speesh's reviews
416 reviews

This one can surely be best summed up by Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985), in his poem 'This Be The Verse'

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you."

There, that's the nub of it in four lines. The book is a lot longer. Too long actually, for the events and/or (quality of) revelations that happen, or are made.

It starts, I suppose, promisingly enough. She returns home, to a huge family ranch in Texas, after the death of her father. Basically, to put the affairs in order and to start running the place, as her mother is on her last legs as well and has been taken into a care home. She starts unravelling the family's affairs. But then her 'What's going on here?', of the start of the story (where out of the blue, she gets a letter telling her she isn't really who she thought her mum and dad had told her she was), changes to your 'did I get what's going on? Maybe I missed something', later and at the end. Well, end-ings really. Because there are several. And they go on. And on. And I'm not sure I got all of what's going on. And what's more, I'm not sure I'm that bothered.

'Playing Dead', is subtitled 'A novel of suspense'. Well, it ain't that. A novel of trying to figure out why what's going on, is going on, maybe. Both for the heroine and for us. The story is a mess, her life is a mess, her family's life is a mess and then, all her internal chat, her doubts, the flashbacks, the debates and and the day-dreaming makes her seem a ditherer, a dreamer, someone in need of a psychologist. And not one who analyses horses. Or unravel a mess. You've always got to suspect someone who still calls their mother and father 'mummy' and 'daddy' when they're in their mid-something's (I can't remember how old she is). Doesn't make you feel confident she's capable of doing anything much more than ordering breakfast. And you're not sure of that.

The story could have been a good one. But it fumbles and dithers and is stretched out and out and out. Too long. It delivers answers (I think), but it's too little, too late.

What had confused me more than once while reading this and others in the series, is whether the three of them are set in a fictional East European country, or I’ve just missed - or been too stupid to put two and two together, it’s possible - which Eastern European country he’s actually set them in. I began piecing clues together like this - The country is, west of Ukraine. It was overrun by the Germans at the start of WWII. "Early on in the occupation, the Germans had enlisted the help of malcontents from our Ukrainian population. These young men had been promised that, once the war was won, the eastern half of our country (including the capital) would be returned to the Ukraine…” What can be confusing, when trying to figure out what’s going on, is that the previous two books in this series, had their names changed for the publication outside the USA (if I’m right). So it is a relief to stop having to berate myself that I really should be able to place the people and places. A quick visit to Olen Steinhauer's website and it seems that the novels these reviews were mentioning, '36 Yalta Boulevard' and 'Liberation Movements', I do actually have. It's just I have them as 'The Vienna Assignment' and 'The Istanbul Variations' as they were published in the UK. So, I'm not going mad. Quite. Yet. Still, a name like Brano Sev should stick in the memory, I guess. Even if you think it’s a kind of drain cleaner.

Really, anyone who’s been alive in 1988 (apart from me, obviously), is surely going to be reading this and say ‘Romania!' and the collapse of their version of Communism. Then the pursuit and trial of the husband and wife leaders, Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu.

