Tag: history

Saints, Spies, and Six-Gun Outlaws: Outlaw Women of Arizona, by Mike Gavin

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Literary rating: ★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆

This is a slim little book – more of a booklet, really, coming in at only 74 pages in length. But since it combines both our topic of discussion and local interest, because I live in Arizona, it was an easy decision to pick up a copy, after Dieter brought it to my attention. It does use quite a loose definition of “outlaw” – it is something only really discussed in the book’s epilogue, dividing them into three categories. Most obviously, are the ones Gavin calls “The Breakers of Law”, such as stagecoach robber Pearl Hart, whose exploits were dramatized in The Woman Who Robbed the Stagecoach. “Their crimes were against the statutes of the state.” 

As well as Hart, this covers Eva Dugan, the only woman executed in Arizona, who was hung in 1930 [Not-so fun fact: the executioner misjudged the drop, causing Dugan to be decapitated!], and the state’s most notorious killer, Winnie Ruth Judd, “The Trunk Murderess”. Are these latter two what I’d call “outlaws”? Or just criminals? There is a difference, albeit perhaps more so in perception than dictionary definition. Although there is also uncertainty as to whether both Bugan and Judd even committed the murders of which they were convicted. It is kinda disappointing that, in the true sense of the word, one woman who committed one (1) robbery, is about all Gavin could find in the history of the state, and back to when it was a territory.

Nor am I entirely convinced they “stood against power”, as Gavin claims. That feels more like an attempt to force post-feminist ideology onto them, though it might be more applicable to his third category, “The Breakers of Power… Women whose very existence challenged the authority of the state itself.” In this, he puts Apache warrior Lozen (whom I’d first heard of in the Warrior Women series hosted by Lucy Lawless); entrepreneur China Mary of Tombstone; and Teresa Urrea, the “Saint of Cabora.” who became a Joan of Arc-like figure for Mexican freedom fighters, on both sides of the border. But, again: Lozen is the only one whose “challenge of authority” seems like it was a conscious act. 

In between, we find “the Breakers of Convention… women whose primary crime was a refusal to be caged by the rigid expectations of their society.” These might be the most interesting figures, and it’s here where the limited space perhaps hurts most. While it’s laudable Gavin sticks to facts, without engaging in the speculation often seen around the likes of Calamity Jane, the average space allowed here is barely half a dozen pages. It’s enough to sketch only the basic details of a life, when some of them deserve much greater exploration. Pauline Cushman’s life as a Civil War spy, turned de facto sheriff, certainly merits more detail that her Wikipedia page provides. As a pointer towards some topics for further research, this is adequate. Just don’t expect much more. 

Author: Mike Gavin
Publisher: Self-published, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Stand-alone volume.

The Doxies Penalty, by Madeleine E. Robins

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Literary rating: ★★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆

One of my favorite mystery series by a contemporary author is Madeleine E. Robins’ Sarah Tolerance series. I’ve read and reviewed all three of the earlier books (Point of Honour, Petty Treason and The Sleeping Partner), the most recent of those published in 2011 (seven years after the second one). The long gap between books had convinced me that the series was to be a trilogy, so I was delighted when this continuation was published in 2025! It didn’t disappoint.

This series should definitely be read in order; but for the benefit of readers who may be starting it here, the author provides a couple of paragraphs of essential backstory to introduce our heroine, and precedes the text itself with the short notation “October 1811. Another London.” That cryptic note is meant to clue us to the fact that this is a slightly alternate Regency England, in which Queen Charlotte, rather than Prince George, was initially named regent for her husband. But in the third book, her ill-health required the naming of a new regent, so Prince George got the job belatedly; and this book really has no noticeable alternate-world features.

So, for the benefit of readers who haven’t read, or don’t remember, the earlier books or my earlier reviews, Miss Tolerance (born Sarah Brereton) is a scion of a lower-nobility family, which disowned her as a teen when she ran off with her brother’s fencing master. (The pair were in love, and would have married if her father hadn’t forbade it.) After her man died young, Sarah took shelter with the one relative who’d have her, an also-disowned aunt who owns a high-end brothel (fortunately, there’s a small cottage out back); and rather than resort to prostitution like many young women in her situation, she’s created a profession for herself as an “Agent of [discreet] Inquiry.” (She’s smart, inquisitive, able to blend in a variety of social settings and pass as a man if she has to; and since she packs pistols and learned how to fence from her late life-partner, she can handle rough stuff if it’s thrown at her.)

