I'm pleased to have actor, singer, and historical novelist Christina Britton Conroy joining me today at Reading the Past for a fascinating post about the lives of actors in Victorian times and after. She has a new four-book series, set in the theatrical world of Victorian and Edwardian England, just out from Endeavour Press.
~ Writing Novels about Victorian Theatre
Christina Britton Conroy
Having spent my early life as a professional singer/actor, it is no wonder I chose the Victorian theatre to set my 4-book series His Majesty's Theatre. Pouring through real and fictional theatrical accounts, I am especially fond of Charles Dickens' Nicholas Nickleby and Clarence Dane's Broom Stages (rereleased as Theatre Royal). Extensive research in London libraries completed my research. Actors who were not yet, or never would become, stars usually struggled to afford a dry roof and enough food to keep from starving. Theatrical boarding houses were few and far between, for good reason. If tickets didn't sell, and/or a shady producer took off before paying his actors, midnight flits out back windows were commonplace. Even legitimate producers were allowed to withhold salaries if a performance was cancelled because of natural causes.
At least jobs for actors were plentiful. Experience was seldom a prerequisite for hiring. Actor-manager Herbert Beerbohm Tree was the first to teach acting technique. In 1904, his classed evolved into the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Most actors learned on-the-job. Tree built Her Majesty's Theatre in 1887. When Edward VII was crowned in 1901, the theatre name was changed to His Majesty's.
Most actors were expected to learn their roles from sides (sheets with only their own lines on the page). They provided their own costumes, wigs, and makeup. There are accounts of dancing girls spending most of their hard-earned wages replacing torn stockings.
In small road companies, the actors were also the backstage crew, setting up their stage, rigging, lights, making and mending costumes, and roaming each new town, passing out tear sheets and selling tickets. A newly hired actor could be expected to learn several long roles almost instantly, rehearse night and day, and still have enough energy to project his/her voice over a rowdy audience. If a small company played a town for 8 days, they need to perform 8 different plays. Old actors could seldom stand these rigors, so young actors drew overlarge wrinkles onto smooth brows, powered dark hair to make it gray, walked bent over, and tried to look old.
The few star actors and actor-managers like Henry Irving, and Herman Beerbohm Tree made vast salaries, built their own theatres, and treated their actors fairly. They also took their companies on tours of the world.
Many well paid "tragic actors" took time from the legitimate theatre to play Pantomimes. These elaborately silly holiday children's shows rehearsed for 3-4 weeks, opened on Boxing Day (December 26th) and played for several weeks. Rehearsals were not paid, but actors could still earn more in a short Pantomime season than an entire year playing small roles for Henry Irving.
Learning all this quaint information made me shake my head. Being an actor is 2018 is very similar. The major difference is that now, there is less work for actors.
I was lucky to get a union card at the age of 7. Actors Equity Association demands producers pay a bond before a show goes into production. This ensures that actors will be paid and brought home, even if a show closes out of town. Rehearsal and performance hours are still long, but reasonable. Even working in summer stock, when one show is playing 8-9 performances a week, and two more shows are rehearsing during offstage hours, the actors and crew are guaranteed 11 hours off after an evening curtain falls and rehearsal can begin the next day. Contracts vary according to the budget of the theatre, but breaks for meals, warm dressing rooms in winter, and other basic necessities are guaranteed.
Non-union theatres still do whatever they want. The only nonunion gig I played was Jenny Lind in Barnum on a cruise ship. There were no unions on the high seas. The play alternated nights with a Las Vegas-type revue called Sea Legs. I was horrified when a new Sea Legs number was put into that show and the dancers were rehearsed all night, after the Barnum curtain came down. They were allowed a couple hours sleep before the next Barnum matinee. Since that is a circus show, with some dancers swinging on ropes over the audience, it was amazing no one got hurt.
In 2018, every theatre performer wants to be on Broadway. The work is hard, but salaries and perks are high. Walking through Times Square, pedestrians are accosted by attractive young people costumed from a current show, handing out fliers. These actors are never in Broadway shows, but may be in Off Broadway shows playing just around the corner.
