyr", and yet one which is plausible (barely) and remains true to the paucity of known historical facts. Highly entertaining, hilarious, iconoclastic, raunchy, cynical - in other words, a John Barth novel.

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. Readers of Barth will know that he hails from the Chesapeake Bay's Eastern Shore region, so it's no surprise that he took an interest in Cook's narrative, which was set largely in that remote and lightly-populated part of Maryland. The colony of Maryland experienced great turmoil in the later 1600s, mirroring the final stages of Catholic-Protestant strife in the home country. Barth introduces the reader to many of the historical events and personalities of those times, although none of them are central to the story. For that reason, in order to more fully understand the historical context, I was inspired to learn more from other sources.
Score = 5

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes. As noted above, the major political events of late 1600s Maryland are a backdrop rather than central to the novel's story. A point is subtracted for that reason, but the fictional action has numerous intimate connections to its historical context. Barth's complex plot even manages to encompass the John Smith-Pocahontas story - irreverently, of course.
Score = 4

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Hard to say. The only accounts of most of these events were written by participants, and usually by only one participant. Knowing the tendency for first-person accounts to be highly colored - if not outright falsehood, it's just barely plausible that these events happened exactly as described in The Sot Weed Factor. Let's just say that no blatant and obvious contradictions were found.

At the end, Barth included a sort of Historical Notes epilogue, titled The Author Apologizes to His Readers. Some of the historical (and novelistic) loose ends get wrapped up, and I always appreciate that sort of effort by historical novelists.
Score = 3

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

Again, hard to say. Similar to criterion 3, the novel's primary goal was not to investigate and accurately describe historical events and characters. There's no contradiction with the little we know for sure, but that left Barth vast spaces to fill with fiction.

Most of the major historical characters remain offscreen throughout the story, spoken of in the third person. One who has a brief spoken part is Francis Nicholson - at that time Governor of Maryland.

For the 1987 Anchor Books (Random House) edition, Barth composed a Foreword containing much more historical background on Ebenezer Cooke (spelled with an "e" at the end, despite the original printing) and the historical research underlying the fiction. That inclusion raises the score from 3 to 4.
Score = 4

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and characters plausible?

Yes - from a modern perspective. Really, though? - probably not. But the same can be said of any historical novel, so that's not a criticism. Maybe the best approach is to say is that the novel challenged a lot of conventional narratives, causing the reader to devote serious thought to those long-ago happenings rather than simply accepting the standard stories as backdrops to the fictional action.
Score = 4

Wars of the Roses: Stormbird, by Conn Iggulden (2014)

Conn Iggulden is not a new face in historical fiction, but Wars of the Roses: Stormbird, is the first of his many novels I've read. Looking for something with an approximate historical relationship to my recent reading of English medieval royalty tales, I found this first volume of Iggulden's newest series. As the title makes clear, the historical setting is England's civil war fought to decide the successor to King Edward VI.

Stormbird begins with a prologue scene at the death of Edward III in 1377. The characters present at that drama foreshadow the later conflict between the two noble houses: Lancaster and York (Iggulden includes a helpful family tree).

Then the date jumps to 1443, 21 years after the death of the legendary warrior Edward V, hero of Agincourt and a Lancaster. The young son surviving Edward's premature death is now grown, but has not shown the leadership qualities of his father. English possessions on the continent are threatened by Philip II of France, and Edward's advisors attempt to buy peace with that tried-and-true royal strategy - marriage.

 The peace treaty that comes with the wedding vows fails, however, to stop the erosion of English fortunes, and dissatisfaction grows with the king's lack of martial and political prowess. Leader of the opposing royal faction is Richard, Duke of York - also a great-grandson of Edward III. But rebellion rises first from a more humble level, led by a Kentish commoner named Jack Cade, whose peasant army threatens London itself.

It was a turbulent time in merrie olde England, and Conn Iggulden tells the story well.  

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. Much of this history was only vaguely familiar to me. Everyone has heard of the "War of the Roses", probably because of the poetic-sounding name, but the gory details make great historical-novel fodder.
Score = 5

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes. Iggulden obviously enjoys the twists and turns and details of political intrigue, and this slice of English history contains an extra-large helping of those elements. That emphasis puts his style closer to Sharon Kay Penman than the more military-centric Bernard Cornwell.
Score = 5

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Yes. The historical research seems to be thorough and on a par with other hist-fict writers I like. Inclusion of a "Historical Note" section at the end raises the score from 4 to 5.
Score = 5

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

As with most novels employing fictionalized historical characters, the most you can usually say is that the characters' actions are consistent with historical records of those actions. The real fun of this type of historical novel, however, is the examination of personalities, motivations, influences and - in the case of Henry VI - even medical histories. Iggulden seems to consider all of the historical evidence available before going on to fill in the blanks with informed fiction. The question becomes, then: "Don't fictionalized historical characters, by definition, have to be less "accurate" than ones who only do and say the things history has recorded? So as a rule, although I often enjoy them more, I'm going to take a point away (from now on) from any novel that fictionalizes historical characters.
Score = 4

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and characters plausible?

Yes - from a modern perspective. Another unavoidable problem with historical fiction is the impossibility of understanding a lot of what people were thinking 600 years ago, but within that context I found Iggulden's storytelling to be excellent. He avoids the extreme stereotype heroes and villains, and the plot moves always make sense.
Score = 5

A King's Ransom, by Sharon Kay Penman (2014)

A King's Ransom is the long awaited sequel to 2011's Lionheart, by the extraordinary Sharon Kay Penman - and a rare opportunity for me to review a book less than a year old! This novel spans the last years in the life of King Richard I, 1192-1199, and is also the end of Penman's Angevin series (she has already written about Richard's brother and successor John I in Here Be Dragons).

