A HERITAGE OF SHADOWS - Book review

Madeleine Brent’s historical first-person novel A Heritage of Shadows was published in 1983. 

It’s 1891 in Paris and eighteen-year-old Hannah McLeod is a waitress in La Coquille restaurant. She’s bilingual and is especially useful to the owner when English patrons dine there. She lives in a modest garret and conceals her real past and has invented an alternative which she doesn’t volunteer but which is available if pressed. She gets on well with the other staff but her only true friend seems to be a neighbour across the landing, Toby Kent, an Irish artist, for whom she occasionally poses (fully clothed).

One night on returning from her stint in La Coquille, she rescues a stranger who was being attacked by thieves. This leads to some complicated relationships which entail her taking up employment as a French teacher for two children of Mr Sebastian Ryder in England. ‘As soon as we were seated Mr Ryder said briskly, ‘Grace’. We all bowed our heads and he thanked the Lord for what we were about to receive, but in a manner which seemed to hint that he would have managed very well without the Lord’s help’ (p88).

Gradually, we learn about Hannah’s tragic past, some of it quite salacious though never graphic. ‘I have a heritage of shadows, long dark shadows thrown by my past. They are not of my making, yet I must walk in those shadows all my life’ (p197).

Hannah is a well-drawn, likeable and believable character, made of stern stuff; bold, forthright and honest – a marvellous heroine. There are several other characters of interest, too who come into her orbit – for good and ill. There is a reason why Mr Ryder had employed her. There is a betrayal, a kidnapping, and a confrontation with Mexican bandits – plenty to keep those pages turning.

Well-written, well-visualised, this is a most satisfying read. I’d previously read three Brent novels (in bold below) and enjoyed every one.

Madeleine Brent was one of the best-kept secrets of the publishing world. She was the pseudonym of Peter O’Donnell, creator of Modesty Blaise which he scripted for a comic strip, and which then became the first of a series of 13 best-selling thrillers. His Madeleine Brent books are Tregaron's Daughter (1971), Moonraker's Bride (1973), Kirkby's Changeling (1975), Merlin's Keep (1977), The Capricorn Stone (1979), The Long Masquerade (1981), A Heritage of Shadows (1983), Stormswift (1984), Golden Urchin (1986). He died in 2010.

 

 

HANNAH - Book review

 

Paul-Loup Sulitzer’s saga Hannah was published in 1988 – translated by Christine Donougher. This is one of those sprawling novels that cover many years, taking the heroine from childhood to old age; a book to get lost in and enjoy. It’s narrated from an omniscient point-of-view.

It begins in Poland in 1882. Hannah is a seven-year-old Jew. While playing in the fields with her brother Yasha and a friend Taddeuz, a young Polish Catholic, she learns of the attack by Cossacks on her village. Then the pogrom reaches them; Hannah hides but her brother is burned to death and Taddeuz betrays her by running away.

She was a precocious child and her father Reb Nathan taught her to read and talked of the wonders of the universe. ‘There was between the two of them an extraordinary closeness that she would know with no other man’ (p5). ‘He would declare: Nothing in the world is more mysterious than a little girl’ (p5). Her father was killed in the raid.

The drayman Mendel Visoker was twenty-four when he discovered Hannah alone in the fields and took her home. She was traumatised, but did not cry. A phrase Mendel uses is: ‘One of two things is possible…’ which Hannah hijacks several times in the narrative, to comic effect.

The years passed and Hannah continued her learning in several languages, borrowing books from Mendel when he visited. She would always be of diminutive stature and had enchanting grey eyes. When she was fourteen Mendel agreed to take her to a relative of the village rabbi in Warsaw as Hannah was plainly stifled in the little village. She stayed in the Klotz household; the woman Dobbe was the power in the marriage, Pinchos was ‘only a suggestion of a husband’. There are many amusing and colourful character descriptions in the book; this one stands out: ‘The couple were nearly sixty and had never had any children. In fact, they had not spoken to each other for some thirty-odd years, united in one of those silent bonds of well-maintained hatred that only a perfect marriage can achieve’ (p77). ‘She was truly colossal, as tall as Mendel, and the look she shot him would have terrified a lesser man. Her small keen eyes were tucked away beneath heavy eyelids that fell, like the rest of her face, in folds’ (p77). However, Dobbe is no match for the wilful Hannah.

While working in the Klotz shop, Hannah sets about improving things and strikes a deal with Dobbe to earn a percentage of the takings. Eventually, she strikes out on her own, achieving considerable success – until she is attacked and robbed. Mendel learns of this and metes out his own revenge but is then on the run and arrested, sent to Siberia. Hannah is given his boat-ticket to Australia, where she is taken in by the Mackenna family. ‘… this sudden immersion in a real family came as something new and surprising; she had not experienced the same since she was seven… Their average height alone was impressive… She felt like a fox terrier invited to share a meal with an assembly of St Bernards’ (p206).