Much like 19th-century Pantomime stars, modern TV/film stars performing on Broadway take huge cuts in their usual salaries. One female star told an interviewer she was paying her nanny more that she was taking home in her pay envelope.
The summer stock season of 1988, I was cast in The Women. The show is about the scandal of divorce in the 1930s. Since regional theatre producers can ask actors to provide their own clothes for contemporary plays, they decided to set the play in 1988. When the director arrived, reminded them there was no scandal of divorce in 1988 and the play would be nonsense, most contemporary clothes brought by the actors didn't work. Anticipating the problem, I brought clothes that worked for both periods. The rest of the cast scrambled, sent home for other clothes and went shopping.
We were always paid on a Friday, and the last show of the week was on Sunday. Before the very last Sunday show, we had not been paid. One of our stars, Julie Newmar (best remembered as Cat Woman), refused to go on until we were all paid. Thanks to Julie and the Equity bond, we were paid and flown home to New York.
Reference: Jackson, Russell, Victorian Theatre (A & C Black, London, 1989).
Novelist / screenwriter / singer / actor / Irish harpist / Certified Music Therapist / Licensed Creative Arts Therapist Christina Britton Conroy has many passions.
A classically trained singer/actor, Christina toured the globe singing operas, operettas, and musicals. She soloed with orchestras, oratorio societies, at Radio City Music Hall, and folk venues, accompanying herself on the guitar and Irish Harp. Her theatrical credits include: On the Twentieth Century, directed by Harold Prince, with Rock Hudson, Imogene Coca, and Judy Kaye; The Women with Anita Gillette, Dody Goodman, Julie Newmar, Virginia Graham, Jane Kean, and Margaux Hemingway; and the original Actors Studio production of Let ‘em Rot by Cy Coleman, directed by Morton DaCosta.
As a Certified Music Therapist and Licensed Creative Arts Therapist, Christina has enriched the lives of children, adults, their families, and caregivers. She is also the Founder and Executive Director of Music Gives Life, bring musical performing into the lives of senior citizens. NY1 - TV NEWS named her NYer Of The Week. Christina's education includes creative writing and screenwriting at NYU; acting at The Actors' Studio and NY School of Film and Television; Music at Juilliard Pre-College, Interlochen, a music bachelors from U. of Toronto, and music therapy MA from NYU.
OnlineBookClub reviewers wrote: "If you love to read about Downton Abbey era England as much as I do, you are in for a real treat with Christina Britton Conroy’s, Not From The Stars, Book 1 of His Majesty’s Theatre series. This story has all the requirements of a Shakespearian play; star-crossed lovers, controlling fathers, and cruel betrothal arrangements…" (Endeavour Press, UK 11/2017). The original novel, now a 4-book series, was a Fountainhead Writing Contest finalist.
Christina lives in Greenwich Village, NYC with her husband, actor/media-coach, Larry Conroy.
For more information on her historical novel series, His Majesty’s Theatre:
Regan Carmichael’s first meeting with her intended husband, Dr. Colton Lee, starts off with a bang—literally. After foiling a recent attack along her journey from Arizona, Regan shoots Colt by accident, mistaking him for another outlaw.
Set in 1880s Wyoming, this engaging last volume in Jenkins’ African-American Old West romance trilogy shows how their relationship ripens into deep, abiding love. This is a classic mail-order bride story with some original touches—for one, Regan is a wealthy heiress.
Despite their awkward beginning, Regan and Colt soon come to appreciate each other’s qualities. Colt is a caring physician with a six-year-old daughter, Anna, whose spirit was crushed by an older relative; the unconventional Regan shows her stepdaughter how to have fun.
Refreshingly, the novel avoids contrived misunderstandings between the couple. The historical background, full of details on small-town life and dramas, showcases the West’s multicultural settlement, including the bigotry that Chinese miners faced. One subplot emphasizes the importance of education, a worthy subject.
A skilled shot, rider, and cook, and gorgeous to boot, Regan seems a bit idealized, and I wondered why a woman of her financial status would risk marrying a stranger. Still, the story and its likable characters kept me happily reading to the end.