Our tale here begins about six months after the preceding one. My general comments about the previous books in terms of style, writing quality, literary vision, etc. would apply here as well. There’s no bad language as such here (Sarah can cuss at times, when trying circumstances evoke it, but Robins doesn’t quote her), and no explicit sex; but there’s definitely reference to prostitution and other illicit sex –Sarah behaves with a sense of honor, but her aunt’s a madame, her best female friend is a sex worker, and her two clients in this book are retired prostitutes.

One only appears in the first chapter, where Sarah’s recovered some stolen jewelry for her. But the case brought to her by the second one will be more knotty. Elderly Annie Pouter (who used to work for Sarah’s aunt) has invested her life savings in a mysteriously-managed “Fund” that apparently caters to former “ladies of the evening” who have some money put by, and which promised a generous rate of return; but the payments ceased after the first few. But what starts as an investigation into possible financial malfeasance will soon turn much darker….

There will be some bloody violence in this book before the last page is turned; though it’s not made any more grisly than it needs to be, and we get a ghastly look at the ugliest faces of the Regency flesh trade (which may involve pre-teen kids!), opium addiction, the ravages of pre-antibiotic era STDs, and the general depths of moral perversion that fallen humans are capable of. This is definitely not simply a time-marking book; it advances the series narrative in significant ways (and it’s clear by the end that there will be at least one more book). We’re introduced here to greater London’s Roma community (referred to here as “Travelers”), with a couple of characters who I’m sure we’ll be meeting again. More importantly, there are a couple of MAJOR developments in Sarah’s personal life. And at the end, she’s presented with a serious moral decision.

Do I recommend that you read his book, if you like the genre and setting, and aren’t put off by some gritty elements? Absolutely; but I strongly recommend that you read the other three books first!

Author: Madeleine E. Robins
Publisher: Faery Cat Press; available from Amazon, both for Kindle and as a printed book.
Book 4 of 4 in the Sarah Tolerance series. A version of this review previously appeared on Goodreads.

The Partisan

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★★★
“Part-ially effective.”

We have written about some of the women who worked behind enemy lines for British intelligence during World War II. Names like Noor Inayat Khan, Virginia Hall and Vera Atkins deserve to be better known that they are. The attempts to tell their stories so far have been laudable attempts, but have left me feeling underwhelmed, with a sense they haven’t done their subjects full justice. This is another which I feel should be filed in the same box. The subject here is Christine Granville (Polanski), born Krystyna Skarbek, a Polish national who originally worked in her native country, organizing a network of spies and couriers, running information to then neutral Budapest. This included early reports foreshadowing Germany’s attack on Russia.

As with so much in the film here, however, the details are left frustratingly vague. The above paragraph tells you more of her time in Poland than the movie, which mentions a microfilm, but seems more concerned with Granville’s efforts to extract her mother out of Warsaw. It does, however, include an incident where she was being questioned by the Nazis, bit her tongue, allowing her to feign coughing up blood and convince the doctor she had TB, leading to her release. Most of the movie, however, is set during her time in southern France, later in the war. There, she worked with the maquis, the local resistance, in preparation for the looming Allied invasion. 

The best thing this has going for it is Polanski – yes, she is the daughter of director Roman Polanski, though has more of the luminous looks of her mother, actress Emmanuelle Seigner. Granville had a reputation as a hothead: Atkins called her “very brave, very attractive, but a loner and a law unto herself,” and Polanski’s performance puts all those aspects across very well. There are occasionally scenes which do capture the relentless tension of operating in a scenario like this too, where a single slip could mean death. For example, she tells a Gestapo officer she’s a teacher seeking employment – only for him to show up at the local school, forcing her to improvise during a conversation with the headmistress. More of this would have been welcome.

Instead, for whatever reason, the makers have opted to make their film at least somewhat non-linear, to no readily apparent purpose. There are points where it becomes impossible to tell when or where you are. A straightforward adaptation of her life would have been perfectly fine, including the several occasions on which she was treated badly by her employers. According to Xan Fielding, an operative she had saved from execution, “a few weeks after the armistice she was dismissed with a month’s salary and left in Cairo to fend for herself.” Even more tragically, she was murdered in 1952 by a lover she had rejected. Again, little of this is mentioned here, beyond being whizzed past in a final caption. Once more, this is a heroine who deserves a great biopic, rather than one merely good enough. 

