Historical Book Reviews

My fascination with the epic tale of Isabella, the so-called She-Wolf of France, and her lover Roger Mortimer, spans many years. I was first introduced to their story through a television miniseries about medieval women (its name escapes me now), suffice to say that at the time I was a novice medieval enthusiast, completely ignorant of who Edward II was. However, I do remember being amazed by the boldness of her actions, and the sheer strength of will to defy her husband and invade England with her lover by her side. My next encounter with this tale was through Maurice Druon’s The Accursed Kings series, where I learned of Roger Mortimer’s daring escape from the Tower of London, his flight to France, and the subsequent invasion of England alongside Isabella. By then, my chronological understanding of this period had begun to take shape, and my fascination with their story only deepened. Over the years, I’ve pieced together snippets of information, diving down countless rabbit holes and building a fuller picture of this dramatic chapter in history. More recently, I read The Stone Rose by Carol McGrath, which offered a glimpse into Isabella’s own perspective and the experiences of those around her during this tumultuous period. But in all my reading, one perspective was glaringly absent—and that was belonging to Roger Mortimer’s wife. Seriously, I didn’t even know her name.

As someone who loves exploring different angles of the same story, you can imagine my excitement when I discovered Anne O’Brien was releasing A Court of Betrayal, the story of Joan de Geneville. Finally, a chance to see this tale from a fresh and rarely explored point of view! Knowing this author’s talent for bringing historical figures to life, I was counting down the days to release, as I did not doubt this would be a compelling read. Let me tell you I was not disappointed!

One of the most fascinating aspects of medieval life is uncovering the intricate layers of its culture and social hierarchy—how the norms of the time often dictated lives without any regard for personal cost, particularly to women. Anne O’Brien has an extraordinary gift for drawing readers into the experiences of the women of the time, making us feel as though we were actually walking in their shoes.

In A Court of Betrayal, this is definitely the case, the story is unmistakably Joan de Geneville’s. While the love affair, invasion, and betrayal involving her husband Roger Mortimer loom in the background, this novel places Joan’s life and struggles at its heart. I was captivated by the way Anne portrayed Joan’s journey—not as a footnote to history, but as the centrepiece of a remarkable narrative. I was also astounded to learn that Joan was a member of the House of Lusignan, a discovery that added an entirely new dimension to her story, as I have read extensively about the Lusignans over the years. 

This novel also served to remind me of another topic I’ve contemplated for a future blog—the subtle yet undeniable power wielded by medieval heiresses. At a time when women had little control over their destinies, their status as heiresses gave them a unique kind of influence. Anne skillfully explores this dynamic through Joan, the eldest child and heiress to the vast de Geneville estates. The political maneuvers surrounding Joan’s inheritance are woven seamlessly into the narrative, including the heartbreaking fate of her two younger sisters, who were confined to a convent to prevent the estates from being divided. As Joan grapples with the guilt of her privileged position and the sacrifices it demanded of her family, Anne’s writing brings those raw, complex emotions to life. I felt every ounce of Joan’s pain, her resilience, and the weight of her choices. It was nothing short of extraordinary.

One of the intriguing aspects of this story is the dynamic between Joan and Isabella, it’s one of those moments where you can’t help but wonder, “What did they truly think of one another?” Did Isabella revel in her power over Roger, or did she carry a sense of guilt or regret? And Joan—surely, she must have hated Isabella for her adultery with Roger, but Isabella was also the Queen of England. How could Joan have truly responded to such a betrayal? Would she have been compelled to remain silent, navigating this heartbreak through duty and survival rather than confrontation? Anne O’Brien masterfully explores how these two women may have viewed each other.

The events of those tumultuous years must have taken Joan through a harrowing emotional labyrinth, as readers, we can only imagine the impossible balancing act she faced—navigating love, loyalty, and the sheer terror of uncertainty. The book vividly portrays the tenderness between Joan and Roger in the beginning, making it all the more poignant to consider how she reconciled her devotion to him with the stark reality of his rebellion against the king.

When he was imprisoned in the Tower, how did she endure the agony of not knowing if he would survive—or if she and their children would? The stakes only escalated after his escape and exile to France, leaving her alone to face captivity with her youngest children, uncertain whether Roger or their older ones were even alive. The helplessness must have been overwhelming, yet she had no choice but to endure.

