Giveaway for Ben Kane's SPARTACUS!

St Martin's Press and Ben Kane have generously offered a giveaway of SPARTACUS THE GLADIATOR to one lucky reader! You have the choice of a hard copy or e-book. To enter, please leave a comment here.Winners will be announced in July.

One entry only, please. Giveaway is US and Canada only, due to publisher constraints.

Thank you and good luck!

Guest post from Ben Kane, author of SPARTACUS THE GLADIATOR

I'm delighted to welcome Ben Kane back, on his virtual blog tour to promote his new novel, SPARTACUS THE GLADIATOR (St Martin's Press, hardcover, $26.99). Steven Pressfield calls Ben's latest book "Gritty, passionate and a damn good read. Brings Spartacus -and ancient Rome - to vivid, colorful life." I couldn't agree more. I'm currently reading it and am enthralled by Ben's keen sense of the violence and splendor of the era, as well as his sensitive, unique approach to this legendary man.  Today, Ben offers us a guest post on the history behind his work. Please join me in giving a warm welcome to Ben Kane!

Spartacus ― the man, and the history behind the fiction

There are few names in history as recognizable as that of Spartacus. At first glance, this may seem unsurprising. Spartacus’ achievements were truly remarkable. Having been sold into slavery ― we are told by one ancient writer that he deserted from the Roman auxiliaries, but by another that he was innocent of any crime ― he escaped with some seventy others from a gladiator school in Capua, Italy. Through a combination of ingenuity and pure luck, the motley group put to flight not only the first Roman force sent against them, but also the second. Neither set of soldiers were not the Republic’s crack troops, but the second unit outnumbered the gladiators by more than forty to one. Unassailable odds, one would have thought, yet the gladiators prevailed.

Word spread fast. Slaves began running away from their masters to join Spartacus’ band. Soon he had a force of over ten thousand men; within a year, it was quadruple that number, or if some of the sources are to be believed, more than ten times. The gladiators’ breakout had become a full-scale rebellion that saw much of southern Italy laid waste. It sent shockwaves through the corridors of power, and in the two years that followed, Spartacus and his army won at least nine major victories over Roman legions. Ultimately, however, he was defeated.

How is it, then, that for thirteen hundred years after the fall of Rome, he was forgotten? It wasn’t until the 1760s that Spartacus’ memory was resurrected ― in France. This was due to the movement for political freedom that was sweeping Europe, and the frequent slave uprisings that were taking place in the European powers’ overseas colonies. Spartacus’ renown spread far and wide once more. His name was taken up by revolutionaries all over the world. Karl Marx thought of him as a hero. Lenin, and later Stalin, used Spartacus as the ultimate icon of the class struggle, as the model whom the proletariat should emulate. Howard Fast, American author of the bestselling novel, was a Communist who used Spartacus’ struggle in a similar manner. But his appeal was not just to left-wingers. Spartacus crossed the political divide in the 1980s, when Ronald Reagan mentioned him as a symbol of the fight for freedom.

So what were the causes of Spartacus’ slide into obscurity after his death? The fact that not a single written word survives from the man himself, or from any of his followers, has to be a major reason. Another is that little over four thousand words survive that mention him – that’s about ten pages of a typical novel. More was written about Spartacus, but sadly it did not survive. Thirdly, Roman scholars chose not to comment too much on this dark chapter in their history. It’s a common feature for great powers to brush the details of their military defeats under the carpet. Human beings prefer to dwell on the glories, the heyday and the wars won. As the saying goes, the victor takes the spoils ― and they also get to write the history.

Was Spartacus really the man we think of today? First, let’s take a look at the world in which he lived. By the first century BC, Rome had conquered all of its potential enemies in the Mediterranean. Its conquests provided a huge influx of wealth into the Republic. At the same time, agriculture was changing, becoming larger-scale. The result was an enormous demand for labour, a need that was satisfied by the import of hundreds of thousands of slaves to Italy. They provided the workforces for the latifundia, or estates that covered much of the countryside.

The human tide of slaves that came from the eastern Mediterranean, from north of the Rhine and Danube rivers, and from the areas beyond the Black Sea. Thrace (roughly, modern-day Bulgaria) was one of the crossroads for this trade, and its people were also subject to enslavement. Other slaves came from northern Europe, from the regions east of the Rhine, and from Gaul. The influx of a huge number of free-born slaves into Italy over a short time had a dramatic effect. One of the least welcome was slave rebellions. Spartacus’ uprising was not the first, but the third, slave war to rock Rome in a turbulent period of only sixty years. The first two took place on Sicily, the first from 135-132 BC, and the second from 104-100 BC. It is ironic that these rebellions, both of which lasted longer than that of Spartacus, have all but been forgotten ― despite being better documented. What’s clear about the first two uprisings is that they were not about ending slavery. Nor was that of Spartacus. What they were about was men and woman, many of whom had been freeborn, seeking to escape their enslavement.