Dir: James Marquand
Star: Morgane Polanski, Ingvar Sigurdsson, Frederick Schmidt, Piotr Adamczyk

The Broken Sword, by Jonathan Posner

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Literary rating: ★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆½

I’m not sure I’ve read a book with a 16th-century action heroine before, so the setting here certainly appears a fresh one. Things take place during the reign of King Henry the Eighth of England, when Mary Fox had been brought up alongside her three older brothers. From them she had secretly learned how to wield a sword and ride a horse, among other unladylike skills. But having now reached adulthood, her father is intent on marrying her off, to the particularly repellent Sir Reginald de Courtney. Mary is having none of that, so packs her bags and leaves the family home.

On the road, she saves Sir John Fitzwilliam and his son, Robert, from a brigand. She then agrees to help on their quest, returning a precious heirloom, the titular weapon, to their family home. However, Sir Reginald is not taking the loss of his bride-to-be lightly, and is in pursuit, with the intention to put Mary back under his control. For at this point in history, a woman had very little independence in the eyes of the law, being little more than property, first of her father, and then her husband. I repeat: Mary is having none of that, and most of the book is basically an extended chase, first back to Sir John’s estates, and then continuing, as Mary heads off on her own.

It makes for a breezy romp, one which won’t challenge the reader, yet definitely kept me wanting to read on. I will say, Mary does not exactly seem like she comes from the middle ages, feeling more like a modern gal transplanted back in time. Apart from odd epithets like “God’s wounds”, the dialogue similarly feels largely contemporary. It’s not Shakespeare, put it that way, although to be fair, most films set in the era play similarly fast and loose with historical accuracy in their speech. We also get the “woman pretends to be a man” trope, as often seen in Chinese films, and looking at the cover, it seems about as plausible here. Which would be “not very”!

On the plus side, romance is very heavily back-burnered. While Mary does eventually grow to respect Robert, after initially referring to him in her mind as “Weed,” she decides not to remain with the Fitzwilliams, instead choosing admirably to carve out her own path. This does cause problems, not least her decision to stick around the very same inn, where she had just escaped from Sir Reginald’s clutches. [I’ve rarely come closer to yelling at my Kindle!] But it does also lead to the opportunity which will be covered in the second volume. I suspect more cross-dressing is going to be in her future there, and I have questions about that too, e.g. You want someone to imitate a boy… why use a girl? All criticism aside, the bottom line is: I was entertained by this, and can see myself investing in the sequel down the road. 

Author: Jonathan Posner
Publisher: Winter & Drew Publishing, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Book 1 of 2 in the Mary Fox Adventures series.

Notebook Mysteries ~ Emma, by Kimberly Mullins

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Literary rating: ★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆½

This begins with the Great Chicago Fire, an 1871 conflagration which killed around three hundred people. One of those is the mother of Emma Evans, and ten years later she’s a bright, inquisitive 16-year-old. She works part-time in the family bakery her mother previously ran, and also helps our her civil engineer father, but is also learning more… unusual skills, such as escapology and self-defense. These come in handy, as when she’s out carrying out deliveries with her friends Tony and Tim, Emma’s observational skills allow her to notice suspicious behaviour. When she has gathered enough evidence, she can then pass matters on to the appropriate authorities.

However, these activities don’t exactly win her friends in the criminal underworld, and she gradually discovers that her mother’s death might not have been the terrible accident it appeared to be. There’s also the matter of an unknown person who is clearly keeping a very close eye on Emma’s daily activities. Are they doing so for good or evil? All is eventually revealed – though oddly, after what feels very much like it should have been the climax, the book then meanders on with another investigation for another half-hour. Truly anti-climactic, literally. Mind you, I was still coming to terms with the facile ease Emma kills someone during that confrontation. While arguably justified, she does not seem particularly bothered about it afterward.