And then came the ultimate betrayal: his return to England, not just with an army, but with his lover, the Queen herself, by his side. The emotional devastation of seeing her husband’s loyalty shift must have cut deep—did she feel betrayed as a wife, or resigned to the brutal politics of survival? As his power grew, was there a flicker of pride amidst the fear for the enemies he was making? And finally, at the end, when Roger was executed, what went through Joan’s mind as the man she had loved—and lost in so many ways—met such a gruesome fate? Was there grief for the man he once was, anger for the danger he brought to their family, or simply exhaustion from the years of turmoil? 

Historical novelists have the remarkable ability to breathe life into the past, weaving emotion into narratives that illuminate the human side of history. Anne O’Brien is a master of this craft, skillfully blending known facts with richly imagined feelings and motivations that draw readers deeply into the lives of her characters. Through her vivid storytelling, she brings to light the complexities of human relationships in a world dominated by duty, politics, and power. Her ability to make us feel every conflicted thought and emotion—whether they stem from love, betrayal, or sheer survival—transforms A Court of Betrayal into more than just a retelling of history; it becomes an intimate exploration of the choices and consequences faced by those who lived it. For anyone captivated by medieval intrigue, complex characters, and the untold stories of remarkable women, I highly recommend this exceptional book.

What initially drew me to The Winter Mantle was the intriguing cast of characters—most of whom were entirely unfamiliar to me, apart from the towering figure of William the Conqueror. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to dive into a narrative shaped by lesser-known figures from the medieval period. True to my mantra, “every day is a school day,” this book didn’t just entertain me—it educated and astonished me. Starting this novel gave me that rare sense of wonder I often feel when stepping into a story featuring unfamiliar historical characters. At first, I assumed the tale might lean toward fiction set against a historical backdrop—how else could these events have truly unfolded? But as always, Elizabeth proved me wrong. The Middle Ages never fail to surprise me, and The Winter Mantle brought history alive in ways that left me marvelling once again at the truths hidden within the past.

As is often the case when I’m reading historical fiction, I found myself diving down delightful rabbit holes to learn more about the unfamiliar figures in The Winter Mantle. One discovery that absolutely thrilled me was that Waltheof of Northampton—the central figure in this story—was the great-grandson of none other than Uhtred the Bold of Bamburgh. For fans of Bernard Cornwell’s The Last Kingdom series, the connection is irresistible. After being captivated by Cornwell’s fictional Uhtred of Bebbanburg, whose adventures take place about a century before Uhtred the Bold’s time, many of us have looked up the real Uhtred of Northumbria. In The Winter Mantle, Elizabeth Chadwick masterfully brings Waltheof’s story to life, allowing us to piece together part of the fascinating history of the Earldom of Northumbria. Through her vivid storytelling, fragmented threads of this remarkable lineage come together, leaving readers with a richer understanding of this often-overlooked chapter in medieval history.

The story of The Winter Mantle is told in two parts, and I’ll admit, this structure was part of the reason I suddenly found myself hesitant to keep reading. It’s difficult to put into words just how this part of the journey left me not only spellbound, but holding my breath, all the while not really ready to go on, but let me try.

As I mentioned earlier, I often read with the internet open, eagerly researching the real historical figures behind the story. Waltheof completely captivated me—his courage, his tenderness, and his complex relationship with his wife, Judith, drew me in. I fell in love with him as a character, so deeply that it almost felt personal. And then, about halfway through the book, while searching for more about Waltheof’s life, I stumbled upon the devastating truth: this gentle, loving man, whom I had grown so attached to, was executed for treason. I couldn’t believe it. My heart sank. I had to put the book down, unable to continue for a couple of days. How could I keep reading, knowing what lay ahead for him? When I finally picked it back up, every chapter seemed to weigh heavier on my heart. Listening to the events unfold, while knowing his fate, was excruciating. I felt utterly heartbroken, as if I were living through the tragedy alongside him. It’s a testament to Elizabeth Chadwick’s storytelling that she could make me feel so deeply for a man who lived centuries ago—a man I hadn’t even known about before beginning this book.

