Review: The Sheen on the Silk by Anne Perry
Title: The Sheen on the Silk
Author: Anne Perry
Genre: Historical Fiction
Publisher: Ballantine
Release date: March 23rd, 2010
The Byzantine city of Constantinople was the heart of Christendom during late antiquity and the medieval period, yet it’s usually only studied in upper-level history courses. A city of legend and power, Constantinople was the center of the world. The Christians in the East had a different culture from those in the West, a different style of dress, a different church, and a more mystical way of thinking.
The Sheen on the Silk is the story of Anna Lascaris, who disguises herself as a eunuch called Anastasius Zarides, in order to work as a physician in Constantinople, where she hopes to discover how her fraternal twin brother Justinian was involved in the murder of Bessarion Comnenus, a leading figure in the fight for the Orthodox Church to maintain its sovereignty. The city of Constantinople was destroyed by Crusaders 70 years before the story begins, and the people are growing anxious as another Crusade is rumored to be on the horizon. As Anastasius, Anna must discover what happened to her brother, hiding her true identity and the secrets in her own past, while the web of political intrigue grows tighter around her.
The story is fast-paced, the mystery is pretty interesting as it develops, and the characters keep you guessing. They are all likeable, even the “villains”—many of the characters have understandable motivations or sympathetic reasons for the heinous things they sometimes do, and it’s difficult not to at least grudgingly admire them (though I’ll admit I found all the regret expressed over the death of one particular character confusing). Fortunately, the most likeable and admirable character in the story is Anna herself; she’s a woman of intelligence and skill, who is consistently honest and noble, refusing to lie to or flatter even those who have power over her.
The “woman-posing-as-a-man” plot device works better here than usual, because of Anna’s choice to pose as a eunuch; it’s convincing, since eunuchs are a separate class, physically different from either men or women. Because the reader has most likely never met a eunuch there’s a helpful lack of a point of comparison. This status allows Anna to have an advanced profession and be viewed by other characters as an adult, which would be impossible if she posed as a teenage boy.
The romance in The Sheen on the Silk is also handled well; it grows naturally out of the circumstances, and has an effect on the events of the story and their outcome. It’s not angsty or ridiculously dragged out; Giuliano and Anna get flickers of awareness of their feelings, but are not prone to examine them too closely. Giuliano’s attraction to a supposed eunuch is not played for laughs or even made much of beyond his bewilderment.
The only real disappointment in this book is that the setting is somewhat under-described. The historical place and time are used to create a unique political atmosphere, but the writing felt light on sensory detail. I can picture Venice easily, but Constantinople is new to me; I want to smell the spices in the air, see the Byzantine architecture crumbling and burnt before me, taste the olives, wine and cheese. There are points where the author touches on these details, but somehow Byzantium is not described with the richness I expected. Also, apart from Anna and Zoe Chrysaphes, a character meant to represent the soul of Byzantium, few of the characters are described in any detail that helped me to visualize them.
As for the religious aspects of the story, I didn’t feel the sense of mystery and the acceptance of the inscrutability of God that are characteristic of Orthodoxy. The person who best represents that openness in the book is Anna Lascaris herself, but the religious caste is portrayed as power-hungry and lacking faith in God (instead trusting in themselves to “help” God). Just one priest that represented the spirit of the Orthodox faith would have made the conflict between the Roman and Orthodox churches seem so much more meaningful. Only the characters who doubt that the church matters at all ask the important spiritual questions.
And important spiritual questions are asked, in a way that’s mostly satisfying and not preachy. The characters frequently revisit the question of God’s apparent silence, and in the case of Roman Bishop Palombara, this spiritual search rings especially true. Anna wonders how much the rituals and ordinances of a church matter to God himself, and whether such things are really worth dying for. Often she responds to spiritual questions with statements that I think are meant to be profound, but I usually found them confusing and modern-sounding. But ultimately, for Anna the matter comes down to an issue of freedom and sovereignty: Whether the beliefs of the church are true or not, it’s wrong for others to force the Byzantines to give up their convictions. I can agree completely.
Overall, the book’s strong points outweigh its flaws, and I found the story engrossing and the characters fascinating. If you’re looking for a historical novel with a realistic heroine and a tender, understated romance in an unusual setting, The Sheen on the Silk is a very good choice.
Purchase The Sheen on the Silk by Anne Perry.
This book is an ARC given to me by Marcia at The Printed Page.
A Study in Sherlock: A Study in Scarlet
I’m reading through the Sherlock Holmes stories for the first time, and posting my thoughts on each story as I read it.
Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/25796513@N08/ / CC BY 2.0
Title: A Study in Scarlet, from The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Author: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
A Study in Scarlet is the first Sherlock Holmes novel ever written, and the first Holmes story I’ve ever read (apart from a distracted scan of The Red-Headed League in elementary school). I was warned by multiple websites not to read it first, as it’s the earliest and not supposed to be the best, but I ignored the warnings; I like reading things in order. Though it isn’t perfect, it’s a fun read, and if it’s considered one of the worst Holmes stories, I’m definitely looking forward to the rest.
The story begins when Dr. John H. Watson, recovering from his stint in Afghanistan, is looking for a flatmate to share the burden of rent, and is introduced to a peculiar fellow by the name of Sherlock Holmes.
His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.
Watson spends the first couple chapters of the book trying to figure out just what it is Holmes does for a living, since his habits are so odd and his fields of study so disparate. Before long, he learns that Sherlock Holmes is the world’s only consulting detective, and that his odd assortment of visitors are actually clients seeking his assistance. For the first time, Holmes invites Watson to visit the scene of a crime with him, where they examine the body of a wild-looking man, bloody but somehow uninjured, and nearby, the word RACHE written on the wall.