So, 'Victory Square' seems to be the final in his series of novels about Brano Sev, Emil Brod and the like. 'Victory Square' completes the cycle/circle (or square!), by taking Brod back to looking into, or at least having to deal with the after-effects, of one of his earliest cases. Back in the days where uncertainty about the right of his leaders to lead wasn’t filling the air and the whole system he knows nothing else of but, is collapsing around his ears. Steinhauer writes the character of Emil Brod really well indeed, writing subtly, but convincingly, the role of a man, thinking he’s too old for this shit, going through the last few days before his retirement. Reaching the end of his (working) life, but facing up to that with the end of the system that sustained him the whole of the life he can remember, means he is in effect going to have to start again, as if his previous life never happened. Imagine that. Add in finding your name on a list of people who are quite clearly being swept away by the new revolutionary broom. Weighty stuff, but made light work by Olen S. There’s a weary bleakness you get, almost without noticing how he’s doing it. Also, the character of Gavra Noukas, another member of the old regime, but younger and maybe even smarter than Brod (though not Sev), having his world rocked to its foundations by being forced to be an part of the trial of the leaders they once revered. He realises he’s being set up, but can’t get out of it, even though he’s not really forced into it. It’s happening almost without him knowing what is happening. I got a distinct impression of how they might be doing this whilst also feeling like they were detached from it all, looking at themselves doing it, because their real selves surely wouldn’t dare. Then, at one point, to put it into perspective for us, Emil Brod says "...I didn't think about the hypocrisy of the people who had arranged and run the trial." Hypocrisy because they took part, often willingly in the excesses and crimes they're now putting the two leaders on trial for. They seem absolved, just because they are doing the accusing. Gavka seems tormented by this hypocrisy too. But more because he can't find any innocent victims anywhere amongst the accusers. 'Who am I to cast the first stone?' Is probably why he has such a hard time at the trial. He had no choice while the regime was functioning and he has no choice now it’s falling apart. It is, as Brod puts it, for many people it is the “end of everything”, but, there are also other forces and other people behind it all (as is always the case) with other reasons for setting it all in motion and profiting from regime change. And the roots of all that, go back, as said to the early days of Brod’s working life and Brano Sev’s subtle machinations.

This isn’t a spy novel, in the traditional sense. It’s more - and also less - than that. More interesting than just an examination of, or an allegory of, the collapse of Communism and a lot less action than a le Carre, or 'Bond' or (certainly) ‘Bourne’. I think it’s quite possible that different readers will get a lot of different things from the same book. By focussing in on the seemingly mundane, the stark reality and forcedly dull dreams of the people, he is of course, illuminating the big problems and faults in the system that has otherwise provided everything the people need. Except the people who have decided what the people need, aren’t the ‘people' themselves. A person in a Olen Steinhauer novel, might appear to be dull and lead a dull life, but they dream of being a free dull person in the west and deciding just how dull their life is, for themselves.

Thought provoking and interesting, with many hours of after-contemplation. Always the sign of a really good book, I find.

When Bernard Cornwell is on form, he can be at least as good, if not a whole lot better, than most everyone else. When he's ticking over, he's also a whole lot better than a whole lot of other writers in the Historical Fiction field. And while there's no doubt I enjoyed 'The Pagan Lord' and thought it was very good, it does have the sound of Bernard Cornwell ticking over. I thought 'Death of Kings' was an excellent book, but it doesn’t seem that Cornwell has used that as a transitional book to take Uhtred to better places, character-wise, or style-wise. I enjoyed this, don’t get me wrong. But I think Bernard Cornwell is a little on autopilot at the moment. In many ways, Cornwell is rather like the mood that radiates off Uhtred in ’The Pagan Lord' - smart, cunning, savvy, clever. He's been there, done that. Many times. But he’s also irritating. Why? Later.

It goes wrong for Uhtred, the 'Pagan Lord' of the title, from the beginning (actually, I’d like BC to give us an idea of how we’re supposed to pronounce ‘Uhtred’ in our heads while we’re reading this. Idea?) Uhtred goes to try to capture his son, to stop him from shaming the family name and becoming a priest. Of Christ, not Uhtred’s Odin. Uhtred is, understandably for an old-fashioned, died in the wool Viking, somewhat less than chuffed at this development. He tries to reason with his son, threatening to cut him off, as it were, but he instead almost accidentally manages to kill another priest. As you do. Uhtred most likely normally wouldn't lose much, if any, any sleep over this sort of thing. But it isn’t the sort of thing that is going to endear him to his Christian neighbours. To make matters worse, he then returns home to find his hall has been attacked and burnt to the ground by Cnut Longsword, while he was away. He decides to meet with Cnut, only to find that Cnut thinks Uhtred has taken his (Cnut’s) wife and son. Which he hasn’t. And he suspects a double-cross. He returns home to find his peace-loving Christians neighbours have burnt down what remained un-burnt from the last burning. As you do in 10th Century pre-England. So, as he can’t convince anyone to trust him when he says there is treachery afoot, Uhtred’s not in the best of moods at the start of 'The Pagan Lord'. Dark days for Uhtred and it doesn’t get much better.