The second part of the book shifts focus to Waltheof’s daughter and her husband, and while their story is captivating in its own right, what struck me most was the haunting presence of Waltheof lingering in their lives. His memory weaves itself into their interactions, shaping their choices and relationships in subtle yet profound ways. Elizabeth Chadwick’s gift for storytelling truly shines here. She doesn’t just tell the story of Waltheof’s legacy—she breathes life into it. Through his daughter, his son-in-law, and even his widowed wife, we see how his influence endures, a thread of love and loss that inexplicably binds them all together. 

Although The Winter Mantle tells two distinct love stories, it was the first that moved me the most. The tale of Waltheof’s daughter’s marriage was beautifully written, but it echoed the familiar pattern of many medieval unions—arranged for political advantage, only to gradually grow into something deeper. These are the kinds of stories we often encounter in historical fiction, and while touching, they don’t linger with me in the same way. It was the heartbreaking story of Waltheof and Judith that truly left me shattered. As I read, I wanted to shake her by the shoulders and yell, “What were you thinking?” But instead, as the layers of their relationship were revealed, I was overwhelmed by sadness for both of them. Beneath the weight of duty, politics, and the harsh realities of the Middle Ages, there was a deep love between them—hidden, stifled, and ultimately tragic. The author’s ability to convey this tangled web of emotions is remarkable. She didn’t just make me grieve for Waltheof; she broke my heart for Judith as well. It’s a story of love lost to circumstance, and it left an ache that stayed with me long after the final chapter.

And last but certainly not least, I was completely captivated by how Elizabeth Chadwick wove the tale of a blue fur-lined cloak into the narrative. From the very first chapter, this extraordinary object becomes a thread that binds the characters together, symbolizing love, loss, and legacy in a way that is both subtle and profound. It’s astonishing how this cloak transforms into an integral part of the story—almost a character in its own right. This is storytelling at its finest, showcasing Chadwick’s extraordinary ability to imbue even the smallest details with immense significance.

The Winter Mantle is a masterpiece of historical fiction, brimming with emotion, authenticity, and a deep reverence for the past. It’s a novel that will linger in your thoughts long after you’ve turned the final page.

This book review takes a different approach from my usual posts, as I’ll be discussing an entire series rather than just one book. The reason is simple: the elements I loved were consistent throughout the series, not just in a single instalment. I first heard about David Gilman on the podcast “A Slice of Medieval,” hosted by acclaimed historical authors Derek Birks and Sharon Bennett Connolly. They often discuss topics blending history with historical fiction, sometimes bringing in fascinating guests. One such guest was David, who joined the podcast to talk about the eighth book in his "Master of War" series. The series begins in the leadup to the Battle of Crécy, and follows the life of a young English archer, Thomas Blackstone, who becomes a formidable man of war. As someone deeply interested in the historical use of archery and a fan of Bernard Cornwell’s Grail trilogy, I was eager to dive into Gilman’s work. I quickly downloaded the series, ready to embark on another thrilling historical journey.

I live by the mantra “Every day is a school day,” and I’m drawn to books that deepen my understanding of the medieval era, the more I learn about the Hundred Years’ War, the more I’m fascinated by the complexities of this epic struggle, and this series ticked all the boxes. 

The author’s ability to transport readers across England, France, Italy, and Spain truly captivated me throughout the series. Through the story of Thomas Blackstone, I became totally immersed in the Hundred Years’ War, leading me to dive into countless internet searches to learn more. Until now, my understanding of this long-running battle for the French throne had always been shaped by the English perspective, as that’s where my Plantagenet research is focused. Listening to this series couldn’t have come at a better time, as I prepare to launch my first Plantagenet-themed tour of France. I’ve already warned my local tour guide to expect a barrage of questions from me about the war from the French perspective!

The story begins in England but quickly moves to Northern France around the time of the Battle of Crécy. What I found interesting during this early stage of the war was the level of discontent among the Norman barons toward Philip VI, and how quickly their loyalties shifted. Since the Norman Conquest, the nobles of England and France have always had conflicting loyalties, with many holding estates in both countries. This often led to families being torn apart by differing opinions. However, I had previously only considered this aspect in the period leading up to the fall of the Angevin Empire and the annexation of Normandy into France. I had no idea how many disaffected barons there were during the Hundred Years’ War. Gilman provided me with much insight into the political intrigue of the French crown itself, and I loved how he brought these divided loyalties to life, leaving me as a reader feeling the same conflict and confusion as the characters themselves must have felt at the time. 