Today, there are few better symbols of the small man’s fight against overwhelming tyranny or brutal oppression than Spartacus. Much of what we think about the man comes from films, TV shows, or novels. Many modern-day portrayals depict Spartacus as a warrior in the fight against evil, even someone who wanted to free all slaves. As I’ve mentioned, the real situation was very different to these depictions. It is all too easy ― yet erroneous ― to place modern sensibilities on people who lived two thousand years ago. Yet life and morals then were totally different. Slaves were part of everyday life. Like washing machines or automobiles, everyone who could afford one, had one. Wealthy slaves had their own slaves. Freeing a favoured slave was common enough, but the idea of ending the practice of slavery would have seemed bizarre to the vast majority. Spartacus was a talented and courageous man, a charismatic and canny general. He worked to his strengths and was adept at exploiting Rome’s weaknesses.

But he was not a man whose burning desire was to free all slaves.

Thank you, Ben! To find out more about Ben and his work, please visit his website.

Guest post #2 from David Blixt

 Once again, I'm happy to welcome David Blixt, who has recently released four of his books, including VOICE OF THE FALCONER, the long-anticipated sequel to MASTER OF VERONA. Today, David talks about his relationship with Shakespeare and the Bard's influence on his work. Take it away, David!

 KILL WILL

David Blixt 

I always hated Shakespeare.

They made me read him. In junior high, it was Julius Caesar. In high school, first it was Romeo & Juliet, which was cool only because we wasted a week watching the movie (the Zefferelli, not the DiCaprio). The next year it was Henry IV Part One, to which I said ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ and scraped through the test by listening to class discussions.The Bard of Avon and I were not friendly. So how did I happen to write novels exploring both his life and works?

It started my senior year, when I had a choice between a reading-Shakespeare and an acting-Shakespeare class. I’d already done a lot of acting by then, so it was a no-brainer. The teachers chose Romeo & Juliet to do that year, mainly because they had a Juliet in mind (fellow author Francesca Delbanco). I remembered from the film that Mercutio was the best part in the show, and after auditioning against the rest of the class, I landed the part.

Somewhere in the middle of rehearsals, everything clicked. My teachers had been holding out on me all these years. You don’t read Shakespeare – you perform him! It’s not literature to be scanned, but language to be spoken by real, living, breathing people.

Thus started my love affair with the words of Shakespeare.

           

David Blixt, performing

High school led to community theatre and college shows, then professional outdoor productions. Today I’m a Shakespearean actor, something I would never have believed. I’ve performed over 40 full productions of a dozen of his plays, including leads in MACBETH, MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, TWELFTH NIGHT, A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, A COMEDY OF ERRORS, AS YOU LIKE IT, EDWARD III, JULIUS CAESAR, and HAMLET. I’ve played stages like The Goodman, the Shakespeare Theatre of DC, and Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, prodded by world-famous directors beside incredible internationally-renowned actors.

So Shakespeare gave me a career. Then he did me one better and introduced me to my wife. Jan and I met playing Kate and Petruchio in THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, giving us banter material for the rest of our lives.And then, as if all that were not enough, Shakespeare got me to write a book.

Once again it all starts with ROMEO & JULIET. I’ve developed strong opinions about that play, and I suddenly found myself dared to put up or shut up. It was my first time directing Shakespeare. I read old versions of the play and Shakespeare’s source materials. I poured through the whole text in a way I’d never done as an actor. Poking around for lines to cut, I found something. I found a cause for the famous Capulet-Montague feud. I may not be the first ever to see it, but I’ve certainly never heard it anywhere else. It’s oblique, and doesn’t really affect the action of the play, but nevertheless, once the idea got hold of me I couldn’t let it go.

Thus a book was born.

It was going to be a short book, romantic and sad, just to get the idea out of my system. So I started to do a little research, mostly about Verona – the history, the culture. I discovered some facts. At the time the tale of the star-cross’d lovers supposedly took place, a few interesting people were in Verona. Dante, the father of Renaissance literature. Giotto, the father of Renaissance painting. Petrarch, the poet who technically started the Renaissance by finding Cicero’s letters. So in a very real sense, the Renaissance began in Verona at the start of the fourteenth century.

I then settled in to read Dante’s Divine Comedy, something I would have bet money against at any other point in my life. Halfway through Purgatorio Dante knocked my socks off by mentioning a feud between the Capelletti and the Montecchi. Capulet and Montagues, anyone?

Yet, both in the histories and Dante’s work, one man’s name kept cropping up. A man who stood above all his peers, outshone the luminaries of his day. Giotto’s patron, Dante’s friend. A man fit to be a tragic hero of one of Shakespeare's plays. His name was Cangrande della Scala, but he was better known as the Greyhound of Verona.

Suddenly the feud became a mere backdrop to a larger tale, revolving around this incredible man. Because he reminded me of someone, a rogue I’d fallen in love with the first time I played him. A character I’ve been asked to perform more times than any other. In the play, it’s said that Mercutio is both a cousin to the Prince, and ‘the Prince’s near ally.’ The Prince in the play is named Escaulus, the Latin version of della Scala.Cangrande was related to Mercutio.

So it came full circle. The real people of Dante’s time met the characters of Shakespeare’s Italian plays, allowing me to explore one of the most enigmatic characters the Bard ever wrote. That first novel became two, then three. THE MASTER OF VERONA. VOICE OF THE FALCONER. FORTUNE’S FOOL. And next year I’ll finish up the current arc with THE PRINCE’S DOOM. O, the plans I have laid…

I read somewhere that when Alan Alda met Donald Sutherland, he simply took the other man’s hand and said, “Thank you for my life.” If Shakespeare were alive today, I’m sure that’s what I’d have to say.