The historical setting, nineteenth century Chicago, was a fresh one, and this was quite evocatively handled [though I’m disappointed my Kindle copy didn’t contain the baking recipes other reviews indicate were present! I checked. Twice.]. There are some elements which feel like they don’t quite fit with society of that time: everyone seems remarkably chill with Emma learning how to throw knives like a circus performer, and going out with one strapped to her leg. Formal education also seems notable by its absence, despite Emma being smart and from a middle-class background. It does feel a little “young adult”-ish, perhaps aimed even at an early teen crowd. Which is interesting, because later books in the series definitely have Emma all grown-up. I wonder if the language matures with her.

It all feels a fraction too sanitized for my tastes, with only an occasional suggestion of actual peril for her heroine, despite her poking her nose into some potentially dangerous locations. The main antagonist is… Well, there isn’t really one specifically, it’s more of a nebulous concept of “organized crime in Victorian Chicago.” There were some twists I didn’t see coming, and appreciate the way that not everyone was as good, or bad, as they initially appeared – our heroine’s skills at observation definitely don’t extend to reading people’s intentions! While I didn’t dislike this, there were not sufficient positives for it to come close to interesting me in further installments. It’s very much a one and done.

Author: Kimberly Mullins
Publisher: JKJ Books, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Book 1 of 7 in the Notebook Mysteries series.

Barbie and the Three Musketeers

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★★★
“All for one, in a Barbie world.”

Yes, I went there again. After Barbie Spy Squad, I’ve gone back to the plastic fantastic, for another entry in the crossover action heroine animated industry. This isn’t the first review here to cover a female take on the classic novel. La Femme Musketeer had already gone there, but the major difference there was, as the title implies it only had one woman, who had to keep her sex under wraps. Here, while the setting remains pre-revolutionary France, the wannabe Musketeer is openly a lady. On the high level, it is a fairly loyal adaptation, with teenage heroine Barbie – here called Corinne (Sheridan) – heading to Paris to fulfill her long-held ambition of becoming a Musketeer.

There, she’s initially spurned – albeit more for her lack of relevant experience than her gender – and has to prove herself. Naturally, there are no women Musketeers with whom she can bond, but she literally bumps into other young women, such as Viveca (Tozer), Aramina (Johnson), and Renée (Bell), with whom she finds employment as a maid in the palace. Naturally, she encounters the similarly teenage Prince Louis, and discovers that the skills of her coworkers are not limited to light housework. Together, they have to protect Louis from various attempts on his life, such as a falling chandelier, carried out by those who have designs on the royal power, before Louis ascends to the throne on his imminent eighteenth birthday.

Y’know, I did not hate this nearly as much as I feared I might. Corinne is established early on as smart, athletic and competent, though I could probably have done without her talking animals. But in general, the voice acting is enthusiastic and effective, though the women do sound a bit as if they have interchangeable heads. Bonus points for the unmistakable tones of Tim Curry, playing malevolent regent Philippe, who is next in line after Louis. The animation is… okay, I guess, considering the era. Nobody is going to mistake this for Pixar, yet it does the trick, and on occasion is actually more detailed than I expected (just not on the character’s faces – though, again: plastic, duh).

Messaging is probably considerably lighter than in the live-action Barbie movie. There’s a few statements that “girls can’t be Musketeers” – I mean, this was 17th-century France, it’s not wrong – and the resulting need to prove them incorrect. That’s about it. Instead, there’s a training montage set to the riff from EMF’s Unbelievable, which I did not have on my Barbie Bingo Card. The action is better than I expected, too, though obviously no blood, despite all the pointy objects being energetically wielded, both by the heroines and their enemies. At the final ball, no weapons are allowed in, so they have to make do, with creative use of fans, ribbons, etc. [Weirdly I read one review which said they never get to use swords, which they clearly do.] There’s also refreshingly little romance here. All told, perfectly watchable, to my near-shock.

Dir: William Lau
Star (voice): Kelly Sheridan, Tim Curry, Kira Tozer, Willow Johnson, Dorla Bell

The Swordswoman, by Malcolm Archibald

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Literary rating: ★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆☆

I am, probably, biased here. Scottish action heroines are pretty rare, to the point I am hard pushed to think of a single one I’ve covered previously, in the twenty years I’ve been running this domain. [I just made myself feel very old…] So I was likely disposed to feel kindly towards this literary example. But even setting aside patriotic tendencies, I genuinely enjoyed reading this. It takes place, I’m guessing, around the 9th century, when Scotland was still a loosely connected set of tribes, albeit with a king in what’s now Edinburgh, and a rather fragile peace with the Norse neighbours.