The English/Welsh longbow, though not a new invention, had traditionally been a weapon of the lower class, used mainly in local conflicts. Its transformative role as a mass weapon of war emerged during the Hundred Years’ War, leaving the French armies often helpless against it. The familiar whir of arrows and the sky darkening with hundreds, if not thousands, of projectiles, struck terror into anyone on the receiving end. David Gilman masterfully conveys the longbow's profound impact throughout the entire "Master of War" series. He vividly illustrates the natural segregation of archers from the main army, primarily due to their common origins. Despite this, their immense value to the army’s leaders is evident. While many commanders viewed archers as expendable, there were those who treasured them more than gold. Gilman’s skill in portraying the leaders' heartbreak and profound sense of loss when these extraordinary men fell in battle is remarkable. His writing evoked powerful emotions in me, often bringing tears to my eyes - a fact that is especially challenging while driving, as that's when I usually listen to my audiobooks.

As someone who feels things deeply, one of the most moving aspects of these tales was the profound impact the Hundred Years’ War had on the French population. As a passionate Plantagenet fan, I've spent years building my knowledge of this period, often focusing on the kings, queens, and aristocracy since they tend to dominate the historical narratives. However, this series opened my eyes to the experiences of the common people, both French and English. The author’s incredible skill in portraying emotions and experiences from all walks of life made me realise just how devastating war was for those who lived off the land. The scorched earth tactics, which destroyed crops, livestock, buildings, and infrastructure, had catastrophic effects on the poorest people, highlighting the true cost of war beyond the battlefield.

This brings me to perhaps the most fascinating discovery I made while listening to the series: I had no idea that France faced a massive peasant uprising. My knowledge, mostly centred on England, had made me familiar with the Peasants’ Revolt of the late 14th century, but I was completely unaware of the ‘Jacquerie’ in France. In Gilman’s third novel, the story of this peasant army captivated me, forcing me to realise just how little I knew about the conflict. What truly astounded me was learning that many women were among the ranks of this uprising. In a time when it was almost unheard of for women to challenge societal norms, this revelation was eye-opening. 

The final aspect of the series that truly satisfied my thirst for knowledge was the incredible insight into the Castilian Civil War between Pedro the Cruel and Henry of Trastámara. Gilman vividly illustrates how deeply divided the English crown must have been. Despite the moral dilemma, they had little choice but to support Pedro the Cruel, knowing that their enemy, the French, backed his illegitimate brother Henry. In this eighth instalment, I gained a deeper understanding of the devastating cost to the English due to their involvement in this conflict, the treachery of Pedro the Cruel, and the intricate political intrigue that surrounded it.

In closing, I highly recommend this series to anyone intrigued by this fascinating period in history—you won’t be disappointed. I’m also incredibly grateful to David Gilman for the learning journey this series provided, enriching my understanding of French history, especially as I embark on leading historical tours in France.

Greetings, fellow history enthusiasts! One of the marvels of historical fiction lies in its ability to whisk us away on journeys through time, delving deep into the annals of the past. Throughout my years of avid reading of both the historical fiction and non-fiction realms, I've meticulously pieced together a sprawling tapestry of the Middle Ages. Each book I've encountered has contributed to this mosaic of historical knowledge, yet many gaps remain, beckoning me to unearth more. Therefore, two compelling reasons spurred me to delve into the narrative depths of The Chosen Queen. Firstly, the promise of filling in some of those lingering blank spots in my historical chronology. Secondly, a tantalizing endorsement from Audible, suggesting that if I revelled in the works of Elizabeth Chadwick or Anne O'Brien – as I indeed do – then Joanna Courtney's tale was sure to enrapture me. With such enticing prospects, I eagerly hit the download button, poised to embark on yet another enthralling historical journey.

Before delving into my review, there's a point I think is worth noting: while perusing pre-download reviews of this novel, I came upon several remarks regarding Joanna Courtney's use of modern names rather than sticking to original Anglo-Saxon forms. And while I understand that could be both challenging and frustrating, as an avid listener of audiobooks, however, this detail didn't detract from my anticipation of the novel.

