'Macbeth and Son' by Jackie French

Hmm, I don't quite remember where this came from, but this ended up in my box of freebies. I think I must've discovered it in a little free book library myself. As I'm always aiming to read more Aussie novels, it fits the bill for this year. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

This book is something of an exposĕ by Jackie French about a 500-year-old literary travesty. It takes the form of a dual timeline novel about two boys and their stepfathers, separated by half the globe and one whole millenium.

Luke, a small town Aussie kid, wins a scholarship to the prestigious St. Ilf's School. Yet he aces the entrance exam because he's seen it before. This only dawns on him during the exam itself. Somebody, perhaps his influential celebrity stepfather Sam, enables Luke to take a sneak peep before the day, without him realizing it was the real deal. Now that he knows the truth, should he speak up? It seems far too awkward and humiliating at this stage. 

Lulach is an 11th century tribal Scottish boy, who gains affection and respect for his own stepfather after seeing him perform brilliant battle tactics, when their own tribe is seriously outnumbered, against the fabled Norsemen. Lulach's skillful and wise stepdad is none other than Macbeth. Not the twisted, murderous villain we all know from Shakespeare, but the historical hero on whom he is based. 

Luke, who has never had anything remotely supernatural occur in his life, suddenly starts dreaming vivid, accurate excerpts from Lulach's life. (This is farfetched to the extreme, but never mind, it's all for the drama.) The dreams are the catalyst that enable Luke to learn the truth. The real Macbeth has been remembered for centuries not as a bright and shining savior, but as a cowardly cur. 

Luke's research reveals that Shakespeare shamelessly misrepresented Macbeth's character to butter up King James 1, who was a true life descendant of Banquo. But Luke questions how Shakespeare had the nerve to call liars evil in his plays, since he himself was one. Sure, 500 years had passed between the time Macbeth walked the earth and Shakespeare's writing, but when does slander and character defamation ever soften into poetic license? 

Sadly, French's theme has the subtlety of a sledgehammer, for of course Luke can't help taking the lesson home to himself. Are white lies ever really white? A brave gesture is called for when he has to present an assignment before his English class about Macbeth's villainy. Is it too late for Luke to come clean about the overlap with his own life? 

There is a subplot concerning Luke's neighbor, Megan, who he has a crush on. Her family's farming livelihood is about to be threatened by the building of a theme park nearby. This part of the story has an angsty 'Emperor's New Groove' vibe. The kids hope to involve Luke's stepdad, Sam, on their behalf, for he's a TV celeb who's renowned for promoting good causes. Luke's disillusionment about Sam's phoniness is properly ignited when Sam explains that he can't help everyone. 

In Sam's defense, he is in a very tight spot. His TV sponsors, who back the proposed resort, might fall foul of him were he to promote the Fisher family's dilemma. Yet on the other hand, his stepson yells at him and calls him names for his heartlessness. 

Sam's comment that somebody in his position must necessarily let some causes slide, since he's bombarded daily by contradictory requests, seems quite reasonable to me. But being a feel-good, moralistic YA novel, everything turns out okay for everyone. It is all heavy-handed but heartfelt.  

I had to smile when Jackie French wrote in her author's notes that there is really no such school as St. Ilf's (surprise, surprise), for she would never be guilty of falsely implicating any existing educational institution in a cheating scandal of this nature. So I guess if you like the sound of the toffee-nosed place and would like to enroll your own kids there, don't bother, because it doesn't really exist. 

French gives herself the last word.

'When you write historical fiction, you have a responsibility to slip your fiction into the cracks in the historical record, not change history for your own ends, unless you make it clear that this is what you are doing.' 

Bottom line; I do agree with her. Shakespeare was a bad, bad Bard!   

🌟🌟🌟 

Note: Also in her afterword, Jackie French writes that Shakespeare didn't simply pull his lies out of thin air. He based his deception on the 'Chronicles of Scotland' by Raphael Holinshed, but painted Macbeth even blacker still. This is interesting because the same culprits, Holinshed and Shakespeare, are also implicated by Josepine Tey for falsely maligning Richard III in their writing. It is purely by chance that I happened to read both these novels fairly close together. 