That peace is shattered when someone is washed up on the Western Isles island of Dachaigh where 20-year-old Melcorka lives with her mother. It turns out the Norse are invading, and the king must be notified of the threat. Melcorka and the rest of her clan head towards the capital, only to arrive too late: the army of Alba (as Scotland was then called) has been routed and the nobles scattered. However, Melcorka has a destiny to fulfill… And also inherits a large sword, Defender, with a history dating back centuries, whose powers transform her into the titular character. It’s up to her to rally forces, including the ferocious Picts from the North, to take on the invaders, and send them back across the North Sea to Scandinavia.

It’s not quite historical, not quite fantasy: or, rather, this has elements of both. Events occur in real places: fun fact, up until he retired, my father worked in Burghead, the modern site of Pictish capital Am Broch in the book – I grew up less than 20 miles away. I kept found myself going to Wikipedia to look up particular locations, as Melcorka and her allies moved through the country. But there are some elements which are mystical, such Melcorka venturing into Elfhame, the realm of Faery. At least in this volume, those are limited, and the rest feels grounded. Very grounded in some areas, particularly the battle descriptions, which don’t pull punches: “the slide of intestines as blades ripped open bellies and the pink-grey splurge of brains as swords split skulls.”

It’s certainly not all gore though, and Melcorka realizes there’s a gulf between battle as described in the sagas and heroic songs, and the real thing. It’s part of her development as a heroine, which may be this book’s strongest suit. She starts as an innocent, almost naive young woman, takes her lumps and comes out the other side, wiser if not necessarily happier for it. Credit is also due to Archibald for telling a complete, satisfying story without the need for a gratuitous cliff-hanger. That helps leave me much more likely to invest further in the series, as time permits. He has done the country proud, and I look forward to discovering where Melcorka’s destiny will take her.

Author: Malcolm Archibald
Publisher: Next Chapter, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Book 1 of 5 in The Swordswoman series.

Enola Holmes 2

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★★★½
“The fair sex is your department.”

I had forgotten how much I really did not like the original movie. It’s particularly hard to believe, because this sequel is a significant improvement in just about every way. Most of my criticisms from the review seem to have been addressed. For example, the most annoying character, Enola’s mother, played by Helena Bonham-Carter, is all but absent, and the second most useless role, aristocrat Lord Tewkesbury (Partridge), is considerably less irritating, serving an actual purpose. Sherlock Holmes (Cavill) is shown to be the great detective, familiar from Conan Doyle’s stories. Last but not least, Enola (Brown) is a more mature, less precocious character, and even her fourth-wall breaking seems more natural and less an affectation. 

The story is better too. It begins with Enola, now trying to make her own way as a detective, is engaged to look for a missing young woman, who has vanished from her match factory job, after purloining some documents from the owner’s office. Digging into this brings Enola into a web of corruption extending high up in the government, and eventually overlaps with Sherlock’s investigation into financial irregularities in the Treasury department. Enola finds herself framed for murder by the shadowy Superintendent Grail (Thewlis) of Scotland Yard, and has to avoid the authorities’ grasp, while working with her brother to untangle the web of intrigue. It doesn’t quite all work – the overlap with Sherlock’s case is never well explained – yet it is almost always interesting and entertaining. 

The biggest step up is likely Brown’s portrayal of the heroine. Two years is a long time for a teenager: we saw our own daughter go from a problematic 16-year-old to an 18-year-old human being, and much the same transformation has occurred here. Similarly, Enola now seems like an actual person, not the artificial character created for a book. Her relationships – especially with her brother, though also with Tewkesbury – reflect this, and seem like the kind real people would have. The near-absence of showboating feminist Eudoria Holmes helps, though there are still moments that may provoke slight to moderate eye-rolling. I’d say the finale at the match factory falls into this category, and is certainly unnecessary. 

The action feels at a slightly lower, or at least, less frenetic level. The main set-piece is Enola’s breakout from prison (this is also where her mum shows up, along with her martial arts teacher sidekick). It’s not bad, though does feel more like a duty, and an add-on instead of an organic part of the movie. The incorporation into the plot of an actual event, the matchgirl strike of 1888, is a nice idea, grounding the plot, though does become a vehicle for some obvious soap-boxing. “Radical” maybe isn’t quite the compliment the film thinks. In the main, however, this was a very pleasant and unexpected surprise, whose 130 minutes seemed considerably shorter. Bring on a third installment, and hopefully sooner rather than later. 