But I'd start by telling him how I'd always hated him.

Guest Post #1 from David Blixt, author of FORTUNE'S FOOL

I'm delighted to welcome back my friend and historical novelist extraordinaire, David Blixt. A few years ago, David published the gorgeously inventive MASTER OF VERONA, set in Renaissance Verona and exploring the historical origins of the Romeo and Juliet legend. Master of Verona captured many readers' hearts and had us all salivating for the next book in the series. At long last, David has released the sequels, VOICE OF THE FALCONER and FORTUNE'S FOOL, as well as the first novel in his new series set in ancient Rome - COLOSSUS - and a delightfully witty and suspenseful Elizabethan thriller, HER MAJESTY'S WILL. I'll be hosting David here for a few days, so please help me give him a warm welcome!

 

Coffee With The Count

By David Blixt 

 In THE MASTER OF VERONA, the title ‘Count’ is reserved for my villain, the historical Count of San Bonifacio. But if I were to mention the Count to my wife, she would respond with a smile and a joke about pouring coffee. She tells this story so much better than I do. So, without further ado, Jan Blixt telling the story of ‘Coffee With The Count.’

David and I got married in 2002. Our honeymoon also served as a research trip for him. Of the three months we spent touring Europe, starting in Greece and ending in London, fully a month was spent in Italy. Of that month, a week was spent in Verona. Thanks to the advice of a friend, photo-journalist David Turnley, he’d been in contact with Antonella Leonardo, an assistant minister of culture. She arranged every meeting we had in Verona. It was June, and Italy was experiencing a major heat wave, so there were a lot of dinners.The first time we met her, she gave us a list of places to go, people to talk to, and, in passing, handed David a card saying, “And, of course, you'd like to talk to the Count of Serego-Alighieri. He still lives on the estate purchased by Dante's son.” Well, yes. Of course we would. Ummm,wow. The Count has a card. Okay.

So we sat on the bed in our hotel room debating just what one should say to a count when one calls to set up a chat. Finally deciding our natural paralysis was a bit ridiculous, David, in a burst of confidence and devil-may-care energy, called the number we had been given and reached the Count's teenage daughter. "Pronto."

David said something like, "I'm looking for the, uh, Count?"

"My father isn't here. Leave your name and he'll ring you back."

Minutes later the phone trilled, and I leapt for it. "Hello?"

"Hello. This is Piere-Alvins, the Count Serego-Alighieri."

"Hi! Um, my name is David Blixt. I'm writing a book about Shakespeare and Dante, and one of the main characters is Dante's son, Pietro. I was, ah, wondering if I could come out and – speak to you."

"How long are you in Verona?"

"Until Saturday."

"Come up tomorrow morning. 10 o'clock. Yes?"

"Yes! We'll be there!"

“Ring the bell.”

That night, David and I had a wonderful dinner with a couple of college professors, true academics and Marxists to the core. The meal was lovely – other than the argument we had when we mentioned our next day's excursion: “Italy is a democracy! There are no Counts anymore!”

Well, okay then... But we were still set to meet the direct descendant of Dante Alighieri at the home and vineyard Pietro Alighieri purchased in 1353! Call us starstruck, but that was pretty cool in our minds. We whispered to each other in the cab on the way home from dinner “And he is SO a Count.”

The next morning we took a cab from our hotel to the address we had been given, many miles outside of the city, down winding country roads.  The cabbie stopped the car next to a rather nondescript 15 foot high stone wall.  In garbled Itanglish, we asked “Is this it?”  He nodded and pointed at the wall. As the cab drove away, David noticed that there were some buzzer buttons placed high on the wall – the kind you find at the front door of many Chicago 3-flats, little white buttons with little white nametags made on a labeling machine next to them.  They said things like ‘Vineyard Business Office’ and ‘First Floor Office’ – in Italian, of course. One said ‘Count Serego-Alighieri.’ Giggling like five-year-olds, we pressed that button. After a moment, a low voice came over a small speaker, "Si?"

Immediately sobering, David said, "Hello. My name is David Blixt and I have an appointment to meet with the Count." After a pause, "Si, yes, turn the corner and go in the Vineyard office."

About 20 feet from the little buttons, the wall made a turn. We walked to that point and saw that where the wall seemed to end was a door into a large, rustic, wood paneled and beamed room full of racks and barrels – the walls covered with bottles of wine and vinegar. There was a counter on one wall with two young women wrapping bottles for shipment, and a desk near a door on the far side of the room with a young man who appeared to be doing accounts. The workers in the room barely glanced up. David and I stood in the dim room nervously waiting – for what we weren't sure. A moment or two later, the far door opened and a man entered. He was of medium height, slight of weight, and had straight brown hair, greying at the temples, in an expensive cut.  He was wearing a linen button-down white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and open at the neck and grey linen trousers. He looked at the two of us and approached with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I am Piere-Alvins Serego-Alighieri and you must be David and Mrs. Blixt.”  We nodded and smiled as David shook hands with him and he nodded in greeting to me. “Why don't we go into the house.” And he turned and walked towards the door from which he came.