Dark days indeed. And whaddaya know? There’s bad weather. Nearly all the time. Cornwell clearly wants us to get the message that the weather matches Uhtred’s mood. But that really is a bit too obvious for a writer of his calibre, isn’t it? And it’s all the bloomin' time. I could be wrong on this but, I can’t actually remember there being good, or even fine, weather in any of Bernard Cornwell 'Warrior Chronicles' books. And there isn’t here. For instance, when he’s sailing off in his ship, 'Middleniht’, there's 'grey sea, grey sky and a grey mist, and the 'Middelniht' slid through that greyness like a sleek and dangerous beast.' I'm all for the weather as a way of mirroring a mood, but when it's all the time, the time comes when you have to say 'enough already with the dreadful weather!' Obviously it’s England we’re talking about here, so it is going to rain more than most places in the 10th Century, but they had sunshine back then as well! Even in the North Sea. It was on occasion dry and mild in the 10th Century, the sleet in the middle of summer didn't always come at you horizontally. But when the book opens with 'A dark sky. The gods make the sky; it reflects their moods and they were dark that day. It was high summer and a bitter rain was spitting from the east. It felt like winter’, you just think ‘oh, here we go again’. Actually, the only time I can think of in 'The Pagan Lord’ when he gets good weather, is when he actually wants bad weather! Obviously as cover for a dastardly deed.

Having said all that, the weariness, as befits an old man - old for the Viking age anyway - the ’not again, I'm too old for this shit’ of Uhtred, is outstanding. Understandable, given his luck with Christian sons - Christians on general - and inflammable barns and houses, really. He’s a believable and sympathetic character and one Cornwell obviously loves. That comes over loud and clear. Uhtred is, if I’ve read rightly and with only a couple of historical ‘adjustments’ along the way, an ancestor of Cornwell's. Would explain why.

So, my really big problem with this one?

And.

And. And, and, and. And. Ands, every-bloody-where. In sentences, starting sentences, linking sentences. Ands after commas. Ands starting paragraphs, for goodness' sake.

And way too many of them.

Cornwell achieves the matter of fact, authoritative style of Uhtred’s narrative, through using 'and' as a link in sentences. Like this:

"He (Æthelred) wanted the poets to sing of his triumphs, he wanted the chronicles to write his name in history, and so he would start a war, and that war would be Christian Mercia against Christian East Anglia, and it would draw in the rest of Britain and there would be shield walls again.”

Makes events that follow an and appear inevitable, no other outcome could possibly have happened. Makes it seem like the character of Uhtred is very decisive, knowledgeable and authoritative. Fine a few times. However, the constant, almost metronomic use of ‘and’ like that and too much, becomes irritating. And, time and time again - like the bad weather - enough! Try another approach once in a while. It really became a problem for me reading the book. Like it was standing in the way of my enjoying the book to the full. Like I would have done, if there were less ands. In the end, I was looking out for them and becoming more and more irritated. Starting sentences with an and is wrong, grammatically. You know it. Starting a paragraph with one is a real no-no.

"And I was a warrior, and in a world at war the warrior must be cruel.”

Like that. Still on the statute books as being punishable by a blood-eagle, if I’m not much mistaken. Unless you’re writing advertising copy. Then it’s ok. But this is a book, a decent one, this is Bernard Cornwell and he should know that it’s not ok.

And because he used it as a device so frequently, without seeming to even try to consider the maybes of any other kind of approach, is why I felt he was on autopilot, not really worried or thinking about it. Maybe he was thinking of the next Sharpe? I think if you only read Cornwell, you’d imagine that this is both how Historical Fiction is done and as good as it gets. Anyone who has read a few of the (now) many (many) other excellent writers on Cornwell’s block, like me, know different. Like I said, this is good, but while there is much to admire and recommend, I still came away from it feeling it could have been better. I’m no writer (that’s not news to you?), so I couldn’t for the life of me tell you how he should improve, but I just put it down at the end - even with the bombshell - and thought ‘ho-hum, autopilot’.