Dir: Harry Bradbeer
Star: Millie Bobby Brown, Henry Cavill, Louis Partridge, David Thewlis

Prey

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★★★
“Prey to win.”

The latest entry in the Predator franchise has resulted in sharply divided opinions, partly for reasons that I’m not even going to get into. And, for roughly the 11th millionth time, the reality lies somewhere in the middle. It is probably the best entry in the franchise since Predator 2. However, let’s be clear: Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf would also satisfy that criteria. So, let’s dig in. The year is 1719, and the Northern Plains see a new arrival, in the form of an extraterrestrial visitor, looking to test its mettle against any species unlucky enough to cross its path. They could be animal, or human – the latter include both French trappers and the local Comanches.

The heroine is Naru (Midthunder), a young woman who wants to join her brother, Taabe (Beavers), on the tribe’s hunting parties. He and the rest of the tribe are reluctant to let her, preferring to make use of her skills as a healer. However, after they encounter the Predator while hunting a mountain-lion, Naru sneaks off to hunt it on her own, seeking to prove her skills. It’s not long before it becomes clear she has her hands full, simply trying to survive in the treacherous wilderness, and avoid the trappers. Never mind taking on a vicious creature from another planet, in possession of technology far in advance of what’s available to Earthlings, and with a fondness for ripping spines clean out of their owners’ backs.

It’s certainly a fresh and original setting,  especially for a SF/action movie, and I’d say the makers deserve credit for using native actors across the board. I will admit to rolling my eyes at some of the early attempts to position Naru as a rebel, which felt severely like the imposition of modern traits onto a historical setting. “Why do you like to hunt?” “Because they think I can’t!” Yeah, you almost get killed. Twice. They have a point. However, once she leaves the camp and sets out on her own journey, the movie hits its stride. By the time the trappers find they are no longer the hunters, but the hunted, it’s clear Naru will need to think outside the box of standard tactics in order to win. You’ll probably have figured out the key, as soon as she mentions that a certain medicinal herb “cools the blood”…

I can kinda see why it went direct to streaming, since some of the CGI effects are of the low-rent variety, and I suspect it was a lot cheaper than the $88 million cost of its predecessor, The Predator. On the other hand, it doesn’t skimp on the old ultraviolence, and that’s the way a Predator movie needs to be. It has to be said, this seems a particularly dumb example of the alien species – fortunately for Naru. It never seems to see her as a threat until it’s too late, clearly being sexist as well as extraterrestrial. Maybe a future installment could feature a female Predator… With all of history now officially in play, the possibilities are almost endless. While still imperfect, credit is due to the makers, for taking a franchise that seemed potentially on its last legs, and giving it new life. 

Dir: Dan Trachtenberg
Star: Amber Midthunder, Dakota Beavers, Michelle Thrush, Stormee Kipp

To Love a Viking, by Heather Day Gilbert and Jen Cudmore

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Literary rating: ★★★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆

Heather Day Gilbert (who’s also a Goodreads friend, and one of my favorite writers) earned high marks from me with her earlier Vikings of the New World duology. Here, she teams up with a new-to-me fellow evangelical Christian writer, Jen Cudmore, to deliver another solid work of historical fiction (the opening volume in a projected series) set in the same era. My trade paperback ARC of this novel was generously given to me by Heather herself; no commitment that my review would be favorable was asked for or given.

Our setting here is partly in Viking-ruled northern Scotland (“Caithness”), but mostly in Scandinavia –specifically, in Tavland, a fictional large island west of Norway. (A map of the island is provided, but it has no scale and doesn’t show it in relation to any other body of land. I picture it as about midway between Norway and Iceland, and perhaps about the size of the latter.) Novels set in fictional countries aren’t unheard of (The Prisoner of Zenda comes to mind). In this case, I’d guess the reason for the device is that the authors wanted to be able to depict a Viking polity, but not to have to be bound to the historical personalities or events of any of the actual ones. The time frame is mainly 998-999 A.D. (with a short prologue set in 989). This was a time when Christianity was spreading in the northern lands, but far from universal. So polygamy and concubinage are still legal, as is slavery (and sexual exploitation of slaves). Warfare and violence are common, life expectancy can be short, and women are under a yoke of patriarchy –though in some ways it’s not as heavy a yoke as it is in the more “civilized” lands of the south in that day.