The Count lead us into a large paved in stones courtyard framed by the vineyard building we had just left, a large square barn-like building, a long, two-storied stone building, and the house.The house! A lovely Italian stone house that looked both fresh and inviting and also as if it had been there forever, carved out of the countryside. It had large double doors in the center of the first floor that led us into a two-storied entryway. The marble floor was polished to an almost mirror-like sheen, the center of the floor containing an inlaid heraldic crest. David and I skirted the crest, trying to study it and the rest of the room surreptitiously while following the Count. He noticed our appraisal of the floor and said, “That was updated in the 1470s when the Serego family married the Alighieri.  It was originally just the Alighieri symbol – now it is much more.”

David told him that the main character of his book was Pietro Alighieri and that we were very interested in the home that he had built – and were fascinated to discover his descendant still lived there.

The Count smiled briefly. “Then you will appreciate this.” He opened a large cabinet against a wall in the entryway and pulled out a poster-sized piece of parchment.  He held it up for us to see, and as we tried to decipher the Italian of the document he said, “The original deed to the property.” Seriously. He just happened to have a document from the 14th century in a cabinet in his entryway. “Let me show you around.”

Piere-Alvins Serego-Alighieri is an elegant man. I can't think of any other word to describe him. He is soft spoken, his low voice easy to hear and relaxed with a lovely Italian accent to his fluent English. He uses his hands occasionally as he speaks – not in the stereotypical Mediterranean style, but simply, casually, with fluid motions from the wrists. He’s the kind of man who seems to use no excess energy as he moves or speaks – he is perfectly balanced and perfectly calm and perfectly natural in the incredible grace of his home. He smoked quite a bit while we were there, but the smoking had a quiet, cavalier quality instead of the rat-like energy most Americans have when they smoke.

 

We followed him through his home, through rooms that had been decorated in the 14th century and redecorated throughout the centuries since. Antiques from seven centuries lived together in this house. As we walked from room to room, I was reminded of the different villas and homes and museums we had toured in our travels that summer and felt these rooms were no less opulent or stylish, their contents no less rare or extraordinary than the rooms that were blocked off by red-velvet ropes to preserve their treasures. And, interesting to me, mixed in among the 15th and 19th century antique chairs, tables, paintings, and chests were cds and a new stereo system on a console table, family photos in bright plastic frames, and recently published paperbacks and magazines on a sofa here or on a desk there. In the midst of this museum of a house was a home, with a teenage girl living there. Amazing.

We ended up in a small study (small being a comparative word choice. It was smaller than some of the rooms we'd been in, but larger than our Chicago apartment). This one held the wedding coaches the bride and the groom rode in when the Alighieris married the Seregos. Like the entry foyer, this room had a crest in the stone floor and also a large fireplace and floor to ceiling French doors. We sat on an upholstered settee and the Count sat across a large coffee table from us in a leather club chair.

He and David discussed some of the history of the Alighieri family while I tried not to gape at the room. Apparently, the Alighieri sons had the tendency, in the generations following Pietro, to join the priesthood, and by the late 15th century there were no marriageable males left. At that point in the family's history, there was only one daughter, the sons both having taken holy orders. The daughter was courted by a Count Serego and, when he asked her brothers to marry her, they agreed on one condition – that they not allow the name of Dante Alighieri to die out. They would give the Count their sister if, in return, he took their name and passed it along to their children. It was at this time that the family became Serego-Alighieri.

At this point in the conversation, the Count switched gears and asked, “Would you like coffee?” He then stood, walked over to the door, and called “Marco!” out into the hall. A pause. “Marco!” He then spoke quietly to someone in the hallway and then returned to his seat. David asked a question about the original size of the land purchase and they continued their discussion. After a few minutes, a man tall man in a suit appeared in the doorway with a tray and silver coffee service. The Count stopped his narrative while the man placed the tray on the coffee table. "Grazie, Marco," he murmured as the man left the room. The Count then picked up his description of the original planting of the vineyards where he had left off.

David and the Count chatted on for a while as I continued to look around the room and admire the small pieces around me. After a couple of minutes, I wondered about the coffee. It was just sitting there on the table between us. The Count's manservant (his manservant!... teehee) didn't appear to be coming back. And then it occurred to me – I am woman.Hear me roar. Oh – and the Count seemed to be waiting for me to pour. Seriously.

I was sitting in a 14th century villa in the Italian countryside with my husband and a Count and they were expecting me to pour their coffee. After a few calming breaths and a mental gathering of the all the societal morays I’d culled from Jane Austin's novels, I reached out and took the handle of the coffee pot and asked, “Shall I pour?”

The Count waived assent with cigarette-in-hand and continued to talk to David about the outbuildings and when they were added to the original plan. I sat on the settee with the coffeepot in one hand, picking up the cups and saucers in the other and trying to keep my hands still enough that the china didn't rattle as I asked at appropriate breaks in the conversation, “How do you like your coffee?”

The Count likes his with a little cream.

Somehow I managed to serve, feeling like I was having tea with the Queen. And feeling incredibly American and incredibly 21st century. And feeling a little bit angry with my feminist self who wouldn't shut up and stop whispering in my ear: Why can't he pour his own damn coffee?

The books that came out of all this are THE MASTER OF VERONA, VOICE OF THE FALCONER, and FORTUNE’S FOOL. I’m pretty proud of them, and of David.

Thanks, Jan and David. To learn more about David and his work, please visit him at his website. And don't forget to return next week for another of David's entertaining posts.