Tempest was published by Avon on January 30 ($7.99/CA$9.99), and I reviewed it for the Historical Novels Review. This is the third book in the author's Old West series, after Breathless and Forbidden. It stands well on its own, although motivations for Regan's decisions may have been given in the previous book, which tells the love story of her aunt, Eddy. Her sister, Portia, was the heroine of the first book.
Jenkins writes historical romance featuring African-American characters (she also writes contemporaries) and is a multi-award winning author, having won the Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romance Writers of America in 2017.
The editor’s note at the beginning of my e-ARC of The Silent Companions begins with a warning: don’t read this book at night. Well, I did, and lived to tell about it – although I found myself looking askance at the dolls on my dresser before scuttling under the covers and turning off the light.
After writing two excellent fictional accountsof the Georgian royals, Laura Purcell has gone full-blown gothic for her third novel, a spooky read set in an English village in Victorian times and the 17th century. Her heroine is Mrs. Elsie Bainbridge, whose terrible story unfolds as she, a mute and bereft woman charged with arson, pens the details for a doctor at the St. Joseph Hospital for the Insane. He doesn’t want to find her guilty and hopes she can save herself.
An atmosphere of dread is conjured up from her tale’s beginning as Elsie, a recent widow, travels by carriage to her late husband Rupert’s family home along with Rupert’s mousy cousin, Sarah. What greets them at the Jacobean manor called “The Bridge” is crumbling disrepair – and something more. The serving maids are untrained, the gardens unkempt, the rooms dusty, and she hears odd hissing sounds at night. The coffin with Rupert’s body awaits burial there, too, with small marks on his skin resembling splinters. Nobody in the nearby village of Fayford wants anything to do with the place, due to rumors of witchcraft and a centuries-old feud. It’s hardly the place for Elsie to raise the child she’s carrying.
Then, after picking the lock of the third-floor garret, she and Sarah discover the previous inhabitants’ dust-choked belongings, two volumes of a 17th-century diary, and a free-standing portrait of a girl, mounted on wood, who resembles both Elsie and Rupert. The presence of these figures, called “silent companions” and reportedly of Dutch origin, adds uniqueness to the classic gothic setting. (Between these figures and the elaborate dollhouse in Jessie Burton’s The Miniaturist, the Netherlands is clearly the place to look for creative 17th-century artisanship.)
Equally gripping is the account of Anne Bainbridge starting in 1635, just prior to the Civil War years, as she and her husband prepare for a royal visit. A couple of intriguing details (why does one "companion" look like Elsie?) could have been clarified further, but the mystery about the house’s malevolent presence has a darkly satisfying explanation.
As the suspense heightens, and Elsie and her household find themselves in grave danger, the tone moves from subtly creepy to outright gory – a bit too gory for me in places – but the novel’s true horrors lie in the all-too-real depictions of women’s powerlessness.
The Silent Companions was published this month by Penguin ($16 US, $22 Canada); I read it from a NetGalley copy. Want to win a copy for yourself? Please fill out the form below to enter the giveaway (this copy was originally provided by the publisher). Void where prohibited, and one entry per household, please. Deadline next Friday, March 23. Good luck!
Cuba’s capital, Havana, a neutral port during the U.S. Civil War, serves as a base for Confederate trade and plotting and corresponding Union espionage. In Lloyd’s (Rough Passage to London, 2013) exciting second novel, set in 1863, this Spanish-controlled city swarms with activity, from the shipping industry’s constant din to the masquerade dances that serve as an apt metaphor for individuals’ covert motives.
Everett Townsend, a 19-year-old American schooner captain, gets drawn into danger after rescuing an escaped English prisoner. Blackmailed by a Spanish merchant into smuggling cargo through the Union blockade of the South, Townsend gathers a crew and follows his assignment while pondering his moral quandary.
The shipboard action is exhilarating, and intrigue beckons on land, too, with intertwining subplots about a British diplomat’s unresolved murder, a mystery involving Townsend’s late Cuban mother, and his growing affections for an innkeeper’s daughter. The story eventually leads him straight into the dark, cruel heart of the Cuban economy.
This is an involving reading experience for maritime fans and landlubbers alike. One hopes Townsend’s adventures will continue in future books.