I love what Eric Van Lustbader is doing/has done in continuing Robert Ludlum’s Jason Bourne series of novels. Not least sticking to Ludlum’s idea that a book title should only have three words. ‘The' being counted as one of them. Check it out.

And the good thing with these Bourne books, you get what you paid for. The plots are always reasonably water-tight and involve plenty of globe-trotting action (obviously without explaining where he gets the (large amounts of) country-relevant cash in each country from, though the Eurozone must be a god-send to modern Bourne-like spies, I guess).

‘Dominion' is a little more 'world-wide master plan'-like, than the previous one I read (and I do seem to have skipped ahead a couple of volumes with this one - unintentional and a little confusing at times), but it holds your interest and there is a good flow to it. Though, if I have to be honest, the machinations of pan-global, hyper-secret and ages-old criminal organisations aren't where this book - or the whole of the Bourne-genre - work best for me. These stories work best concentrating in on simple problems, simple communications and on Bourne merely trying to do the right thing. Getting mixed up with and listening to tales of the childhood of shady, mega-rich, cigar-smoking 'Mr Fixits' isn't where this book works best. Though Don Fernando does remind me of him there, from James Bond 'Casino Royale'. The film version, you know who I mean.

But hey, you know where you are with a Bourne. Trust no one, suspect everyone. Everyone is suspicious, everyone could be less or more than what they seem. There are no chance encounters, no one is who they say they are, no one means or does, what they say. Red herrings are always red herrings in disguise. And as for suspense - there are times when you have to look up, take a look around. What was that creak?! A look behind you, just in case, before reading on.

As for Jason Bourne himself. Well, he feels different in this book. I can't quite put my finger on exactly why, but he does. More sure, maybe. More certain in his actions and commands and a lot less bothered by the ‘voices’ in his head, than the last one I read. More deadly too, I think. Here he seems tougher more inclined to using violence to solve a situation. He certainly uses some pretty underhand and (quite probably) painful fighting tactics. Then, what did strike me, when thinking about Bourne while reading this, was that I can't actually remember in this book, or in other Eric Van Lustbader ‘Bournes' actually, Bourne himself ever being described physically in any detail. I guess we all have our ideas, but I, of course, see Matt Damon. Only taller.

The central sections scenes do come fast and furious, they’re a regular machine-gun burst of frantic action and the book races along like mad. However, if anything, it does jump around between places and story threads a bit more than I'd really like. I'm working at least as frantically as Bourne is at keeping up with all the plot developments. There are a couple of times, again in the middle, perhaps I can dare say, where there are a few too many strands dangling at any one time and the cutting between strands, at first very exciting, can wear a bit. It can feel a bit like one of those pop video where they constantly cut from angle to angle, without letting your eye and brain take in all the elements properly.

Anything else wrong? Well, not much and maybe just me, but: Fortunately only twice does someone hate (or love) something "with every fibre of (their) being", which is a lot less than most thrillers of this ilk (yes, I've corrected the spelling) which would mean that your 'being' was made of, at least in part, fibre. Or fibres. And, I do wish people would call each other by dialling the number, rather than 'punching' it in. It's meaningless and unnecessary. Not to mention physically impossible on modern telephones. And, admittedly I don't have the very latest up-to-date dictionary, but I'm pretty sure Eric Van Lustbader has made 'hypervigilant' up. But then, not many spy thrillers that have a Bob Dylan-quoting Russian intelligence operative. So all is forgiven.

A short story, so I'll keep it short.

Excellent.

OK, maybe a word or two more.

Really excellent.

'Long Way Down' is what we in the trade are calling a ’14,000-word novella’ and I think I got it for free, off the US Kindle store. After Tony Black mentioned it on Twitter, I'm pretty sure.