'Some Other War' by Linda Newbery

Summary: Jack and Alice are twins. When war breaks out in 1914 Jack joins the army and Alice becomes a nurse. This is an evocative and dramatic story of war, love and pacifism.

MY THOUGHTS:

I found this book's sequel first, at a free bookstand, then before reading that, discovered an Internet Archive copy of this one. It always amazes me that excellent books can slide beneath the radars of avid bookworms like myself. I'm sure I would have loved these when they were first published in the early nineties, when I was closer in age to the characters. But I simply didn't know about them then! And now, some thirty odd years later, they're out of print. That is so often the way with books. They are more transient than we think.  

Anyway, I enjoyed this just as thoroughly now. 

Jack and Alice Smallwood are working-class twins employed by the Morland family, who are landed gentry, at a property named Greenstocks. Alice is a housemaid and Jack is a groundskeeper and groom's assistant. He finds having to kowtow to Philip Morland, the haughty son and heir, a bitter pill to swallow. Philip is a tale-telling, stuck-up jerk who targets Jack for the worst jobs around the place. 

Romantically, each twin deals with friction. Alice is in love with Edward Sidgwick, the local doctor's son, whose mother considers her beneath them socially, although Lorna, Edward's suffragette sister, becomes her good friend. And Jack has a serious crush on Harriet the flighty second housemaid at Greenstocks, who strings him along as she does many other young fellows, keeping her options open. 

It is 1914 and world news is full of a senator's assassination in Sarajevo. Then rapid chaos breaks out globally and Britain is at war with Germany. The branching of the twins' separate stories suddenly widens as Jack enlists with his friends and heads off to fight on the battlefields of France, and Alice volunteers as a VAD (voluntary aid detachment) nurse which takes her first to London and eventually across the channel. 

The story is fast-moving, emotionally satisfying, and immersive. Alice's nursing exploits are graphic and revealing, but Jack's experiences on the Western Front, dealing with his lifestyle in the trenches, kept me on the edge of my seat. Even before he sets eyes on the German soldiers, he knows they are mere yards away. Exceptional world events require intense heroism and courage from normal people. And Linda Newbery's sensual writing does it justice. 

Although the whole word turns topsy-turvy, some things never change. Philip Morland gets promoted to an officer's position outright, due to nepotism, since his uncle is a colonel. So poor Jack realizes the artificial inequality on the battlefield mirrors that of the small village they come from.   

Still, life involving trench raids and desperate dashes across No Man's Land is new to everyone, a perfect melting pot for unpredictability. The circumstance in which Jack earns himself a DCM (Distinguished Conduct Medal) is wonderful.

Being a World War One novel, we readers know that not every single character we grow fond of will emerge from the pages unscathed (or even alive). So keep a tissue box handy. I think Linda Newbery puts the words of her own mission into Lorna Sidgwick's mouth. 'We must never forget, and future generations must never forget, this appalling, tragic waste of life. There must never be another war.' Great writing that keeps the past alive is vital for this purpose, even for a shorter time than it should, when novels like this one sadly go out of print. 

It wouldn't surprise me if this book makes it onto my list of the ten best reads this year. Now I'll get stuck into its sequel, The Kind Ghosts. 

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'Project Hail Mary' by Andy Weir

Summary: Ryland Grace is the sole survivor on a desperate, last-chance mission—and if he fails, humanity and the earth itself will perish.

Except that right now, he doesn’t know that. He can’t even remember his own name, let alone the nature of his assignment or how to complete it.

All he knows is that he’s been asleep for a very, very long time. And he’s just been awakened to find himself millions of miles from home, with nothing but two corpses for company.

His crewmates dead, his memories fuzzily returning, Ryland realizes that an impossible task now confronts him. Hurtling through space on this tiny ship, it’s up to him to puzzle out an impossible scientific mystery—and conquer an extinction-level threat to our species.

MY THOUGHTS: 

First off, my daughter was completely wowed by the movie and ranked it five stars. Then she brought me and her dad to see it with her. Trusting her discernment, I loved it too. And next, she grabbed the novel  as an impulse buy from the book section of Big W and said, 'You read it first.' Having enjoyed the movie, I was up for the challenge. 

So here's how it goes down. 