Hannah was a quick study and soon turned her hand to developing scented cream lotions. She scoured much of Australia for the ingredients and quickly understood commerce: ‘she knew that the less cream she included in each pot the more highly priced – and prized – the contents would be’ (p284). All the time she desired to find and reunite with her childhood love, Taddeuz…

‘She was not going to remain in Australia for twenty years, and she was already getting old, nearly eighteen. Taddeuz would not wait half a century for her, nor would Mendel, in the event he had not already escaped…’ (p292).

By the turn of the century, Hannah is a rich and successful woman, head of a cosmetics empire with establishments in London, Paris and Vienna. And yet she seems unfulfilled unless she can find Taddeuz…

This is a completely engrossing novel with a wonderful and memorable heroine in Hannah and plenty of other fascinating characters, not least Mendel, her protector who possesses an unrequited love for her.

The book ends on a reasonably high note; however, there appears to be a sequel, The Empress, dubbed Hannah Tome 2, but it is hard to come by. I’m quite content to leave Hannah at the end of this book.

Apparently, Sulitzer used a ghost writer for many of his books: Loup Durand. I don’t know if Durand wrote this one.

Sulitzer is a French financier, and was a self-made millionaire by the age of seventeen.

It has been postulated that Hannah’s story is a fictional account of Helena Rubinstein. True, both originally came from Poland, and both took the cosmetics and fashion industries by storm at the start of the twentieth century. Quite a number of authors have used real larger-than-life people as templates for their fiction. Whatever the story behind the book, that should not detract from a well-told and affecting tale.

 

 

 

Blog guest - Jennifer Morton - I ode her this

From time to time, I’ll be featuring blog guests with the name Morton. This stemmed from my discovery of all those Mortons and Moretons on HMS Victory at the battle of Trafalgar (see the end of my post here )

First up, then, close to home, is Jennifer, my wife of forty years.  She sold the following to The Coastal Press here in Spain and it was published in the September 2005 edition. I’ve edited the first line of the introduction only, which referred to the 400^th anniversary of the publication of Don Quixote.

AN ODE TO DON QUIJOTE

Jennifer Morton

Don Quixote - Wiki-common 

It is 409 years since the publication of Part I of Don Quixote. Perhaps this offering may be of interest, particularly to those who have an understanding of some Spanish and haven’t read the book – 672 pages in Spanish, 765 pages in English. (Part II of Don Quixote didn’t appear until 1615). The following macaronic poem briefly tells the famous story.

Macaronic poetry was coined in the sixteenth century by the Italian poet Teofilo Folengo. He was referring to a kind of burlesque verse he invented in which Italian words were mixed in with Latin ones for comic effect. Macaronic as a word first appeared in English a century later and expanded its scope to refer to any form of verse in which two or more languages were mixed together.

There lived a man in days of yore, Quijote was his nombre,

He was a very gallant and inestimable hombre.

To while his time he read great tomes of noble knights andantes,

Of quarrels, battles, challenges ’gainst moros and gigantes.

He read by day and night until his reason was perdido;

But none could turn him from his quest for he was decidido

To roam the world and right all wrongs and seek for aventuras.

His friends, the barber and the priest, avowed this was locura.

“We'll burn his books!” They burned his books. It made no diferencia;

He'd rescue damsels in distress and hang the consecuencias!
 
He cleaned his armour till it shone, a helm, a shield, a lanza,
And took to squire a village-man, by name of Sancho Panza.
 
His nag, bare flesh and bones, but brave, he dubbed him Rocinante.
 “My trusty steed!” he cried, “With you, I’ll conquer mil gigantes!”
 
Now who could be the lady fair for knight so muy famoso,
But Dulcinea? A country lass who hailed from El Toboso.
 
And so, our bold, intrepid knight, Quijote, and his Sancho
Set out ere dawn one summer's day, ‘cross plains of broad La Mancha.
 
With giants he fought, though they were nought but sails of a molino.
A barber’s basin chanced he by, the Helmet of Mambrino.
 
More giants in dreams he fought with sword, which really made him angry;
But, waking, found he'd pierced some sacks of wine which flowed like sangre!

Why masters beat their serving boys, he could not comprender;

And wretches chained to slave in galleys rough, he'd defender.
 
Revenge, alas, was sweet but short, his efforts all en vano,
For those he freed abused him, stoned and scorned our good cristiano.
 
And knights come to the end of days, and one morn on the playa
The White Moon Knight approached him and did shout, “Your Dulcinea”
 
“Is not as fair as my lady!” Our Don, with face severo,
Could scarce believe the arrogance of this brash caballero!
 
The challenge he accepts. They charge; White Moon unseats our Don.
“My honour’s slain, so kill me now!” He bares his corazon!
 