Harbor of Spies was published on March 1st by Lyons Press, and this review was written for Booklist's Feb 15th issue.
Some other notes:
- I have to give credit to novels that defy my expectations. Although nautical adventure novels aren't my preferred subgenre, Harbor of Spies is much more than that, as I hope the review indicates. Plus, the action sequences on board ship were genuinely exciting and didn't get bogged down in jargon.
- The British diplomat in question is George Backhouse, a historical figure who was posted to Cuba and mysteriously murdered in 1855.
- The author, Robin Lloyd, was a longtime correspondent for NBC News who grew up "sailing in the Caribbean" (per his online bio).
- For Civil War fiction fans, this novel offers a less familiar perspective on events, which I appreciated. I've been reviewing many novels set in and around this period lately, including Charles Frazier's Varina, and I'll be posting my thoughts closer to that book's publication date.
This post is dedicated to historical fiction cover art, one of my favorite subjects, and one I haven't posted about recently. Twelve intriguing covers for new and forthcoming historical novels are below. Will you be adding any of these to your TBRs, or have you read them already?
Andrews' latest biblical fiction novel has a striking color combination in its design: the blue turning into an almost grey, and the title in a deep red font. The title character's pose is classic (a woman facing away from the reader), but the rest makes it stand out. WaterBrook, Jan 2018. [see on Goodreads]
The creative cover for The Strays (from Australian novelist Bitto) seems perfect for a novel about artists and bohemian types in Depression-era Melbourne. Twelve, Jan 2018. [see on Goodreads]
This novel set among socialites in 1950s America and Havana looks like a decadent read perfect for summertime. Crown, June 2018. [see on Goodreads]
And moving on to something completely different. A dramatic color combo for Cornwell's new Elizabethan-set novel (this is the UK paperback). It looks respectably historical, and the foregrounded red promises action and turmoil. HarperCollins UK, April 2018. [see on Goodreads]
I chose this one because the setting calls to mind the coastal setting for Poldark, and Costeloe's latest is set in nineteenth-century Cornwall, but some decades afterward. Head of Zeus, May 2018. [see on Goodreads]
I love this evocative portrait of London at twilight - the color of the Thames and the sky above, and check out the little dog in the lower right corner of the image. It makes for an eye-catching Victorian mystery. Minotaur, Feb 2018. [see on Goodreads]
Ann Mah's newest novel takes place in wine country - the French region of Burgundy - in WWII and the present day. The cover design echoes the locale and appears warm, inviting, and earthy. Morrow, June 2018. [see on Goodreads]
Such an edgy cover for Christine Mangan's debut novel set in '50s Morocco: the black and white palette (except the title and author), the dark shadows, the woman's expression and pose, the unusual way her fingers are splayed... it reminds me of a Hitchcock film. Ecco, May 2018. [see on Goodreads]
The cover for Sold on a Monday tells a story, one that will undoubtedly be heartbreaking in parts, but it's one I want to read in hopes that all will turn out well. Not surprisingly, it takes place during the Depression years. Sourcebooks, Sept 2018. [see on Goodreads]
You don't see many historical novel covers based on historical portraits any more, which is unfortunate. This is a classic example of one used for a novel set in Renaissance-era Venice, and it works very well. The Scriptorium, Nov 2017. [see on Goodreads]
I'm always willing to be won over by an attractive historical-looking font. The subtitle says "a romantic mystery of the Hudson River Valley," and both the woodsy backdrop and the title placard evoke the setting and era (late 19th century). Walrus, Apr 2017. [see on Goodreads]
The sepia photograph on the cover (colorized a bit) is one that makes me want to find out more about its subject, Margaretha Zelle, better known as Mata Hari. This is a recent reissue of Skinner's novel, first published in 2001. Faber & Faber, 2017. [see on Goodreads]
The challenge and pleasure of writing historical fiction is creating a vivid sense of another place and time for readers. That challenge, I believe, goes beyond simply describing an earlier world; it means to immerse one’s characters in that world so deeply that it comes alive in the characters’ speech, actions, thoughts, and feelings.
Thanks to Google, it’s not essential to have expert knowledge of the historical world that you want to bring to life in your fiction. The purpose of this article is to share some of the approaches I use in researching the background for my historical novels.