Poor Ryland Grace wakes up with amnesia aboard a spacecraft, which he later learns is the Hail Mary. In other beds are the withered husks of two corpses. And strong gravity pull in the vessel makes him feel oddly weighted and weak. This is all the info he has to draw from until memory fragments begin to coalesce into a coherent story. Since his recent backstory is as vital and urgent as what later happens aboard the spaceship, the story keeps its momentum by switching back and forth between the two.

Ryland has a doctorate in microbiology but rejected the cutthroat academic lifestyle to become a humble High School science teacher. Only when life on Earth is severely threatened does a scientific paper he wrote come to light.

First global happening to rock his world occurs when a thin red line is evident in the solar system. This is named the 'Petrova Line' after the scientist who first noticed it. Coincidentally, the sun is 0.01% less bright than it should be. It seems the Petrova line is sucking it up, hurtling Earth toward an inevitable ice-age. Panic-driven research at a cellular level reveals the culprit that comprises the line to be 'astrophage' an invasive space algae. 

Eva Stratt, head of the Petrova taskforce, demands Ryland's involvement. Although she doesn't introduce herself as the world's most powerful woman, (even if only temporarily), this is precisely who she is. 

Astronomical research reveals that our sun is not the only star in the same fix. Stars across the galaxy are dimming, and seem to infect each other. The only untouched star in the cluster is Tau Ceti. That's where the immensely grand but hastily thrown together Hail Mary mission is headed. And Ryland's memory still lags when it comes to the question of how he ended up on board. He assumes he must've volunteered, right?  

About a third of the way in begins a brilliant extraterrestrial bromance. Since multiple stars are affected, it stands to reason that earthlings can't be the only denizens of the cosmos in search of a solution. It is here that Ryland Grace meets Rocky, who's on the same mission.

This legendary support character is an ammonia breathing engineer from the solar system whose star is called 40-Eridani, therefore Ryland dubs him an 'Eridian.' Rocky speaks in strange musical chords and resembles a faceless spider composed of rocks. It was a tall order for the movie to retain Rocky's minimalistic appearance along with his compelling charm, and they nailed it. 

I'll leave the awesome mathematics and science for other more switched-on reviewers to discuss. The novel's highlight for me is Ryland Grace's two key relationships, first with Eva Stratt and second with Rocky. 

For some time Grace appears to be the dictatorial Stratt's right-hand-man, but when push comes to shove, he's a mere commodity like everyone else. Her character raises a fascinating, if uncomfortable question. Does it take a person as dispassionate and unemotional as Stratt to perform the ultimate altruistic act, which is saving the planet? Weir seems to hint that anyone even slightly softer or more compassionate might not be adequate for the job. I find her very admirable in a scary sort of way.

 In Grace's second major relationship, he and Rocky start out as mere cohorts on a vital, mutual mission, but bond in a far more emotional and empathetic way, in which personal sacrifice is always bound to play a role. In other words, when we use the word 'human' as a verb, it seems to describe Rocky far more than Stratt. Perhaps that irony is the crux of the story.  

Some of Ryland's off-the-cuff creativity tips should be easy for us to take on board in our less high stakes lives. 

'It's a simple idea, but also stupid. Thing is, when stupid ideas work, they become genius. We'll see which way this one falls.'

Or how about:

'One thing I learned back in my graduate school days. When you're stupid tired, accept you're stupid tired. Don't try to solve things right then.' 

Rocky places his finger (or rather claw!) on a fascinating point which I've considered before from other books. The pesky existence of altruism and self-sacrifice is not something that can be examined or quantified by science. Once again, the best of human (and in this case, Eridian) nature gets us pondering spiritual things. 'You and me both willing to die for our people. Why, question? Evolution hates death... You and me are good people.' 

I believe we readers occasionally need a novel intelligent and expansive enough to humble us. This one ticks my boxes. 

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See my review of The Martian from a whole decade ago!

'Jack' by Marilynne Robinson

Summary: Marilynne Robinson, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Humanities Medal, returns to the world of Gilead with Jack, the latest in one of the great works of contemporary American fiction.

Jack tells the story of John Ames Boughton, the beloved, erratic, and grieved-over prodigal son of a Presbyterian minister in Gilead, Iowa. In segregated St. Louis sometime after World War II, Jack falls in love with Della Miles, an African American high school teacher who is also the daughter of a preacher―discerning, generous, and independent. Their fraught, beautiful romance is one of Robinson’s greatest achievements.