Embarking on her debut novel, Joanna Courtney plunges us into a literary era ripe with tales of extraordinary men and their equally extraordinary exploits on the battlefield. However, in this burgeoning age of historical literature, authors are also beginning to unfurl the veils shrouding the lives of some incredibly formidable key female figures, and Courtney deftly follows suit with her portrayal of Ealdgyth of Mercia. I was thrilled by true revelation unfolding for me within these pages, illuminating previously obscured corners of history, filling in the blanks and enriching my understanding of the past.

1066 stands as a beacon in our collective memory, its key events etched in general historical consciousness. Yet, how often do we venture beyond the headlines, beyond the death of Edward the Confessor, the defeat of Tostig and Harald Hardrada at the Battle of Samford Bridge, or the fateful arrow that ended Harold Godwinson's reign on that fateful battlefield at Hastings? Sadly, this happens all too frequently. I was therefore thrilled when Courtney's narrative took me on a journey into the tumultuous years preceding the Norman Conquest, thrusting me into the teenage world of Ealdgyth of Mercia, a figure largely overlooked in the annals of history. As her family navigates exile, traversing lands from Ireland to Wales, Ealdgyth's ascent to the throne of Wales emerged as a true enlightenment to me. Courtney's meticulous attention to historical detail seamlessly transported me to this bygone era, prompting fascinating comparisons with historical figures that are more well-known to me. The revelation that Ealdgyth was the sole woman to wear the crowns of both England and Wales evokes a sense of familiarity, paralleling the intriguing tale of Eleanor of Aquitaine's dual reign of France and England. Moreover, Ealdgyth's journey echoes the trials faced by Joanna of England (illegitimate daughter of King John) following her marriage to the Welsh prince Llywelyn the Great, kindling reflections on the challenges of assimilating into new realms as a foreigner, and winning over unfamiliar and often hostile subjects.

However, one of the most remarkable facets of "The Chosen Queen" lies in the author's adeptness at evoking the range of emotions that undoubtedly coursed through women during the Middle Ages. While moments of joy are certainly woven into the narrative, it's the poignant depths of loss and fear that resonate most profoundly.

Firstly, fear permeates the very pages of this story, casting its shadow over the lives of women left behind as men marched off to battle. It's a visceral dread, palpable in every moment of waiting, pondering the uncertain outcomes that loom on the horizon. Whether it's Ealdgyth anxiously awaiting news of her brothers' fate at the Battle of Fulford and later at Stamford Bridge, or the collective apprehension that gripped women across the land, on that fateful day in October 1066, fear becomes an omnipresent companion, haunting their every thought.

Secondly, the narrative delves into the agonizing realm of loss. The murder of Ealdgyth's husband, Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, King of Wales, unfolds as a heart-wrenching tragedy amidst the unforgiving Welsh wilderness in a desperate flight for their lives from the English. Emotional as I am,  the tears fell, and I was transported into the depths of Ealdgyth's grief, sharing in the raw emotions that were so commonplace in that era. Similarly, the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings casts a pall of sorrow over the narrative, as Ealdgyth navigates the blood-soaked fields in search of her beloved Harold. Through Courtney's deft storytelling, I not only witnessed the personal losses endured by Ealdgyth but gained valuable insight into the broader tapestry of female camaraderie amidst times of sorrow. While historical accounts may dictate that these two women possibly never met, Courtney forges a poignant bond between Ealdgyth and Harold's handfasted wife, Svarna, offering a glimpse into the shared grief and solidarity that bound women together in the face of staggering loss, whether on the battlefield or in the quiet chambers of childbirth. The pervasive spectre of mortality underscores their experiences, weaving a poignant reminder of the fragile threads that tethered life to the tumultuous currents of history.

As is customary with many historical novelists, the inclusion of a detailed author's note at the conclusion of the book is a welcome sight. It's akin to uncovering buried treasure, offering readers a roadmap to distinguish fact from fiction and preventing them from tumbling down fruitless rabbit holes in pursuit of historical information. Joanna Courtney's note serves as a valuable companion, shedding light on various aspects of her narrative, including language choices, and providing additional context to enrich our understanding of the era.