This novel is a short one, more like a novelette. Holmes and Watson are fairly undeveloped as characters in Doyle’s mind at this point, and he made some obvious changes when he returned to them in The Sign of the Four (in just one example, in A Study in Scarlet, Watson makes a list of Holmes’ limitations, and describes his knowledge of literature and philosophy as “Nil”.) But the familiar characters are essentially there, and there’s a thrill in seeing Holmes come alive on the page for the very first time. I was surprised to find that a good portion of the story takes place in Salt Lake City, Utah, in a long flashback; I’ve heard that Doyle often made his stories a sort of history lesson, in which an historical event is described through the eyes of one of the characters.
Holmes is more cold and calculating than I expected in this story, and while I realize that’s one of his signature traits, I’m hoping his characterization will be rounder in future stories. Watson is a likeable narrator, who isn’t afraid to stand up to someone even as masterly as Holmes when he feels he should. I wasn’t disappointed in A Study in Scarlet, and I’m glad I read it first, since the stories can only get better from here.
***
Purchase The Complete Sherlock Holmes at Amazon.
Review: The Bell at Sealey Head
In all of McKillip’s works, the emotion of the story and the evocative language carry the reader along through a tapestry of dreams. Her characterization is both rich and archetypal, and there are funny moments as well as a sense of deep magic always flowing in the background. McKillip never neglects story, but in The Bell at Sealey Head, the story moves more to the fore than in some of her other novels. Lady Eglantyne is aged and bedridden, barely hanging onto life in her chambers in Aislinn House, an old house overlooking the port town of Sealey Head. While the townsfolk wonder what the new heir is like, Emma, a maid in Aislinn House, is able to open doors onto another Aislinn House, where Princess Ysabo moves through a series of daily rituals that she must perform without question, lest she face punishment. Ysabo walks daily up and down the stairs accomplishing seemingly meaningless tasks, feeding the crows last night’s leavings each morning, lighting candles, turning the blank pages of a book. The question “why” is rewarded with a slap to the face from a man whose name she doesn’t even know. Meanwhile, in Sealey Head, a mysterious guest has arrived at Judd Cauley’s inn, and everyone wonders who Ridley Dow is and why he is so curious about the daily tolling of the bell.
Reading The Bell at Sealey Head, there was a moment when I finally understood what novels are for. I can’t recall exactly which moment it was, but reading Judd Cauley’s thoughts, experiencing what he experienced, made me certain that the purpose of reading fiction is to know others intimately, to get inside the heart and soul of another and know them as we can know few others in this life. Someone said McKillip writes the same characters over and over, but the human spirit is endlessly faceted, and exploring those facets, over and over, can be rewarding in a way that coming up with new quirks and unique backstory isn’t. Her characters are archetypes, yes, but it’s not because she can’t think of anything new to say; rather it’s that she never runs out of things to say about people, and certain types draw her back over and over with the questions and puzzles they present. I think this is where movies fail and books succeed: there is no other media in which language can be used so precisely to explore the inner landscape of another person, as well as the external events that effect that landscape. It’s like living another life, for a few hours or days.
While the townsfolk of Sealey Head plan parties and make matches, the rituals in that other Aislinn House go on and on, and it serves as the inner landscape to the story itself. If Sealey Head is the story’s body, Ysabo’s world is its mind. It would be easy to say that the rituals Ysabo moves through in a neverending cycle are a commentary by the author on the vanity of meaningless religious practice, imposed upon us by men and tradition, and perhaps that’s so. But I kept thinking of the way we sometimes accept meaningless ritual in our everyday lives, how we wake up to an alarm, shower, convey ourselves to our destinations, then sit in our cubicles or classrooms busying ourselves with pointless tasks for reasons we don’t fully understand, made use of by a system set into place long ago. I think many people’s lives are not that different from Ysabo’s, and that our rituals can be similarly imposed upon us by a mysterious source or mindless acceptance that “it must be good because everyone says so” or “it’s always been this way”.
Of course, narcissists, control-freaks and powers-that-be sometimes use ritual to mind-numbing effect upon others. Often the ritual in The Bell at Sealey Head reminded me of the controlling spouse who demands all labels in the kitchen cupboards face forward, or that the floor behind the refrigerator not harbour a speck of dust. Such arbitrary, whimsical rules are a prison for the person who must perform the rituals day after day, until their own thoughts are bound by this control mechanism. The constant cycling of Ysabo’s ritual, going up and down winding stairs, feeding the crows, lighting a candle, locking a door, echoes the misery of a mind locked in its own meaningless rituals, trapped in the prison of obsessive compulsive disorder, in which the rituals must be performed over and over again without question lest evil befall the individual. The “body” that is the town of Sealey Head goes about its business, unaware of the cycling torment of its inner world, as the individual may go about their business giving no indication of their own inner turmoil.
But The Bell at Sealey Head is not a heavy book. It’s more story-driven than McKillip’s books usually are, but the writing is still beautiful, the characters still rich and the magic still deep. The plot of this book is fun and the relationships are charming; The Bell at Sealey Head has a light tone that makes for a slightly different sort of read than McKillip’s other works, though her signature use of repeated motifs is still present. Mostly though, the characters and McKillip’s humor—more apparent in this book than some of her others—really drew me in. Highly recommended.
- About: A journey into the realms of high fantasy, folklore and medieval romance, with a nice cup of tea.
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