MY THOUGHTS: 

I discovered this in a Little Free Library one evening. The conclusion to Robinson's Gilead series hadn't even been on my radar. It is the backstory in which Jack Boughton, everyone's favorite Prodigal Son, does Romeo. This novel was published in 2020, so when I first read Gilead back in 2017, Jack hadn't even been written yet. I tell you, I was keen to get it home on my TBR pile. 

But although I love Jack (the character), the thought of spending a whole novel in his own tortured headspace daunted me. Experiencing him through the points of view of his godfather and sister in the first two books was exhausting, though very rewarding. Turns out my nerves were justified, but I'm still glad I've read it.

The setting is St. Louis in the 1940s. Jack is a self-proclaimed bum who holds down a string of menial and un-prestigious jobs. Della Miles, the love of his life, is a young colored woman; an English teacher and the pride and joy of her family. They click as instant soulmates from the moment he first comes to her rescue in a rainstorm, and she mistakes him for a reverend. 

Jack aspires to a philosophy of utter harmlessness. His youthful mistake with the girl, Annie Wheeler, which turned so tragic, still hangs over his head. Yet now, ironically, he could commit harm so easily simply for loving Della, for they live in the Jim Crow era when interracial marriage was illegal. Their disgusting, discriminative society is the real villain, for what could be more harmless than a loving couple being free to marry and raise a family? The biggest irony of all is that what Jack and Della long for more than anything is a simple union that would not harm a soul. 

It's quite a compelling version of Romeo and Juliet.  

In terms of the series as a whole, the placement of this final novel is very interesting. If we're being strictly chronological, the final moment for all these characters comes at the end of book one, Gilead, when the minister John Ames gives Jack a very special blessing. In Robinson's Gilead quartet, the sequels are actually prequels. The second, third, and fourth stories all take place either simultaneously or previously to Gilead. When I read Home (Number Two), I found myself agreeing with Jack's sister, Glory, that Della sounded like bad news for him. 

Yet doesn't this prove that we shouldn't make snap judgements without knowing a person. For now that we actually meet Della in this fourth instalment, it's clear that she's truly the best thing that ever happened to him on many emotional levels. She imparts confidence, pride, and a reason for living to Jack. She cares for him with deep passion, enough to give up everything for his sake, including her standing with her own family. 

That brings me to another point. I read some other reviews and got triggered by a fair percentage of readers who claim that they cannot find Della believable, for why ever would she fall for a dropkick like Jack? I think they overlook the fact that we remain in Jack's headspace throughout the entire story, and that's the very point. He's our filter, so to speak, and he can't believe it either! He considers her love for him miraculous. But if we care to read between the lines, there are plenty of hints as to why she loves him so devotedly and considers him a 'glorious presence out of place in the world.'

Just because these hints elude the modest and self-critital Jack, who is our lens through which we experience the action, they shouldn't necessarily elude us too, for he's our hero. 

Hey, our boy rarely goes to church, but whenever he does, preachers tend to make him the butt of their sermons! No wonder he has a bit of a persecution complex. By the way, if you're into poetry, art, theology, or metaphysics, Jack and Della talk about that sort of stuff a lot. He has a super extensive vocabulary too, so you'll be bound to pick up a few new words. (Can you be down-and-out and a bit of a literary snob at the same time? I think Jack proves that you can.)

I feel like setting the record straight on one other point too. Some reviewers consider Jack to be 'middle aged' while Della is much younger. I don't know where they get this notion from. At the start of Gilead Jack is 43, and that takes place at least eight years later, since Jack and Della have an 8-year son who is nowhere on the horizon throughout this novel. That means Jack must be 35 at the oldest during this story, and most likely a year or two younger. Hey everyone, I am Gen X, and 33 or 34 is nowhere near middle-aged in my books.

I'll leave you with this awesome line from Della to Jack. 'If I could imagine an eternity of sitting here with you, talking nonsense, there would be nothing more I would want from death.' I feel I have to lop off a star and a half simply because Jack is the target of so much injustice, unfairness, and plain bad luck, my heart ached too much to consider it a thoroughly enjoyable read. 