“No, Sir Knight! I'm content with this! Dulcinea is muy hermosa!
But you must retire, give up your arms, go home, return to your casa!”
 
With sorrowful countenance, Don Quijote confessed he had been muy loco.
But now he was sane and smiled again; but knew that his time was poco.
 
He made his peace with Sancho, his niece, the curate, the barber, and then
He sighed one last sigh and en lágrimas died, and went to his Maker. Amén!
 
Vocabulario
Nombre – name
Hombre – man
Andantes – walking
Moros – moors
Gigantes – giants
Perdido – lost
Decidido – decided
Locura – madness
Lanza – lance
Muy famoso – very famous
Molino – windmill
Sangre – blood
Comprender – understand
Defender – defend
Cristiano – christian
Playa – beach
Severo – severe
Caballero – knight
Corazón – heart
Hermosa – beautiful
Casa – house
Muy loco – very mad
Poco – little, few
En lágrimas – in tears

Bio
Jennifer attended Bolton Girls' School and then Newcastle University, obtaining her degree in Spanish. She met Nik February, 1973 and they were married one year to the day after. Nik was in the Royal Navy and he was drafted to Malta, where they both stayed for 18 months, returning to UK for the birth of their daughter Hannah in 1976. Jennifer taught history, music, French and Spanish in schools then became a college lecturer in Spanish. She and Nik emigrated to Spain in 2003 where she soon took up singing in choirs and became the MD of the ladies' choir Cantabile in 2007. She has completed a novel, The Wells Are Dry, a romantic thriller set in contemporary Spain and is looking for a publisher or agent for that. When not preparing for choir performances, she writes poetry and short stories and has embarked on a historical novel set in 10th Century Spain.

NUN MORE WORTHY

Nuns, even before the haunting Nun’s Story, have carried with them a certain mystique. Granted, there are those bad apples who, like wicked stepmothers, delighted in inflicting pain on children, yet the vast majority have done good work and many have given their lives for their charges and their faith. (The book excerpt below is based on real events...)

I’ve just seen an announcement that Hodder’s going to run a 12-part serial about a gun-toting nun. Bookseller states: ‘Hodder & Stoughton has bought a "groundbreaking digital serial Western", Nunslinger by Stark Holborn. Anne Perry bought world rights in a deal with Ed Wilson of Johnson & Alcock. Set in 1864, the story sees nun Sister Thomas Josephine on her way to California, and finding she has to pick up a gun, in a plot featuring "varmints, lowlifes, cowboys, drifters, desperadoes, high-plains adventure and page-turning excitement". [Who'd have thought Hodder was so pro-westerns?]

The story will be published as a 12-part serial digital original, with parts 1, 2 and 3 published on 26th December 2013 and nine more parts following in March, June and September 2014. Nunslinger is to be promoted with a "spectacular" digital campaign across online communities starting on Boxing Day 2013. Author Stark Holborn is said to be "shrouded in mystery", with Nunslinger "his or her" first published work.’ [I don't think it's J.K. Rowling this time...]

Nuns in fiction are not new, of course – not even in westerns. A far cry from the nunslinger is Thomas Eidson’s brilliant St Agnes’ Stand (1994), an excellent character-driven story. There are a good number in crime fiction: Sister Mary Helen Sister written by real-life nun Sister Carol Anne O’Marie (books 1994-2006), the Sister Mary Teresa series by Ralph McInerny (creator of Father Dowling) writing as Monica Quill (1981-1997), Sister Fidelma, a 7^th century nun in Ireland, written by Peter Tremayne (1994-2012), and Sister Agnes by Alison Joseph (1994-2011).

 

A beginners’ guide to detective nuns, (of whom, the compiler states, there are too many, particularly medieval ones) can be found at this website: some 35 are listed: http://www.detecs.org/intro.html

There’s also a slew of comicbooks, notably in the US, about warrior nuns. Some of these are juvenile with buxom barely clad nuns, while some are sci-fi incarnations such as Avengelyne – the emphasis on ‘avenge’, I suspect.

In the early 1990s I wrote a short story about a nun who used to be a cop. I entered it for a competition but it didn’t win. It featured Sister Hannah who ran a hostel for the homeless in Charleston, South Carolina (I’d been to Charleston). Inevitably, the story grew, and involved her traumatic past as a cop in New York.

In 1995 I went to London to compete in the ‘novel in a day’ competition, which took place at the Groucho Club. I borrowed a laptop from work and spent two days there, two 12-hour stints, and produced roughly 18,000 words, Silenced in Darkness. Prior to going, I’d plotted the storyline and used the nun character, visualising the scenes in my head so that when it came time to write it down, I could simply transcribe as if from a movie. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that, but the preparation helped. These were the judges’ comments: ‘Sister Hannah is a deeply felt character’ – Terry Pratchett. ‘I kept turning the pages, wanting to find out what happened next! Sister Hannah is an original!’ – Kathy Lette. ‘I too enjoyed Silenced in Darkness’ – Melvyn Bragg. I was joint fourth, so no cigar!

