"Queen of Scots" by John Guy

In traveling through Scotland this summer, I was often confronted with the complicated history between England and Scotland, particularly during the tumultuous reign of Mary, Queen of Scots. Despite many well-written plaques at Edinburgh Castle, I left the country mostly confused and set out to find a book that would do justice to the soap-opera tale, the showdown between Catholic Mary and Protestant Queen Elizabeth. Guy's Queen of Scots was well-reviewed, but ultimately I wished I'd just chosen a historical fiction version instead.

I get it--if you're a historical scholar, you do a lot of research. Especially if what you're writing about has already been researched and dissected for hundreds of years. And if you then write a book about that research, you want to include everything. For the fellow historical scholars who are reading the book, that kind of thoroughness is no doubt appreciated and necessary. But for an average reader who wants some insight on an important period in history, that level of thoroughness is simply tedious. There are so many names. There are so many complicated lineages and relationships. And a lot of them aren't that important to understanding the central conflict. A 200-page Reader's Digest condensed version might have been nice, but I found myself increasingly skimming as the book went on. It's a shame, too, because the story really is wild and deserving of a great, fact-based, narrative retelling.

Guy is also very clear in his allegiances. That's not necessarily bad, but it does come across a little oddly in a comprehensive biography. In Guy's view, Mary is a beautiful, charming, crafty strategist who makes only a few minor blunders. Queen Elizabeth also comes across well. But other people are dismissed out of hand as villains. 

I'm going to try the film adaptation and see if it's any better.

"Half-Life of a Stolen Sister" by Rachel Cantor

I've talked to friends about my belief in "literary karma," by which I mean that sometimes get the feeling that literature is coming together, without my knowledge, to say something to me. I know it's nothing more than awareness (eg, once you think about red cars, you see them everywhere), but I still choose to believe in a universe with meaning and intention.

Thus I've come to believe the universe has something to say to me about the Bronte sisters and their works. It began with the movie Emily, a romantic take on Emily Bronte's life, which led to me reading Wuthering Heights, which I hadn't read in years. Then, I did a hiking trip through the moors of Scotland, where I felt like I was living like a Bronte, and now I've read Half-Life of a Stolen Sister, a creative re-imagining of the sisters' (and the one brother's) lives.

What does it all add up to? I'm not sure, except for something about both solace and understanding; about the ferocity of passion even in the most mundane of circumstances. Maybe it says something to me that a quiet, ordinary life doesn't have to mean a quiet, ordinary person.

But back to Half-Life. One of the blurbs I read compares it to George Saunders' Lincoln in the Bardo. It's an apt description that would probably better prepare readers for the book than my vague description above of it as a "creative re-imagining of the Bronte sisters' lives." Cantor isn't particularly interested in writing historical fiction. Rather, her focus is on considering the interior of the sisters' lives, primarily Emily, Charlotte, and Anne, whose novels are now famous. The family was plagued by death--their mother would die and then all six siblings before the age of 40--and Cantor wonders what such grief would mean to the genius recluses. To probe those emotions, Cantor doesn't write a traditional narrative, but rather tells the story through diary entries and letters, among more unusual styles. In another move that will probably annoy a lot of people, she also doesn't confine herself to the 19th century, but rather weaves in an out of time periods (NPR and email play a role, for example) as suits her needs.

At first, I was a little frustrated with the novel, even though I enjoy post-modern stylistic techniques (I did abandon Lincoln in the Bardo, despite enjoying Saunders' other works immensely!). Still, as I settled down and read the book for longer periods, I appreciated the perspective Cantor's choices provided. There's plenty of Bronte biographies, and of course there are the Brontes' works, so it makes sense to offer something new.

The Brontes are fascinating character studies, even if we can only understand them in retrospect, putting our 21st-century perspective on lives that were very different than ours. Their lives may not actually have much in common with mine, but that doesn't mean I can't glean something about my own from theirs.