Guest post from Nicole Galland, author of I, IAGO

I'm delighted to welcome Nicole Galland, author of I, IAGO. An accomplished novelist of several other historical fiction novels, including The Fools Tale and Crossed, in I, Iago, Nicole explores the controversial life and deeds of Shakespeare's most infamous villain, as seen through his eyes. Author Geraldine Brooks hails Nicole's latest novel as a work "of astonishing empathy, buttressed by deep research."

Please join me in welcoming Nicole Galland.

STAGE VS PAGE: Adapting Othello into I, Iago 

Adapting Shakespeare should not be terrifying; it happens all the time. If I paused now to list all the plays, musicals, books and movies that are based on works of the Bard, it would fill up this entire post.

And yet when I began to retell Othello from the villain’s point of view, I almost could not write for nerves. I had never in my life felt so presumptuous! I’ve written in the back of the book about why I took on this challenge; let me tell you, here, a little about how I took it on.

I, Iago has two parts: the first is a prequel to Othello; the second is a retelling of the play. The prequel was tremendous fun. The play is loaded with references to things that happened before the curtain goes up, and reconstructing them into a coherent story line felt almost like losing myself in a mystery novel.

It’s when I reached the second half that I got a case of nerves. There I was, with one of the world’s greatest plays, one of its most notorious villains, and I was about to try to make him “new.” This exact challenge is presented to every director who stages the play, and every actor who takes on the role. In their case, however, they are taking material intended to be performed on stage… and performing it on stage. I was taking that same material and translating it into a different medium of story-telling. That was my real challenge.

There is a huge difference between a gripping night of theatre and a gripping night curled up with a book. A play captivates us because there are real human beings in front of us, speaking and moving in real time, with real objects. There is chemistry between the actors, and electricity between actors and audience. It is a public, communal experience with audio-visual enhancement.A novel, in contrast, is a private, intimate exchange between a reader and a story-teller who is not even present; the experience takes place entirely inside the reader’s head. The reader actively contributes to the creative process: no matter how well I describe somebody’s costume, or the sound of rain, you, the reader, must take my words and form that experience in your mind.

Othello is both a deeply psychological story (which makes it easy material for a novel adaptation) and a highly theatrical one (which makes it difficult).The story is set in the 1500s in Venice and Cyprus. General Othello, leader of the Venetian army, is duped by his ensign Iago into believing that Othello’s bride, Desdemona, has slept with his lieutenant, Cassio. Iago does this to punish Othello; he is furious at Othello for passing him over for promotion. The position went instead to Cassio, which is why Cassio becomes his pawn. (Why is Desdemona made a pawn as well? Different actors have different interpretations.) Delighting in his ability to manipulate others, Iago keeps up his deceit even after Cassio is demoted and he himself is elevated. He gratuitously continues his mischief until (spoiler alert) everyone is either dead or wounded.

Iago has two key weapons for duping Othello. One of them is a handkerchief – an excellent theatrical visual, much more dramatic on stage than in a book. Othello gave it as a gift to Desdemona; when Desdemona drops it, Emilia (her attendant, and Iago’s wife) picks it up and gives it to Iago, knowing he wants it but not knowing why. Iago plants it on Cassio, who, innocent of its origin, gives it to his mistress – who flings it at Cassio, in front of Othello, in such a way that Othello is convinced Desdemona gave it to Cassio as a love-token. Othello is so distressed by this “ocular proof” of his wife’s infidelity, he has a seizure. The device is so theatrical – so dependent on visuals and the relationship of who is near whom on stage when – that that part of the story could practically be told without any words at all. In fact, there is a ballet of Othello that does just that.

I could describe the journey of the handkerchief in my narrative, but it would not pack the punch the hanky does on stage. (And reading about an epileptic fit is not as distressing as actually watching one.)

Iago’s other weapon, however, is words. He talks incessantly; he is eloquent, witty, dissembling, quick-thinking, and brilliantly manipulative. He actually convinces Othello of Desdemona’s infidelity before the handkerchief appears. Just with words. I’m a novelist. I can work with words.

There is one enormous difference between how words are used on stage and how they are used in a novel. On stage, words are dialogue, and occasional “aside” speeches by one character to the audience. Iago has a number of these, but when he is actually interacting with another character, he cannot – in that moment – turn to the audience and share his thoughts. Part of the fun of theatre is knowing that there is more going on below the surface than what we’re seeing, without having direct access to it. In direct contract, part of the fun of a novel is that we have such an intimate relationship with what is going on beneath the surface. The narrator can tell us anything; we can get behind a character’s eyes in a way we cannot at the theatre. Here is where Shakespeare indulged me with a gift: in Othello, Iago shares so much of his secret self with the audience, it’s almost as if he wants to leap into a novel and tell it all.

That was my “in.” I just had to open up the pages, and he leapt right in. Oh, sure, the handkerchief is in there too, and all the other theatrical highlights. But Iago is free to talk to us without fear of exposure. And when he does – when he has the chance to narrate everything, in the moment it is happening – he becomes a novel-character, not a stage-character. In changing medium, he changes character, he becomes different from Shakesperae’s Iago. The two Iago’s perform the same acts, and say the same words aloud, but what is going on behind the mask is at once very similar and very, very different from what is happening on stage. “My” Iago could never be performed on stage – but he does not want to be. He wants to be exactly where he is, snug within the pages of a book, ready to tell you all his secrets in the most intimate of settings.