It starts with context, which for me means authoritative history. I can find the books I want on Google; in most cases they are available from Amazon, slightly used, for under $5.00. (An obvious disclaimer: always follow fair use principles and always acknowledge your sources.) Like other authors, I create complex biographies for my main characters that form the foundation for the character’s actions and thoughts in the novel itself. I do the same with physical locations − not only the details of what the settings look like, but also the politics, economy, social norms, and mostly the people – what the inhabitants feel. The result is that readers get to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, and sense what it’s like to live in that created world.
For example, my current novel nearing completion, Doppelgänger, is a World War II spy story. The following is a description of London during the Nazi Blitz drawn from on-line details. The area around Bedford Square, a small residential close of perhaps 40 small, mostly two-story homes, had been hit with high explosive bombs. It looked as if a giant fist had smashed the entire block to rubble. Neighbors, rescue and first aid workers were clawing through the clutter to get to survivors. Stretcher bearers carried the wounded to the nearby ambulances through the chaos of shattered bricks, timbers, and broken glass. The dead bodies were stacked in open spaces along the street.
Exhausted as he was, as much from the horror he was experiencing as the exertion itself, Walter still forced himself to join a group pulling in almost furious anger at a jumble of still smoking wreckage. “There are children in here!” one of the rescuers urged. With the other rescuers, he feverishly helped clear the ruin of what had been a home: pieces of roof and shattered rafters, a long ragged strip of wall covered with ripped, blistered pink and blue chintz wallpaper, the splintered half of a carved table, beams with ragged plaster lath stuck to them, torn curtains, the broken shards of a lime-green vase, a drenched photo album. Ten minutes later, they reached the bodies.
When a novel takes place in an historical setting like a city, I like to include period maps. These too, are easily found on Google. For Doppelgänger, I’m using copies of the 1939 Michelin Guide for France and a 1940 Map of London so that readers can walk the streets with the characters. And with the satellite view feature of Google maps, I’m often able to zoom in to street level and describe the actual buildings.
The same access to detail in Google exists with natural settings. In my most recent published novel, The Most Bold and Daring Act of the Age (2017), a Napoleonic War saga set in Algiers, I wanted to establish the setting of Kaf Ajnoun, the djinn-haunted Cave of the Devils in the forbidding mountain fortress of Idinen. Google gave me the detailed topographic features and dozens of photos of this eerie, nightmare landscape.
Google also provides a means to create action scenes that otherwise would be hard to describe. For example, I wanted to give readers the experience of a sandstorm in the Sahara desert. I’ve never been to the Sahara, and have no interest at all in ever being caught in a sandstorm myself. But when I Googled “Sahara desert sandstorm” and clicked on “videos,” I discovered that some brave (foolhardy) soul had posted a YouTube cell phone video of a sandstorm overwhelming him in all its roaring, choking, purple-black fury. I just described what I saw in the video.
In my first novel, Blood Brothers: Courage and Treachery on the Shores of Tripoli (2011), I created a massive cavalry battle between opposing Bedouin armies, but I wanted the action to be real, and not a Hollywood version of a cavalry charge. Once again, Google to the rescue. I found an on-line copy of Napoleon’s manual of cavalry tactics, translated into English. I was able to give readers the feel of riding into the swirling dusty maelstrom of a battle that would have happened 200 years ago.
Finally, and most important, this kind of access to historical detail allows the characters themselves to experience what it means to live in the fictional world of the novel. Blood Brothers tells the story of America’s 1805 war with Tripoli and the incredible march of General William Eaton’s rag-tag army of mercenaries and a handful of US Marines across 500 miles of merciless Sahara desert. The details come from General Eaton’s letters, available on-line.