🌟🌟🌟 ½ 

Check out my reviews of the previous books in the series, Gilead, Home, and Lila. 

'Shakespeare, the Man who Pays the Rent' by Judi Dench

Summary: For the very first time, Judi opens up about every Shakespearean role she has played throughout her seven-decade career, from Lady Macbeth and Titania to Ophelia and Cleopatra. In a series of intimate conversations with actor & director Brendan O'Hea, she guides us through Shakespeare's plays with incisive clarity, revealing the secrets of her rehearsal process and inviting us to share in her triumphs, disasters, and backstage shenanigans.

MY THOUGHTS:  

I requested this library book for the trip down memory lane, as I studied a fair bit of Shakespeare throughout High School and Uni English for my undergraduate degree, then read a bit more in recent years as part of my Graduate Diploma in Creative Writing. Plus, I'm an admirer of Dame Judi Dench, especially for her starring role in As Time Goes By. 

The book is a fascinating compilation of Brendan O'Hea's discussions with Dame Judi about every Shakespearean role she has ever played. Since we're talking about an actor with a phenomenal memory who has been at the top of her game for nearly seven decades and is now in her nineties, Dench has plenty to draw from. The interviews themselves took four years to compile, so they're worth savoring slowly, which is just what I did. 

The pair of them reminisce about the unfolding plots, the characters and their motivations, stagecraft, films, other actors, the energy they derive from the audience, and noteworthy incidents. They address interesting topics such the onus she feels upon herself to live up to what the general public believe about historical characters. Or the fact that most of Shakespeare's comedies tend to start off with displacement and strife while his tragedies, ironically open with celebration and optimism. Nothing is too sacrosanct to be mentioned. And if Dame Judi decides that Brendan is talking a load of codswallop, she'll tell him so. It's often very funny.

As for the book's title, Shakespeare was the man who paid her rent because Dench and her husband, Michael Williams, lived in Stratford-upon-Avon throughout the 1970s where they made their living as Shakespearean actors. 

Here is one of many remarks that tickled my fancy. 

'When I was in Macbeth, I said to Ian McKellan, "I know who I'm doing it for tonight. I'm going to pretend that God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost have bought three seats in the stalls." And Ian said, "Yes, that's fine, Jude, but they'll only need one ticket."'

Dench's first role was Ophelia, straight out of drama school, and although she had a ton of rough reviews for it, her ball kept rolling. I love that when she outgrew the roles of younger heroines, she aced the senior women. Dench played Daniel Day-Lewis's mother, Gertrude, when he was Hamlet. She played Benedict Cumberbatch's mother, Cecily the Duchess of York, when he was Richard III. She played both mother and daughter, Hermione and Perdita, in the same production of The Winter's Tale, because they were in different time frames. She played Queen Katherine opposite both Robert Hardy's and Donald Houston's Henry V when the two productions ran simultaneously. In 2010, she played an elderly version of Titania the fairy queen based on the vibe of Queen Elizabeth I.  

This book reminds me why I fell foul of Shakespeare though. As a young student, I found his trademarks getting old. All those plot-device driven shipwrecks, the corny identity mix-ups, and any number of girls disguising themselves as guys without anyone ever once twigging. Come on! Worst of all, I hated the pathologically jealous jerks (usually rulers) whose hissy fits had the power to thoroughly decimate the lives of others. 

Yet somehow, despite all that, Dame Judi inspires me to give the Bard another try. After all, we unwittingly quote many words which he coined. As a writer, if he couldn't find a word he was looking for, this genius would simply make one up, which he did over 1700 times. She calls his body of work, 'an international language, a beacon for humanity, and a bridge across cultures.' She reminds me that his clowns and jesters, who are old souls with sixth sense, are well worth reading for their insightful lines. She goes so far as to claim that the lines Shakespeare wrote are so good for her brain that she gets endorphin rushes.  

Wow, along with reading more Shakespeare inspired material, I may even, heaven forbid, crack open a play or two after all this time.    