Thank you so much, Nicole. We wish you much success with I, IAGO. To find out more about Nicole and her work, please visit her website.

A Conversation with Kate Quinn and C.W. Gortner

In celebration of Kate Quinn's recent release EMPRESS OF THE SEVEN HILLS and my forthcoming THE QUEEN'S VOW, Kate and I decided to do a something different than the standard interview. Hope you enjoy it!

Kate Quinn: I have Catherine de' Medici to thank for introducing me to C.W. Gortner. I was reading his novel Confessions of Catherine de'Medici and by the time a certain scene came along (I won't spoil it for you by saying which one) I was reading through gapped fingers, clapped against my face. Even as I was squealing, “Oh, no!” I was thinking: Here is an author with real imagination. I was delighted later to be a guest blogger here on Historical Boys, where Christopher and I discussed a fascination for women in power – and I was even more delighted to meet him in person at the Historical Novel Society Conference. He's since become a friend.

C.W. Gortner: I've always loved historical fiction set in ancient times and discovered Kate when her publicist sent me a copy of Daughters of Rome. I was hooked from page one and immediately bought Mistress of Rome, which I also promptly devoured. I loved the wit and modernity of the language; she made ancient Rome feel sexy and contemporary. Plus, I laughed out loud a couple times - always a good sign for me. Kate has a way of combining the travertine glamor of the age with a stiletto-heel imagination and I was delighted when we finally met at the HNS Conference in San Diego. Lo and behold, she was wearing . . . yes, red leather stiletto heels. How's that for serendipity?

KQ: We'd already arranged for me to come do an author Q&A on Historical Boys when my latest book “Empress of the Seven Hills” came out. But it occurred to me that we should just post one of our conversations instead – one of the conversations where we zing questions back and forth. Shall we say three questions each?

CWG: Sure, go ahead.

KQ: Okay, off to the races – I know how I got into this racket: Sally Watson's early YA historical fiction novels had me vowing to be a Royalist spy for King Charles, and Pauline Gedge's The Eagle and the Raven had me swearing bloody vengeance on the Romans who defeated Boudicca. Throw in a precocious viewing of “I, Claudius” and that old Elizabeth R series with Glenda Jackson as young Princess Elizabeth sitting down on the steps of the Tower of London and telling her jailers she wouldn't go one step further – after that I was pretty well sunk, obsessed with history and writing short stories about the murder of King Edward II, among other completely age-inappropriate topics. How about you? What books, movies, or other influences drew you into historical fiction?

CWG: Growing up in Spain. There was history all around me: ruined castles and cathedrals and statues. Oh, and repeat viewings of "Henry VIII and His Six Wives" and the aforementioned "Elizabeth R" certainly helped. When I was growing up, there were only 3 television channels in Spain, so I saw those a lot. I also had this very prim schoolteacher who caught me one day outside in the blazing sunshine during lunch break, huddled in a corner while children played all around me, my nose deep inside a battered copy of Murder Most Royal by Jean Plaidy, a birthday gift from my mom. She asked me if I liked history. Well, it was like me asking if I like tapas! She then introduced me to more Plaidy, plus tons of non-fiction. It became my obsession. I especially found myself drawn to the Renaissance; it felt so familiar to me. If I believed in reincarnation, I'd say I had a life in the 16th century (I was probably some miserable carter who collected night soil or something equally unappetizing!) I also fell in love with ancient Egypt and Rome. I'd like to write a book set in ancient times one day. Are there eras you find yourself particularly drawn to? Any you wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole?

KQ: I love the Tudors, but I'm not sure I have anything new and different to contribute to their saga – not unless I can find a really original angle and narrator, as you did with The Tudor Secret. I've always been drawn to ancient Rome, ever since watching the original Spartacus and getting an enormous crush on Kirk Douglas. The lesser-known emperors are especially fascinating to me; there isn't nearly as much written about the Flavian and Antonine dynasties as opposed to the early Claudian emperors or the end of the Republic, and yet it's a period just packed with larger-than-life personalities. I'm also infatuated with the Italian Renaissance; everything is so wonderfully picturesque with the booming art and cultural advances juxtaposed against the violent politics, and all of it splashed against those beautiful Italian landscapes as a backdrop. And someday I'd love to do a series set in the Hundred Years War, though it might get depressing hanging out there for three or four books in a row. That's a lot of dirt, plague, and civil war, and most HF writers these days tend to stick with an era they love for at least a few books. Now, you have an interesting platform: Bad Girls Throughout History. How did that come about, and how's it working for you?

CWG: It first came about when I started asking my school teacher questions like: "Did Anne Boleyn really have six fingers?" or "Did Isabella of Spain really burn people?" or my favorite, "Why does everyone think Juana of Castile went crazy for love?" That's my favorite because we'd just taken a school trip to Granada and visited her tomb. When I saw her effigy beside that of her allegedly I'll-love-you-to-death Philip, she looked decidedly upset that she had to share a tomb with him. That set me to wondering, What if history lies? I mean, these women aren't around to tell us their sides of the story. What if it didn't happen exactly the way history tell us? The bad girls of history got a raw deal, especially as history became popularized under the Victorians. As I studied history in my high school and college years, I realized that overt sexuality, the seizing and exercising of power, and generalized acting out: these made a bad girl in history. But these were also the very qualities I most admired in the women of my family, all of whom have strong personalities. I love the idea that behind each historical bad girl lies an untold story. As for how it's working for me, great so far. I love being able to do what I always dreamed of, write historical fiction. One drawback I do see is that the current focus on popular marquee names, like Elizabeth I, constrains the exploration of less familiar characters. History is full of bad girls, but not all are necessarily known to readers. Do you agree? What is about flawed characters that makes them more interesting than conventional ones?