Each night they camped by large, spring-fed cisterns. One evening, after the men and animals had taken their fill and the water bags had been replenished, Kirkpatrick stood with Eaton, looking at the perfectly aligned stonework of the well’s sides disappearing below into the darkness. “Who in the world do you think built these wells, General?” “Marc Anthony’s Roman legionnaires,” answered Eaton. “These are the remains of Roman forts, built a day’s march apart.” He looked at the ruins around them, then ran his hand over the rough weathered stones on the well’s rim. “This was the kingdom Anthony and Cleopatra meant to enjoy together.” Eaton looked up at the star-strewn sky above them. “Such great dreams. How does it go? ‘Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space.’ And now the grave that clips them together lies only in our imaginations. So much for dreams. But this stonework has held up for almost two thousand years. I wonder if we Americans will leave a legacy like this behind us. People we can’t imagine, in a time far distant, will say with respect and wonder, ‘Ah. The Americans were here.’”
In her stirring follow-up to the Orange Prize–winning The Song of Achilles (2011), Miller beautifully voices the experiences of the legendary sorceress Circe.
The misfit daughter of the Greek sun god, Helios, her powers are weak and her speech too much like a mortal’s. But her unexpected talents in witchcraft prove threatening to the Titans’ realm, leading to her banishment to the remote island of Aiaia. There she resides, carefully perfecting her herb lore, until her solitude is disrupted by visitors both human and divine.
With poetic eloquence (“the days moved slowly, dropping like petals from a blown rose”) and fine dramatic pacing, Miller smoothly knits together the classic stories of the Minotaur, the monster Scylla, the witch Medea (Circe’s niece), events from Homer’s Odyssey, and more, all reimagined from a strong-minded woman’s viewpoint.
Circe’s potential rival, Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, is another memorable character, and the novel speaks to women’s agency, war’s traumatic aftermath, and how strength emerges from emotional growth. This immersive blend of literary fiction and mythological fantasy demonstrates that the Greek myths are still very relevant today.
My review of Circe first appeared in Booklist's March 1 issue, and the novel will be published by Little, Brown just over a month from now. on April 10th. Readers may want to note that it falls closer to the "fantasy" end of the historical fantasy spectrum (it's being classified by the publisher as historical fiction, though a good part of the novel takes place in the realms of Greek mythology).
Reflections on writing about a foreign history and culture
I am an American, living in Austria, a regular visitor to Italy, and my latest novels take place in the former Austrian Tyrol, which now belongs to Italy.
Confused? Stick with me. I’ve got a story to tell.
In 2005, I started writing a story that took place within the systematic oppression of the Austrian Tyroleans. Their province was severed in two and annexed by Italy in 1920. For reasons that require an entirely different telling, I got interested in this history. The more I researched, the deeper the story got under my skin and, the next thing I knew, I was working on the Reschen Valley series.
I had moved to Austria three years earlier while working on an entirely different historical novel based in Ukraine. Because I have Ukrainian roots and speak the language, writing that seemed easier than the undertaking I began in 2005. For that Ukrainian novel, I had the background and language necessary to confidently depict the culture. When I began tackling the Austrian-Italian conflict, I was running up against brick walls not only in the limited research available in English, but also in understanding the Tyrolean and Italian cultures and their intricacies. I had the daunting task of portraying a foreign world as accurately as possible, a world that was also foreign to me.
Not only were the differences in the Italian and Austrian cultures important, finding the parallels between my characters were key for development. I avoided taking sides in this conflict. So, more importantly than getting the specific details and differences down, I was also looking for common ground available to my characters. Further, when I studied their specific language barriers and cultural barriers, I found a lot of dry hay to play with, and I started lighting matches for the purposes of intensifying the tension as well as for creating complexities and layers, even humor.
I also had to make decisions about how I present this foreign world to an English-speaking audience. The techniques of introducing foreign words for the purpose of authenticity, for example, must be done with careful consideration. Secondly, I had to assure that certain aspects of the foreign world were not so foreign that they would disorient or distract. This selection process created a nagging worry about not being able to do justice to the Tyroleans or the Italians.
For starters, I would like nothing more than to have these novels translated into German and Italian. I believe both of these cultures are still trying to come to terms with their history. My fear is that, with a translation, the culture, the language and even the world I’ve created for this series will come out filtered. And with a heavy dilution, you have the risk that those who live within these cultures – these languages! – will not be able to recognise the world I have so painstakingly created for a foreign audience.
Which begs the question: What right do I have to write about this conflict in the first place? Will my novels fail in those countries?