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'Lydia' by Paula Gooder

Summary: The New Testament tells us very little about Lydia, a seller of purple cloth who was living in Philippi when she met the apostle Paul on his second missionary journey. And yet she is considered the first recorded convert to Christianity in Europe.
In her second work of fiction, Biblical scholar and popular author and speaker Paula Gooder tells Lydia's story - who she was, the life she lived and her first-century faith - and in doing so opens up Paul's letter to the Philippians, giving a sense of the cultural and historical pressures that shaped Paul's thinking, and the faith of the early church.

MY THOUGHTS:

This is a factual novel about Lydia of Thyatira, the 'seller of purple' whose elite business was based in Philippi, making her a first century version of an entrepreneur dealing in designer labels. Back in that time and place, purple dyed fabrics were considered tokens of their owners' wealth, opulence, prestige, and fine taste. 

A deeper delve down the Google rabbit hole informs me that the coveted color was truly rare and fiddly to attain, deriving from thousands of tiny sea snails named 'murex.' This is why anyone lavish enough to wear it as clothing or decorate their homes with purple curtains or upholstery were people who could clearly afford it, and therefore seen by the snobby as worth knowing and admiring. 

Lydia is mentioned specifically as being one of the Apostle Paul's very first Christian converts in Macedonia (Acts 16: 11-15). She offered the apostle and his team heartfelt hospitality, and her connection to the city's elite opened Paul's message to a far wider audience. Lydia's home church was one of Paul's favorites, addressed lovingly in his letter to the Philippians, which he sent from prison in Rome. 

This re-imagining of Lydia's tale blends many people mentioned in Scripture with other totally made-up characters. In this version, Lydia has adopted the little girl with the python spirit who Paul healed, to her owners' distress. That child is now a grown-up young woman named Ruth. And working as a cook for Lydia's household is a young woman named Artemis, whose brother, Epaphroditus, travelled to see Paul in prison. They've received word that Epaphroditus is seriously ill, but nothing since. At least not at the start of the story. 

The large, sometimes unruly cast certainly highlights the awkwardness of trying to operate a fledgling faith movement. There is so much potential for egg on people's faces. The story shows quite clearly that nasty splits may begin by the magnification of small disagreements. I appreciate some of the finer details when Paul's letter is read aloud to this disparate bunch. Jonathan and Akiva, proud custodians of Jewish customs, are deeply hurt when Paul blasts those 'evildoers, those mutilators of the flesh', prompting Epaphroditus, who brought the letter, to tell them, 'If you know a description of yourself to be untrue, you don't have to accept it.'  

Lydia herself, moves into an unexpected and hard-won application of Philippians 4: 6-7 (Do not worry about a thing). Her thread in the story contains shocking moments.

There is a villainess named Aurelia, who is exceedingly dangerous because she wields so much power and carries such a long hit list. This lady is said to be the niece of Seneca the stoic, an interesting detail considering how he and his peers are enjoying plenty of time in the sun in our own era. 

We are told the story is rigorously researched. Dr Gooder is first and foremost a noteworthy Bible scholar. Her hard work shows, as the actual story comprises a mere two thirds of the book. The remaining third is a wedge of extensive notes, explaining details in each chapter. I'm glad this lengthy exposition is placed discretely at the back, rather than crammed into footnotes or even chapter endings. As a lover of fiction as an art form, I believe the flow of stories shouldn't be handicapped in any way. Any attempt to combine a story with didactic teaching always seems like a cheap trick to make history lessons more palatable, and as far as I've seen, nobody who positions it more in our faces ever manages to pull it off. (Check out this book as a prime example of what I mean.) 

I think including a hefty appendix is the only wise choice, even though it comes with the risk that some readers won't bother to read it at all. Yet the sort of reader who would skip it might also ignore footnotes or additions to chapter endings anyway. So three cheers to this novel for honoring the whole point of being a novel! The details are there if we want them, yet we don't get bogged down in minutiae, whether we like it or not.

There is no romance element. It is, rather, a love story about a whole dynamic community. The character Lydia is lovely, and I'm glad that her new Christian faith doesn't see her close down her lucrative business out of any zealous conviction that catering to clients' status and vanity might be a poor use of her time. The world is big enough for both conviction and craftsmanship.

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'The Daughter of Time' by Josephine Tey

Summary: Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant is intrigued by a portrait of Richard III. Could such a sensitive face actually belong to a heinous villain — a king who killed his brother's children to secure his crown? Grant seeks what kind of man Richard was and who in fact killed the princes in the tower.