KQ: That was a problem I wrestled with in writing Empress of the Seven Hills. A major character is Emperor Trajan's adopted son Hadrian, a historical figure who is now counted a great man: a world traveler, an intellectual, an artist, a visionary. But the more I read about him, the more I drew the conclusion that this great man was, in person, a spiteful snobbish drone with a habit of cutting his friends loose once they were no longer useful to him. I scratched my head over that conundrum, but ended up putting him into the book warts and all – and I think I got a more interesting story out of it. Real people aren't black and white, after all; they're many different shades of gray. And no matter how legendary or famous the historical figures we put into our books, they were still very much real people. You've certainly had to deal with some controversial ladies in Catherine de Medici and Isabella of Castile.

CWG: Indeed, but I think controversy is not a bad thing. It makes for a more interesting character and can highlight the complexities we all carry within.

KQ: Not to mention the fact that complex characters are so much more cinematic! Speaking of cinematic, I sometimes get asked if any of my books will ever be made into movies, and I have to say probably not – it doesn't cost me anything as a writer to plop my bejeweled heroine down in a Dacian rebellion complete with three armored legions assaulting a walled city, but that scene (from Empress of the Seven Hills) would be prohibitively expensive for any Hollywood production. And that's before the triumphal parade with the chariots, the temples, and the 200,000 screaming costumed extras. Still, I indulge myself in the occasional idle daydream: “HBO announces star-studded miniseries `Empress of the Seven Hills,' directed by Ridley Scott and starring Emma Watson (she'd be perfect for my heroine Sabina; poised and intelligent and a bit mysterious) and Wentworth Miller (who would be terrific as the charming but morally ambiguous Hadrian.)” So if the dream came true for you, Christopher, and HBO picked up one of your books and gave it the George R.R. Martin “Game of Thrones” treatment, which book would you pick? Who would play your Catherine or Juana or Isabella?

CWG: I'd love any of my books to be optioned, of course, but I think Catherine de Medici's story in particular has the requisite mix of sex, violence, intrigue, betrayal, not to mention killer costumes, that just screams for Showtime or HBO. I don't often indulge in this particular fantasy, but if I did get offered an adaptation and if they did let me cast it (the former is already a long-shot, the latter an impossibility), I'd cast Minnie Driver to play Catherine de Medici. I think she'd knock the role out of the park, and I see either Michelle Pfieffer or Kristen Scott-Thomas as Diane de Poitiers. Sometimes, I get e-mails from readers who tell me they see so-and-so actress playing Catherine or Juana, and their choices surprise me. I like that, though; I like it that each reader has her or his own visual interpretation of the character. It probably explains why historical fiction covers often feature eye-less or brow-less women in fancy dress. To see a face can destroy the illusion. Speaking of readers, do you ever find yourself being influenced by the reactions of your readers to a book, or a character?

KQ: I love subverting reader expectations! “Can I create a very violent hero, a man who at one point beats up his young son and at another point is forced to kill women to survive, and still have the reader root for him?” (That hero turned up in Mistress of Rome.) “Can I make readers sympathize with a doting grandpa even though he keeps marrying his granddaughter off to some very unsavory people?” (That character had a role in Daughters of Rome.) “Can I have a heroine who ruthlessly manipulates the people around her, even the man she loves, to get the life she wants – and still have the readers root for her?” (My Empress of the Seven Hills heroine.) If I can subvert the literary conventions of good behavior in my characters and yet still have my readers root for them, then I feel I've won. Harder sometimes is when I find myself tackling themes or issues in my books that are still sensitive today. In Empress of the Seven Hills, for example, I have an unashamedly homosexual Roman military leader; a violent ethnic cleanse of the Jewish population; and a great many imperialists who see no problem razing a rebellious next-door neighbor into total submission for the glory of Rome. Gays in the military; antisemitism; arrogant foreign policy on the world stage – these are all hot-button topics today, and I imagine I will offend some people.

CWG: If a reader feels the need to write to me, good or bad, I guess that means my book touched something in them. Based on the few initial reactions I've gotten from outside readers so far, evidently my portrayal of Isabella of Castile in The Queen's Vow will elicit strong reactions and that's great. The whole point of historical fiction is to put flesh and bone on these characters, to develop them emotionally, without distorting the known facts. Isabella was a complex woman, extraordinary for her time as well as a product of her time; it's quite interesting that she's often reduced to a stereotype, as, for example, 'religious fanatic', when in reality she was, as we all are, subject to complicated and even contradictory variances in her personality, depending on the issue she was confronting. Again, it all goes back to the inconsistency of human nature. In addition, I find it quite difficult to judge and interpret people who lived hundreds of years ago by today's standards. We tend to forget that even the most lauded heroes and heroines of the past had their dark sides, and that cruelty toward animals and human beings, rigid religious doctrine, intolerance, violence and abuse, etc. were pervasive. We think that life in, say, the 16th century, is all velvet and silver chalices and sexy people in fitted hose, because that's what we are fed by modern-day depictions of it, but in reality the past was violent and frightening. Most of those who survived its vicissitudes to make a name for themselves so that we remember them today all did things that are, by our standards, appalling. Even the much-glorified Elizabeth I acted with utter ruthlessness when it came to those she considered her foes. The black and white of history, as I call it, helps us relate to the past, but it's not entirely accurate.