Someone once wisely said that there is no such thing as bad publicity. This is what I imagine is going to happen when the book gets distributed in German- and Italian-speaking countries: Either the reader is going to say, “This is such hooey! An American wrote it,” or they are going to say, “This is so great! An American wrote it!” In the end, I remind myself that my job is to write a story about characters people will recognise and empathise with. Emotion is a novelist’s common denominator no matter where their story takes place. And because I most definitely have a story to tell, that must take priority in the craft.
Chrystyna Lucyk-Berger grew up in Minneapolis, Minnesota and now lives in the mountains of Austria with her hilarious dog, royally possessive cat, and phenomenal husband. Her series, Reschen Valley, is releasing throughout 2018 and 2019. No Man’s Land and The Breach, the first two in the series, are available now and on March 15th, respectively. You can join her newsletter for special deals, book launches, releases and promotions at: https://www.subscribepage.com/ReschenValley
The Langum Charitable Trust has just announced the winner and finalists for the Langum Prize in American Historical Fiction for 2017.
Laurel Davis Huber's The Velveteen Daughter (She Writes, 2017) has taken top honors.
From the press release: "Laurel Davis Huber’s The Velveteen Daughter composes the documented but unassembled lives of author and artist, as well as mother and daughter Margery Williams Bianco and Pamela Bianco. While Margery Williams Bianco’s Velveteen Rabbit is still cherished by contemporary generations, her daughter Pamela Bianco was arguably more famous in her lifetime ... While the novel includes vivid scenes of bohemian life both in Wales and Italy, as well as Greenwich Village and Harlem, The Velveteen Daughter is ultimately a novel about the intimate dynamics of familial and romantic love with its myriad expectations and disappointments."
The two finalists for the prize are Wiley Cash's The Last Ballad (Morrow) and Janet Benton's Lilli de Jong (Doubleday).
In addition, in the prize announcement, David J. Langum, Sr., Director of the Langum Charitable Trust, discusses three notable works of American historical fiction from 2017: Eleanor Henderson's The Twelve Mile Straight, Jennifer Egan's Manhattan Beach, and Jane Kirkpatrick's All She Left Behind.
Many of the world’s mystical places have remained so for centuries, even millennia. In this absorbing collection, the authors present seven stories, all linked through their setting of Cerne Abbas, a village in Dorset, which is home to an ancient wishing well and a giant (and well-endowed) hill-figure sculpted into the chalk countryside. The folk beliefs of the region play a strong role in each story, each of which is extraordinarily attuned to its era while evoking the timelessness of human emotions: protectiveness, jealousy, hope, fear, and love.
The book opens in the present day, with Rosie Brightwell, an Australian woman, visiting her grandparents’ English birthplace after a messy breakup. The subsequent tales progressively lead further back in time, detailing the lives of earlier Brightwells and their lovers, neighbors, and adversaries, and finally conclude with the remainder of Rosie’s story. It’s hard to pick a favorite!
“My Sister’s Ghost” is a suspenseful Victorian ghost story suffused with grief and desperation, and with a delightful child narrator. In “The True Confession of Obedience-to-God Ashe,” full of devilish twists, a Puritan parson’s spiteful daughter uses the well’s power to achieve her desire. Set in 999 AD, a time of panic and prophecy, “The End of Everything” tells of the gentle love between an unlikely couple.
“The Cunning Woman’s Daughter” is a well-crafted Tudor mystery told against the backdrop of the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Perhaps the most moving is “The Blessing,” which sees a young woman reacting to the devastation of World War II. And “The Giant” shows the villagers in 44 AD, preparing for the expected Roman incursion in different ways.
The stories are tinged with supernatural happenings. This is a satisfying, multi-dimensional read for anyone who likes pondering history’s deep and intricate layers.
The Silver Well was published in 2017 by Australia's Ticonderoga Press. This review, published also in February's Historical Novels Review, was based on a personal purchase. The book is available in paperback ($21.99 US, $30 in Australia) and ebook ($5.99 US).
This is also my first entry for the 2018 Australian Women Writers Challenge. Hopefully I'll do better this year than last. I'll try the Stella level, reading four and reviewing three.
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