It's about a group of characters in Edinburgh, who could possibly be called some of the last chance saloon's best customers. Those with their own stool and their name on their mug behind the bar. The main character Gus Dury has certainly known better times. When the story opens, he's busy minding his own business, washing his clothes in a launderette and patching his iPod with an Elastoplast but then finds himself coerced by an old friend into helping to find an(other) old school friend. No problem. But it soon becomes clear, that the friend needs to find the other friend, to save his own skin. Then Dury realises he has to find a way of getting his first friend - and himself - out of a somewhat tricky situation involving, as it does, Irish gangsters and the decidedly un-amusing, amusingly named Edinburgh crime-boss, Boaby ’Shakey’ Stevens.

It’s written in a style that emphasises the Scottish-ness (or should it be Edinburgh-ness?) of the situation and the lifestyle of its main characters. The way people who are down on their luck, see their situation, shall we say. But by blaming it completely on luck, they surely don’t see how they can get out of it, so carry on refusing to realise they're also to blame in the situation - and so carry on blaming it on luck. The style reminded me of another novel I read many years ago, by a Scottish writer called Jeff Torrington. The book was called ’Swing Hammer Swing!’ 'Long Way Down' isn’t as thickly Scottish as that, but that’s probably because this is set in Edinburgh and not Glasgow. But there was something in the atmosphere of Long Way Down, that did remind me. What disappointed me a little, has really nothing at all to do with Tony Black and his writing. In the version I have, there is a list, amongst the quotes from reviewers, of who we should compare Tony Black to. I was a little disappointed not to see Mark Timlin's name mentioned. Mark Timlin may be my personal favourite writer of this sort of on the edge - of despair, of crime, of death - drama, but I really do think that Tony Black and Mark Timlin can and should be compared. Favourably and to mutual benefit.

There are wry smiles to be had amidst the gritty realism, but it's in no way a comedy. A tragicomedy maybe. Like 'Rab C Nesbit’ for example (though that too, was Glasgow and Govan, rather than Edinburgh and Morningside), with the same energy and pathos and the lying in the gutter looking at the stars cursing your luck. Not the belly laughs, for sure, but the spirit. And in Long Way Down, you're smiling with Dury, not at him. Though he does perhaps sometimes try a bit too hard with the street poetry and the flowery metaphors don’t always ring true. I felt it could have done with being more understated to be fully effective, otherwise it just gets in the way, as it becomes, of necessity, more and more elaborate, more and more ornate and so the less and less effective and more annoying it can get. It can come between the reader and the story, like a tall bloke sat in front of you in the cinema.

However, all in all, I look forward to getting hold of - even paying for! - some of Tony Black’s longer stories.

How good it is to be back with Angus, Alan, Hanno and…the other bloke...oh yes, Robin of Locksley. How I’ve missed them.

So, what’s been a-happenin’ while I’ve been away?

Well, before we start, at the end of 'King's Man' there was a really poignant, thoughtful passage from the elder Alan Dale, musing on his life as the younger Alan. The memories were fresh, the people he knew still young, vibrant and alive. Never to weary, grow old or fade. A lovely ending to a superb book. So it was with no little anticipation, even excitement (I know, pathetic, isn't it?) that I opened Warlord, the 4th in Angus Donald's heroic re-imagining of the Robin Hood legends.

So, in 'King’s Man', Alan Dale seemed to be becoming more independent of Robin. Still a part of Robin’s band and one of his friends, not entirely stepping out of his shadow, but certainly seeing himself as, and being treated more and more like, an equal. That independence could be said to have come to fulfilment here in Warlord. Which is a book about Alan. His circumstances, his past and what is making him tick. Robin Hood actually only first makes an appearance on page 71. As I’ve mentioned before, Alan Dale is more of the centre for the 'Outlaw' tales' focus than the reviews and the hype around a 'new interpretation of the Robin Hood legend' would have you believe. The books (I’ve read so far) could equally be about the legend of Alan Dale - and his friend/Lord/Master/protector/ally, Robin Hood. However, that probably wouldn’t sell books by the truckload, no matter how much more accurate it would actually be. And that’s probably why I’m not working in publishing right now.