KQ: I think there's a tendency to whitewash our historical figures when they make us feel uncomfortable. Heroes must be noble figures on white steeds, all their sins swept up under the rug; villains must wear black hats and cackle evilly, their good deeds forgotten in favor of their bad. But the feet of clay make a heroic figure so much more interesting and three-dimensional, and a villain's virtues give him layers of sympathy. Stripping off the whitewash or black paint on a hunt to find the real person underneath – to me, that's one of the best parts of writing historical fiction. What's the best part for you? And what do you think is the hardest or most challenging?

CWG: The best part by far, for me, is being able to slip into another time and discover both the unique differences and similarities to our own era. In the end, people of the past are still human beings; it's the thread that unites past with present, and makes historical fiction so exciting. I always find it amazing that despite how much the world has changed, so much remains the same. The most challenging part for me, however, is to accurately portray my characters without judgment. They are not me. They did not see the world as I do. I can never assume that Isabella of Castile, Catherine de Medici, or Juana saw their lives and circumstances in the same context as I see mine. These women were shaped, for better and for worse, by their particular era and the realities they faced. Whether I approve of them or not is besides the point; what I must do as a writer is understand them. Because if I don't know what makes them tick, neither will my reader.

KQ: I think you've put your finger on the eternal dilemma of any historical fiction novelist: how to portray a person who is true to the morals and standards of their time, not ours – yet also bring home the fact that these people are still people, and thus subject to the same desires and hopes that drive us all, no matter where or when we are born. Love, friendship, ambition, revenge, hope – some human emotions are so universal that they drive us all, from Isabella of Castile and Emperor Trajan of the Roman Empire, to the readers devouring books about them in the 21^st century. And isn't that why modern readers remain fascinated with historical fiction? To get a glimpse of such different worlds, which are still so very relatable.

Christopher, thanks for having me as always. Best of success with THE QUEEN'S VOW.

CW: Likewise, Kate. Best of success with EMPRESS OF THE SEVEN HILLS!

Readers can visit Kate at her website. To visit me, go here.

Two Reviews: LADY OF THE RIVERS by Philippa Gregory and

(These reviews first appeared in Historical Novels Review, November 2011)

THE LADY OF THE RIVERS. Philippa Gregory

Philippa Gregory’s third entry in her Cousins’ Wars series features an unusual character: Jacquetta Woodville, mother of Elizabeth, who in turn gave birth to the princes who disappeared mysteriously in the Tower. In THE LADY OF THE RIVERS, Ms Gregory travels further back in time, bringing us a glimpse of the seeds of the epic conflict that will be known as the War of the Roses. French-born Jacquetta first weds an older duke more interested in her supernatural gifts than her physical ones; upon his death, she defies convention to find love with his squire, whose loyalty to the crown brings them heavy responsibilities. Through Jacquetta’s eyes, we’re given a wide-angle view of the lethal intrigues that plague the English court, where a young, weakling king is manipulated by his nobles, and accusations of witchcraft are wielded to destroy opponents. The end of the Hundred Years’ War, when England lost its territories in France, offers a compelling backdrop to Jacquetta’s personal trials as she endures repeated separations from her husband and witnesses the depredations of power-hungry courtiers. When her fortunes increase with the arrival of Margaret of Anjou, a princess brought to wed the king, the novel becomes more intimate, as well. Margaret is a compelling character who steals the show— not yet the Lancastrian virago of legend, Gregory depicts her as a brash, beautiful girl tethered to a man better suited to prayer than bed play; Margaret’s vulnerability and fallible relationship with Jacquetta bring humanity to the crowded historical events. Jacquetta’s magical gifts are underplayed except for one crucial episode; and her astounding fertility and perennial passion for her husband, as well as her keen insight, center her as a voice of reason in a complex, treacherous era.

ALL THE KING’S COOKS: THE TUDOR KITCHENS OF HENRY VIII AT HAMPTON COURT. Peter Brears

From the storage of game without modern refrigeration to the extraordinary size of the staff required to cater a banquet, Peter Brears’ All The King’s Cooks offers a fascinating, detailed account of how the massive kitchens built at Hampton Court were operated. This deceptively slim book goes beyond a mere accounting of pots and pans. Interspersing recipes from the era with commentary on social mores and table etiquette, along with a thorough examination of how the system contended with the daily demands placed on it, Mr. Brears has created an intelligent yet accessible look into a rarely explored part of the Tudor world. The kitchens at Hampton Court are marvelous to visit; the book fleshes out the displays for tourists with the grease and grit of the machinery that propelled these kitchens to become one of the most efficient in the realm. Numerous illustrations help visualize a part of the palace that remained hidden from most courtiers’ eyes. Mr. Brears has himself re-enacted cooking at Hampton Court and his hands-on knowledge makes his book a must-have for Tudor aficionados.