In summation, "The Chosen Queen" emerges as a compelling testament to the resilience of a lesser-known figure in history, whose brief but pivotal reign intersected with a momentous juncture in English history. While the narrative occasionally veers into the territory of romantic indulgence reminiscent of a Mills and Boon tale, the overall journey proves both engaging and enlightening. Though perhaps not yet ascending to the heights of literary giants like Elizabeth Chadwick or Anne O'Brien, Courtney's debut showcases promise for future endeavours. In essence, if you find yourself captivated by this period in history, "The Chosen Queen" undoubtedly warrants a place on your reading list.

Hello my fellow history enthusiasts! I'm thrilled to be back with another review, and this time, we're venturing into a historical era that tugs at the heartstrings—the tumultuous time of the Albigensian Crusade in the 13th century. So, settle in, get comfortable, and prepare to immerse yourself in a novel that, like me, you'll find impossible to set aside—or in my case, stop listening to on those car rides. 🚗📖 Join me on this journey, and don't forget to share your own cherished reads or recommendations; I always welcome the opportunity to discover new favorites. 📚💙

Until now, I had only encountered one other book delving into the brutality of the Albigensian Crusade and the medieval tapestry of the south of France, a narrative that not only kindled my interest in the crusade itself, but also in the captivating region it unfolded within. Imagine my delight during a conversation with a fellow enthusiast, a companion on an upcoming Plantagenets in France tour, when the medieval city of Carcassonne emerged as a focal point. It was then that she bestowed upon me the sparkling gem of a recommendation – "Labyrinth." Oh, what a treasure trove of storytelling she shared with me through this suggestion!

The backdrop of "Labyrinth" is the Albigensian Crusade, a significant historical event that marked the first religious crusade fought among fellow countrymen. Orchestrated by the Catholic Church, this crusade spanned several decades, leaving in its wake the tragic demise of an estimated total of close to 1,000,000 individuals, and culminating in the fall of Montsegur in March 1244. Steeped in legend, it has been suggested that the Cathars, the crusade's targets, were the guardians of the Holy Grail. In a stroke of literary brilliance, Kate Mosse intricately weaves a tale that seamlessly integrates both the elusive Grail and the tumultuous events of the crusade, adding layers of mystery and depth to the narrative.

In the vast landscape of historical novels, the incorporation of dual timelines is a common narrative technique—one that can either enchant or deter readers. Personally, I find myself without a distinct preference, but in the case of "Labyrinth," this storytelling choice is indispensable. For those hesitant about dual timelines, I wholeheartedly encourage you to set any reservations aside and dive into this unique literary experience. The dual timeline, spanning a staggering eight centuries, is masterfully crafted with an extraordinary display of skill and talent. Far from feeling cumbersome, the narrative seamlessly intertwines the years 1209 and 2005, creating a harmonious fusion of two distinct stories. The artistry with which Mosse constructs the tale makes it feel as though the narratives are not separate entities but rather the interconnected strands of a single, enthralling saga.

The narrative kicks off in 2005 amidst the dust and intrigue of an archaeological dig, where we meet the protagonist, Alice Tanner. From the very beginning, the author's adept storytelling draws you into Alice's world, immersing you in the labyrinth of her thoughts and experiences. In just a handful of chapters, a captivating thread links her inexorably to the past. It's a challenge to find the words, but it's not solely about the discoveries she makes or the places she explores; it's the very essence of her existence that forms the unbreakable bond with history. As someone who passionately believes in the profound influence of the past on the present and future, each unfolding mystery in the chapters transported me to a not-so-distant place and time. With the vivid narrative painted by Mosse, I find myself eagerly anticipating my visit to the south of France later this year, already envisioning the landscapes and landmarks inspired by the rich tapestry she has woven.

The second timeline catapults us to the tumultuous year of 1209, marking the inception of one of history's most ruthless religious crusades—the fervent campaign to eradicate Catharism from the picturesque southern French region of Languedoc. Narrated through the perspective of Alais, a 17-year-old residing in the ancient bastion of Carcassonne, this historical drama unfurls with gripping intensity. Echoing the theme of temporal connection introduced in the narrative of Alice, Kate Mosse's mastery is evident yet again as she forges an incredible link to a far more distant past. Alais becomes the bearer of a precious secret, entrusted to her by her father, unraveling a tale that extends further back in time. Despite the inherently dual timeline structure, the author skillfully navigates us back to a generation preceding Alais, accomplishing this transition so seamlessly that it feels like a natural and captivating progression.