The central thesis of this story is that Richard's capture and nearly-15-month imprisonment in Austria and Germany profoundly affected his mental state for the rest of his life. Richard's all-consuming hatred of his captor Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI, along with co-conspirator King Philip of France, completely determined the English king's agenda during the final five years of his reign. His incessant war against Philip and his allies impoverished England and devastated large swathes of France.

The life spans of the Angevin dynasty enabled a neat summing up of Penman's narrative. Richard died in warfare, as he had lived, and his sister Joanna died shortly after. Eleanor of Aquitaine outlived most of her children and saw her lifelong dedication to her family's fortunes descend finally onto the untrustworthy shoulders of her youngest son. John's inability to command the loyalty of the great lords who had supported Henry and Richard led to the rapid loss of much of the Angevin lands in France, but A King's Ransom ends shortly after Richard's death - before Eleanor's final years were spent watching that slow-motion disaster.    

As with Lionheart, this novel earns straight 5's on my 5 criteria. My only regret, really, is that four years elapsed between publication of the two novels. I can forget an awful lot of what I've read in four years, and found myself constantly having to review events briefly mentioned in A King's Ransom, which were dealt with thoroughly in Lionheart. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise, reinforcing through repetition my knowledge of that turbulent and fascinating historical period.

To The Ends Of The Earth, by Frances Hunter (2006)

To The Ends Of The Earth: The Last Journey Of Lewis & Clark is the well-conceived and written first historical novel of Frances Hunter, which turns out to be a pen name belonging to a pair of sisters named Mary and Liz Clare. They have since published one other historical, which I have yet to read - but plan to.

In the early-U.S. history sub-genre, it's hard to find novels so free of hagiography except for the lone voice in the wilderness of Gore Vidal, and among the post-moderns like Barth and Pinchon. Much as I enjoyed Mason & Dixon, however, the literary gimmickry (just my opinion) gets in the way of my desire to become immersed in a good story.

To The Ends Of The Earth spins a marvelous tale of intrigue, mystery, suspense - and yes, history - including the kind of intelligent historical speculation I enjoy so much in Iain Pears novels like Stone's Fall. And such a motley crew of early Americans! I feel much better about the 21st century after getting to know the collection of cutthroats, thieves, liars, bigots, hypocrites, racists and substance abusers inhabiting this novel. Not all that different from Mark Twain, actually.

Everyone knows the names Lewis & Clark from their famous 1803-4 expedition to the Pacific Coast, but few are familiar with "the last journey" of 1809. There's a good reason for that. After the triumphant return in 1804, Lewis and Clark were "rewarded" with diplomatic appointments in the new Louisiana Territory. Neither man was suited to such a life, and Governor Lewis soon found himself embroiled in political and financial difficulties.

The last straw was when the War Department in Washington D.C. refused to pay some drafts he had issued in the name of the territorial government. Lewis resolved to travel in person, mostly overland, from St. Louis to the Capitol to straighten things out. He never got there - Lewis died in mysterious circumstances on the trail, in what is now Tennessee. Worried about his friend, William Clark had set out after him but caught up too late, either to prevent or observe the death of his friend.

Frances Hunter found many aspects of this story to be very odd, and set out to construct a plausible fictional narrative that could explain all. The result is highly entertaining, full of skullduggery and moral dissolution while remaining faithful to history. In a stroke of genius, the authors pull in one of the most remarkably scandalous figures in all of U.S. history - General James Wilkinson - as chief villain.  

Wilkinson holds the dubious distinction of appearing in several historical novels, filling the standard role of "the bad guy who always gets away with it by shifting blame onto the innocent hero". Perhaps the earliest of those is Rabble in Arms, by Kenneth Roberts (1933). Someone should make "Jamie" the hero of his own novel, bringing some balance to his fictional reputation, as Gore Vidal did with Aaron Burr (by blaming Wilkinson!)

The five criteria:

1. Did the novel inspire me to further historical research?

Yes. As mentioned above, I knew very little about the later careers of Lewis & Clark. Always a rich trove of character study - what famous people do with the rest of their lives after the thing that made them famous.
Score = 5

2. Did the novel include enough history to make it an interesting historical story?

Yes. The events that occur within the novel's time/space frame are fairly restricted, but a skillful use of flashbacks brings a much wider historical scope to the novel.
Score = 5

3. Was the depiction of historical events accurate?

Yes and maybe? As is necessary in this style of novel, there's a fair amount of speculation regarding the thinking behind the characters' actions, but Hunter freely acknowledges that in an excellent concluding "Author's Note". In addition, Hunter adds a number of fascinating but obscure facts gleaned from primary sources not generally well known. Since the climactic action - the death of Lewis - is itself shrouded in mystery, the "real" history in this tale is somewhat slippery. Mainly for that reason, I'm awarding less than the highest score, but that should not be taken as criticism.
Score = 4

4. Was the depiction of historical characters accurate?

It's hard to know. Despite the detailed journals Lewis & Clark kept during their eponymous expedition, they were "men of few words" about themselves. Their contemporaries were mostly of the same ilk, describing events in as few words as possible and giving few clues to their emotional states. Suffice it to say, then, that Hunter stays faithful to the things we do know about the historical characters (who are also most of the main characters). Again, a "4" here is not a criticism.
Score = 4

5. Were the fictional or fictionalized plot and character motivations plausible?

Yes. The most fun thing about this novel was the clever plausibility of its plot. This is my favorite style of historical novel - one that includes an entirely plausible but historically unknown fictional plot that doesn't bend any known historical facts along the way.
Score = 5