 MY THOUGHTS:

This vintage book was first published in 1951. I've seen it praised as fascinating and remarkable so it seemed a good investment for $3 at one my favorite coastal secondhand bookshops.  

It all takes place from one hospital bed. Police Detective Alan Grant is convalescing from a broken leg. He's feeling restless and irritable, so his friend, Marta, brings him a packet full of assorted historical portraits from the National Gallery. She knows that Alan is fascinated by the nuances of faces and hopes to cheer him up for a few hours.

What nobody expects, least of all Grant himself, is that he'll end up applying modern criminology methods to 500-year-old evidence, to prove to his own satisfaction that Richard III, the final king of the Plantagenet dynasty, couldn't have possibly committed the appalling crime he is renowned for. 

The portrait of Richard by an anonymous artist first triggers Grant's consuming quest. He perceives no traces of villainy one might expect, even given the brutal fifteenth century when royalty often seemed to lash out at their relatives, letting political ambition turn them vicious. Instead, he senses a young man of sensitivity, mildness, even kindness. 

Yet the annals of history, including every school text book, seems crystal clear. Richard is conceived of as the wizened, hunch-backed younger brother of the handsome, heroic, and athletic Edward IV. As the legend goes, after Edward's death, Richard arranged to have Edward's young kids, his own two nephews, discreetly smothered to death in the Tower of London. That is certainly what I'd always heard. As Alan Grant puts it, 'The faithful and patient small brother had turned into a monster.' 

Yet the deeper Grant delves, the more overwhelmingly this appears to be false. Since this is not the sort of novel to suffer from revealing plot spoilers, I'll outline his threefold conclusions in a nutshell. 

Firstly the two little boys had been declared illegitimate offspring, so Richard had no motive to go to the trouble of organizing, then covering up their murder. Since he was already crowned king at the time, their existence posed absolutely no threat to his reign. This in itself contradicts what is in the history book on my shelf, that Richard was merely 'Protector' until his eldest nephew came of age to rule.

Secondly no evidence of the princes' absence or murder were ever recorded during Richard's actual reign. The nasty rumors circulated after he was killed and unable to defend himself. In fact, all of Richard's recorded history concerning his brother, Edward, reveals an extremely loyal and devoted supporter.

Thirdly and perhaps most chilling, all of the subsequent evidence about Richard that we regard as gospel truth originated from Tudor sources, who aimed to discredit Richard. As well they might! Throughout this story Alan Grant dredges up enough condemning evidence that they, in the person of Henry VII at the time, might have been the real villains. 

Sir Thomas More's definitive account of Richard's reign was commissioned by the Tudors. Therefore Alan Grant rejects it as not merely biased propaganda but a dirty smear campaign brimful with outright lies. And subsequently other authors, including Holinshed and Shakespeare, believed its veracity and unknowingly added to the heinous and untrue character assassination of an innocent man. 

(Not to mention their own biases. I discovered a quote from Geoffrey Doran of the Royal Shakespeare Company who says, 'You have to remember Shakespeare was writing under Elizabeth I and her granddad bumped off Richard III.' Hence, his 'histories' may be taken with a grain of salt anyway.)

Here is what sends shivers down my spine. Has Josephine Tey, in writing this novel, proven Richard's innocence beyond a doubt? Probably not, although she's definitely made the waters murky. But what she has done, as far as I'm concerned, is whispered the disquieting suggestion that even classic texts we consider watertight may be full of pernicious, misleading holes. Might this apply to generations of school text books? Sure, why not.

Conspiracy theorist or principled whistle-blower? You read it and make up your own minds. I'm keeping neutral, for Grant, and his creator Tey, are equally biased on Richard's side, of course. But I do find myself getting a bit hot under the collar since reading this, whenever I consider how generations of students are taught that Richard III was proven beyond a doubt to be a murderous crook. 

On the whole, The Daughter of Time is history-heavy, reasonably slow moving, dry in spots, and probably aimed at far nerdier history buffs than myself, but I found it well worth a read. It does my head in, because I love certainty, but perhaps we need the occasional wake-up call not to be herd-like readers.     

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