As an unabashed history buff, delving into mystery novels isn't typically my go-to choice—I'm more likely to be found perusing the historical section of the bookstore. However, "Labyrinth" proved to be a delightful exception, sweeping me up in its enigmatic embrace from the opening chapters right through to the final pages. The mystery embedded within the narrative gripped me with an unexpected intensity. Constantly caught in the thrall of figuring out the 'who' and, more crucially, the 'what,' I found myself utterly captivated. The brilliance for me lay in the fact that the puzzle is so intricately interwoven within a time period that inherently fascinates me. The element of unpredictability, coupled with the skillful incorporation of this mystery, made the entire reading experience truly fantastic.

One noteworthy aspect of Mosse's narrative finesse is her adept blending of fiction and non-fiction, creating a seamless tapestry that blurs the boundaries between imagination and reality. As I eagerly anticipate visiting the locales featured in the novel, I find myself on the lookout for specific details intricately woven into the storyline. The storytelling is so compelling that, without exhaustive research, the line between fact and fiction becomes pleasantly blurred—I'm left wondering if the captivating details I've encountered in the narrative will manifest in the real-world locations. It's a testament to Mosse's storytelling prowess that she sparks such curiosity and anticipation, inviting readers to embark on a journey that melds historical richness with the enchantment of fiction.

If you're anything like me, an avid reader with a penchant for revisiting beloved stories, you understand the magic of those select few novels that forever etch themselves into your memory. They evoke a thrill of remembrance, whether you're recounting the tale for your own pleasure or, in my case, eagerly trying to persuade a friend to embark on the same literary journey. Well I have to say, for me, Labyrinth is definitely one of those novels that will forever be on my classic favourites list.

Do yourself a favour and give it a go… I guarantee you will not be disappointed!!

As an avid reader who is always on the lookout for fresh material, I was thrilled when Carol reached out via my website’s contact page to share news about her latest masterpiece, centred around Richard the Lionheart’s queen, Berengaria. Having devoured the recent releases from my favourite authors, and because unfortunately, it takes these authors much longer to research and write novels than it does for me to read them, I was pleasantly surprised to find Carol’s She-Wolves Trilogy, a riveting journey into the lives of three remarkable queens of England. "The Stone Rose," the trilogy's captivating finale, stole my heart and soared towards the top of my favorites list. 🚀📖I had certainly stumbled upon a historical gem!

📚One of the most fascinating aspects of historical fiction is how each author weaves a unique narrative, infusing their own research and perspectives to create a compelling tale that will resonate with readers. When it comes to the well-known story of Isabella, the queen consort of Edward II, most of us are familiar with the broad strokes - fleeing to France, raising an army, and teaming up with her lover Roger Mortimer to overthrow her husband, and place her son Edward on the throne. But what lies beneath this historical surface? What events and emotions transformed this once loving and supportive wife into the formidable ‘she-wolf’ who orchestrated this invasion and deposition? Carol skillfully unravels these layers, offering a captivating perspective that had me hooked from the very start. 

There is definitely something magical about a novel that beckons you down the proverbial rabbit hole, sparking a curiosity that drives you to delve deeper. Over the past two decades and more, that same said rabbit hole has allowed me to piece together a comprehensive chronology of this enthralling period in history. Carol’s rendition of Isabella’s tale was no exception; it ignited a quest to unearth more about the often overlooked figures in Edward II’s court. While names like Piers Gaveston and Hugh Despenser the Younger may ring familiar for many, I was astonished to discover three other favourites, seldom mentioned in historical narratives.

However, what truly captured my admiration in this novel is its dual perspective - not just through Isabella’s eyes, but also in part through the lens of a young man in her employ. While this young man himself may be a creation of fiction, the brilliance of the author lies in presenting two distinct viewpoints that occasionally diverge on specific events. Carole has also very cleverly intertwined the story of a young stonemason, commissioned to create an effigy of Isabella long after all of the controversial events of her marriage, another interesting take on the story and providing one more point of view. This clever narrative skill effortlessly mirrors the reality of history, where conflicting perspectives often shape our understanding of past events. It certainly provided me with a unique insight into the complexities of historical interpretation, making it easy to grasp how diverse viewpoints can shape and sometimes challenge our understanding of the past.