 

By now, I was keen to write a full-length book about Sister Hannah. In the meantime, to establish my claim on the nun who was a cop, I published two novellas – A Sign of Grace, the extended short story, plus Silence in Darkness, both as Robert W. Nicholson. The Bookseller announced it and I sold a number of copies, and gleaned local press coverage, but that was it. The day-job probably got in the way too.

I had a few close calls with literary agents. One wanted me to provide more violence for the modern reader; another said the same, but seemed squeamish when I delivered. Once, I spent an hour or so in a publisher’s office and they seemed keen on using Sister Hannah as a lead crime character, but then declined to take it further. A major literary agent spent a few months with me but eventually decided to back off. After which, I moved to Spain and finally found time to write almost continuously. I rewrote the original book, changed it from Charleston and New York to Newcastle upon Tyne and London, altered its title and  made it first person narrative instead of third person. The first chapters won a prize in the Harry Bowling competition for first-time novelists. The judges wondered if I was in the police, and before meeting me wondered about the author’s gender, and even considered I might have been a nun! No, I explained, it was all down to research. I thought I’d arrived. Alas, no, again the book was declined. I took time off to write my first western, which was accepted within a week. This goaded me to return to the nun, now renamed Sister Rose.

Finally, in 2007, Pain Wears No Mask was accepted and published by a new publisher on the block. It gained a good selection of reviews. Two psychic spy thrillers followed from the same publisher, both very popular. Then, sadly, the publisher shut its doors and I was left with three books effectively out of print. And that’s where they are now.

 

An excerpt: Policewoman Maggie Weaver is in a hospital run by nuns, recovering from serious trauma; she’s bitter, heartbroken. Unlike the rest of the book, this section is third person, for good reasons.

On the following day another nun entered her room. ‘I’m Sister Veronica,’ she said. She was Irish, tall, with a long austere face, a thin hooked nose and almond-shaped eyes. ‘Sister Gonzalez is indisposed.’ She kissed her rosary, murmured, ‘Hail Mary, Mother of God.’

            ‘So? Look, Sister, I don’t need religion and all this forgiveness nonsense.’
            ‘You will soon be free to do whatever you wish – presumably within the law.’
            ‘Yes. Presumably.’
            ‘Sister Eulalia Gonzalez took the name of Saint Eulalia of Merida, the most celebrated virgin martyr of Spain?’
            ‘I don’t really care. A bit thin-skinned, is she?’
            ‘No. On the contrary. May I sit here with you?’
            ‘So long as you cut the sanctimonious bits.’
            Sister Veronica smiled thinly, clasped her hands together as she sat on the bedside chair. ‘No, I won’t inflict anything religious on you, to be sure.’
            Despite herself, Maggie liked this nun. Well, she’d liked the Gonzalez one as well, even if she was a bit docile. ‘About Sister Eulalia Gonzalez?’
            ‘Oh, she comes from Guatemala.’
            ‘So?’
            ‘A mission down there. You may have read that some ultra-right forces have long considered the Catholic Church to be supporting leftist terrorists?’
            ‘No. Get to the point, Sister, will you. I’m not in the mood for a history lesson.’
            ‘Sister Gonzalez was kidnapped and taken in a police car to a warehouse on the outskirts of Guatemala City. They blindfolded her and threw her into a room where she was left to pray. She’d accepted her death.’
            Maggie felt a cold chill begin to creep up her spine.
            ‘Two of Sister Gonzalez’s captors removed her clothes, poured wine over her, and raped her repeatedly. Then they said that if she gave an answer they liked they would let her smoke. If they didn’t like the answer, they would burn her. She said that was unjust, so they burned her anyway. She screamed with the pain but there was no-one willing to do anything about it.’
            Tears, salty to taste, flowed freely down Maggie’s cheeks, but she was incapable of lifting a hand to brush them away.
            ‘Her torturers said she knew guerrillas and demanded she identify her contacts. Eventually she passed out. She regained consciousness in a courtyard. Here there was a pit filled with dead and dying, some jerking with the last vestiges of precious life. She remembered someone crying very loudly. Perhaps it was her own voice.’
            ‘Oh, Christ,’ Maggie whispered, and finally put her hands to her streaming eyes.
            ‘One of the police shot her and she tumbled on top of the bodies. But that night she awoke and found the bullet had gone straight through without any serious damage. Somehow, she struggled free and crawled away to hide till she could get help.’ Sister Veronica stood up. ‘She wants to go back, to testify against the perpetrators... but we’re afraid for her, you see?’

-*-

I know it’s only a matter of time before Sister Rose will be published again. She has more stories to tell. You can’t keep a good nun down.