We have two co-protagonists and primary viewpoint characters here, both young women. Tavland native Ellisif, born into a land-owning family, is about 26 in 998, mother of two little girls, pregnant again, and trapped in an abusive arranged marriage. Somewhat younger at around 20, Inara was born in slavery in the islands north of Scotland, to a now-dead Tavish mother kidnapped into slavery some years earlier. Tall and strong, tough-minded and blessed with some sword skills (long story!), we meet her on the Scottish mainland hiding out from her former master. (We learn the backstory behind that only gradually.) Her goal is to become a warrior. (Although relatively rare, shield-maidens weren’t unknown in Viking society, and could be accepted as such on their merits.) Circumstances are about to bring these ladies’ life-paths together. Their viewpoints are supplemented by those of two Tavish male characters, both single: young jarl (a Viking noble title, cognate with the English “earl”) Dagar, who as a teen was engaged to Ellisif, before her parents died in a accident and her oldest brother got the bright idea of selling her like a cow or a mare to her present husband, and ship-builder and occasional warrior Hakon.

As you’ve no doubt already surmised, yes, this novel does have a romantic component –and, indeed, two romances for the price of one. :-) But it offers more than that, as serious writers know that fiction must if it depicts romantic love as a realistic (and good!) part of the totality of human life; and our two authors here are definitely serious writers. We’re looking here at family life, social relationships, implicit questions of social justice and the relationship of Christian faith to conduct; and we’re also getting a crash course (which sadly is as relevant in 2022 as it was in 998!) in the grim realities of spousal abuse and what is or isn’t a helpful way of dealing with it. (The “Word from the Authors” at the end is constructive in that regard.) Questions of gender roles, and the relationship of career goals vs. family life, are also front-and-center here, and again very relevant.

One thing that quality historical fiction such as this tends to show is that human nature and needs haven’t really changed over the centuries. (In opposition to that idea, it’s often asserted by modern would-be critics, who know little of history, that romantic love was only invented in the 1700s, and was a concept totally unknown and unimaginable before that. Plenty of primary-source evidence exists to belie that claim; it was not only a known concept, but felt by lots of people, then as now. It just wasn’t always as readily taken into account by people making the decisions about marriages then as now –and, as Ellisif and Dagar would tell us, the ones getting married weren’t always the ones making the decision.) And though this is a “romance,” it’s no bodice-ripper.

The quality of the writing here is very good, and the collaboration is seamless; I’ve read and liked several of Heather’s books, but I couldn’t tell any stylistic difference between the various parts of this book to suggest different authorship. Past-tense, third-person narration is used throughout, however, rather than Heather’s characteristic present-tense first person. (I like the one as well as the other, so that was no problem for me.) A textured picture of Viking daily life is presented, clearly based on solid research; but the research isn’t intrusive. Like Norah Lofts, our authors here avoid archaic-sounding diction in their dialogue; there are touches that suggest the setting, but we basically understand that the characters’ Old Norse is translated for us into conventional modern English with an “equivalent effect” (which explains the single use here of “okay” in conversation). References to Christian faith are natural in the circumstances of the story, and not “preachy.” Our Christian characters are Catholics (one minor character is an abbot), but denominational distinctives aren’t much in evidence. (I’d have liked more reference to the development of Inara’s faith, which is actually treated very sketchily.) Directly-described violent action scenes only occur in three places, and aren’t very graphic, but Inara shows her mettle enough to earn her “action heroine” status from me.

As a concluding note, we use “Viking” today as a general term for the ancient and early medieval Nordic inhabitants of Scandinavia, men and women, old and young. In the book, though, it’s used as it was then, as a term for a warrior. (It comes from the verbal form, “to go a-viking,” that is, trading/raiding, as inclination or circumstances dictated, in the lands to the south.) With that understanding, the title has a special meaning that will become apparent by the end of the book. :-)

Authors: Heather Day Gilbert and Jen Cudmore.
Publisher: WoodHaven Press; available through Amazon, both for Kindle and as a printed book.
A version of this review previously appeared on Goodreads.