Anyone could have written a series of books - indeed many anyones have and are still doing so - about Robin Hood’s life and times, narrated by and with Robin in the centre. But by looking slightly to the side, by actually writing about Alan, Angus is able to both root the stories in the historical reality of the period (so much as we are sure about), and also show his ideas for the (legendary, but most likely fictional) character of Robin Hood. By comparing and contrasting the Robin Hood of his legend, with what must have been typical behaviour for a chivalrous Knight of the period. Alan is much more than just the narrator however, which was my thought when I read the first few pages of the first book. He is far from a passive observer. His strong Christian beliefs are the light, while Robin and his more Pagan, more earthy, perhaps more real-world values, is (in) the shadow(s) created by that light. Because Robin doesn't share Alan's beliefs and seems more of a carefree, seize each opportunity as it comes, no matter from whence it comes, sort of character, it isn’t always plain-sailing between the two. In Alan's view Robin is, more often than not, just a money-grabbing, opportunist god-less Pagan. Sometimes, only Alan’s respect for Robin’s sense of unquestioning loyalty in protecting those inside his family circle, keeps the two together. My thought is, that what perhaps makes Angus's Robin appealing to us heathen sinners of today, is that Robin is actually like more like we are nowadays than Alan ever can be. I certainly have found some of Alan’s decisions only really understandable, if I try to imagine I’m back living in the late 12th Century.

The story told in ‘Warlord', is actually a very interesting medieval mystery period piece, set in what we now call northern France. To have Alan at least in some way involved with the later life and death of Richard, ‘Warlord' has to be set in France. But to cope with the risk of readers being unable to identify with the Robin Hood legend going on in various 12th Century, not actually France places (and not swinging through the trees of Sherwood, drinking in 'The Trip To Jerusalem' and singe-ing the Sheriff of Nottingham’s beard), he concentrates his story’s focus on the tale of Alan’s search for the truth surrounding his father’s expulsion and death. In northern France. And ‘France', we should remember, plays a very important part in the world of these English heroes. The characters speak French. They actually ARE French, for all intents and purposes. Alan is really Allan D'Alle, son of a French father, Henri. And Richard, Richard Cœur de Lion, the 'Lionheart' is in France, because it was his home. Because he is Duke of Normandy first and foremost. He might have been born in Oxford - only 91 years after Hastings - he spoke no English and was, during the 10 years of his reign, only actually in England for a total of six months. It’s only Robin that’s truly English and he’s the heathen. No change there, then.

Alan is in France at Richard’s request and the book opens with him riding headlong into trouble, to try and break the siege of a castle loyal to Richard, which is surrounded by the vastly superior forces of the King of (most of the rest of) France. They cling on to the castle, after many sterling deeds of derring-do, by the skin of their teeth. Then, Richard arrives, full of the joys of spring, and they have to move on, chasing ever after the cowardly French King. Alan can’t do much other than be told where to go and who to fight by Richard, but eventually does get time off for good behaviour to go on a quest of his own. He has spoken with a priest who knew his father and might be able to shed some light on his father’s background in France, the circumstances surrounding his expulsion and possibly who the mysterious figure, the 'man you cannot refuse’, who might be behind his death, is. While he gets plenty of information from this priest, he also hears plenty that both disquiets him and shrouds his fathers past in yet more layers of mystery. Alan follows the trail through various regions of France all the way to Paris. Noting on his way, that the people who have information he might find useful, have a nasty habit of dying. Before, during and after they’ve spoken to him. When he finds the truth, and the reason behind the truth, it has been both staring him in the face and turns out to be way more dangerous than he could imagine. No one escapes Alan’s suspicion, not even Robin. He knows more than he's letting on. Could he even have had some part in it all?