Lastly, I appreciate how Carol sheds light on the formidable challenges confronted by queens of the Middle Ages, a period where a queen’s role often confined her to the sidelines when her true desire was to assert herself and voice her opinions. In an era where royal marriages were predominantly strategic alliances devoid of love or romance, Isabella’s genuine concern for her husband stands out. Carol skillfully unveils the intricacies of navigating this political landscape, showcasing that wars weren’t solely achieved through traditional means like swords and siege weapons. Instead, she illustrates how intellect, subtle influence, and the art of feminine persuasion played crucial roles in shaping the course of history.

For anyone captivated by the tale of Isabella and the dramatic downfall of Edward II, or those with a keen interest in the Plantagenets and the broader Medieval period, I wholeheartedly recommend this novel. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed! 📚

Expressing the depth of emotions that surged through me while immersing myself once more in Richard III’s tragic narrative is certainly a challenge, and the words are hard to find. Right from the opening page, I was drawn into the story’s intricate web. Despite my familiarity with the plot, my thirst for deeper understanding never waned. Sharon possesses an exceptional gift for transporting us alongside her, back to 15th-century England, a time marked by both triumphs and tribulations, when life and death seemed intrinsically entwined.

I felt the same wonder that young Richard experienced in the shadow of his elder brother Edward, a sentiment underpinned by his unswerving loyalty to family, even at such a tender age. The scene of the seven-year-old boy, standing at the Market Cross with his mother and his siblings, watching the horrific sack of Ludlow in 1459, tugged at my heartstrings. How could I possibly have any inkling of the emotions that young boy felt at the loss of so many family members in the bitter war we now call the "Wars of the Roses". But I did - all thanks to Sharon’s incredible writing skills.

Under Sharon’s guidance, I witnessed Edward IV’s coronation, where Richard became a Knight of the Garter and Duke of Gloucester. The pageantry and grandeur came alive for me, and I felt a surge of pride as though I too had been an observer. Sharon’s prowess lies not only in evoking adoration for the story’s heroes, but also in igniting frustration and anger towards its villains. I found myself cursing the malevolent Margaret of Anjou for her heinous deeds carried out in the name of justice. And don’t get me started on Richard Neville, the enigmatic Kingmaker, his choice of alliances left me not only angry, but totally dumbfounded … What on earth was he thinking? It’s as if I were an eyewitness, swept into a world of medieval machinations and power struggles - a testament to Sharon’s transporting narrative.

This book would have me completely elated at the union of Richard and his childhood sweetheart Anne, it would have me sensing the profound joy they shared at the birth of their son Edward of Middleham, to the point of making me relive the moment of my own children's births.

Every single turned page brought with it an intense feeling of anticipation and emotion. By the book’s latter stages, Sharon's poignant storytelling forced me to make a conscious choice not to bring the book to work for fear of embarrassing myself with an overwhelming display of emotions.

The final chapters, detailing the events leading up to the Battle of Bosworth, stirred in me a myriad of emotions: sorrow, frustration, anger, and above all, an earnest wish that more people would delve into the life of this misunderstood monarch. Sharon’s remarkable prose revealed Richard III not just as a man with his share of flaws, but also as a hero with a personality brimming with complexities. She peeled back the layers to reveal the bias that often shrouds our view of history, reminding us that it’s written by the victorious. It seems all too clear that Henry VII’s frail claim to the throne necessitated vilifying Richard, and then Shakespeare came along for the party, and we know how that turned out.

Comparing this read to my first, I’m struck by the heightened emotions I felt this time around. Perhaps it’s age or my expanded knowledge that has intensified the experience. I am left not only emotionally spent, but also exhilarated, a bit like returning from an epic travel adventure. The feelings are overwhelming, mingled with a deep sense of loss as the story concludes.

Sharon’s unfortunate passing on January 22, 2021, weighs heavily on my heart. Her impact on my life and understanding of this captivating historical era cannot be understated. I know she always loved interacting with her fans and supporters, and I am very sorry I have missed the opportunity to convey my gratitude to her for the profound influence she’s had. Even as I type these words, my glasses fog up as emotions well up uncontrollably.

Thank you Sharon