The main action of ‘Warlord' does seem to end a little early, to allow the next in the series, 'Grail Knight' to be set up, but that apart, ‘Warlord' is a passionate, full-on, full-blooded, medieval tale of mystery and suspense. Events happen thick and fast; as you’d want them to, not always as you'd expect and not always as you’d actually want them too. And it whets the appetite for 'Grail Knight'. Sitting on the shelf over there *points over there*

History is written by the winners.

As someone much cleverer (Winston Churchill?) than me once said.

Except for the aftermath of the 1066 invasion and conquering of Olde England, by the Normans. All the stories about that disaster I can remember reading, are by the losers; the English.

Well, we've got the Bayeux Tapestry, of course, but that stayed in Normandy and is a little biased, I think most people would admit.

There is 'The Doomsday Book', but that is more a stock-taking and history has to be prised from it and implied and it doesn't read like a novel.

In later years, long removed from 1066, we generally hear from the poor, down-trodden 'Saxons' in their constant struggle against the dastardly Normans, personified in the tales of Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham.

That I know of, anyway.

This is an unusual book then, in that it is written from the point of view of one of the conquering Normans, only a couple of years after the 'Battle of Hastings'. Britain isn't completely conquered, the English people are still rebellious and the Normans see them as still rebelling against their new masters. In the pre-internet and national newspaper days, that's probably because not all Englishmen have heard that they in fact have new masters yet.

The story concerns a reasonably middle-ranking Norman Knight, who fought at Hastings (must point out here that the battle actually took place at what is now a town called Battle and the invading fleet probably landed near what is now Hastings). He has journeyed to the north of England, to the furthest reaches of the Normans' power, just two years after 1066. He loses his original Lord to the rebellious English and is sworn to another, embarking then on a mysterious mission, which on the surface seems easy enough - to protect a Churchman while he delivers a message for his nobleman, in the south of England - but develops and becomes more and more dangerous and, to him, develops treasonous over- and undertones, the longer the journey goes on.

This is where the book is, to me, an oddity. I am English and so used to reading about the Normans as the enemy. The English are the noble freedom fighters, battling to rid our green and pleasant land from the vicious enslavers. However, this book, by dint of being written from the Normans' point of view, turns all that on its head. And creates some very odd moments during its reading. To the book's hero, our Knight called Tancred, the Normans are of course, the rightful masters. Their King - William - the rightful King Harald Godwinsson is a traitor and usurper, who went back on a sworn promise to support William's claim to the throne. The English are the terrorists, intent on causing trouble and treachery at every turn and with every sly glance. Whether I had to hold myself back from hoping the Norman Knight would succeed in his mission, or win his battles against seemingly insurmountable odds, or come through in tense, sticky situations...I wouldn't like to admit. It's certainly an odd feeling to wonder if you should cheer for the Normans or hope the English suceed in their rebellious ways. Of course, it's not as easy as always seeing French-speaking, arrogant Normans against heroic, (Old) English-speaking natives. It's never completely black and white, right against wrong, conquerors against conquerees (?). All of which tends to keep you on your toes, keeps you thinking and keeps you involved in the tale.

'Sworn Sword' is a thoroughly enjoyable, fast moving, constantly surprising, satisfying, hard to put down, blood-soaked rampage through a post-Viking England. The old ways are about to be ridden rough-shod over, by the new, unfeeling, sophisticated and, for goodness' sake, French speaking invaders (themselves, old Viking stock, of course). For his first novel (as I understand it) James Aitcheson writes with great verve, passion and a sure style that puts him immediately in the same shield-wall as Bernard Cornwell, Robert Low, Giles Kristian and very few others. He Tweets me that there is a sequel out later in the year and I'm looking forward to getting stuck into that and having my English emotions twisted again very much indeed.

You really can't say fairer than that.

This is a real Roman hum-dinger. A magnificent slap in the face, reality check of a Historical Fiction novel. A fresh, no-nonsense, take no prisoners, exciting, testosterone-driven assault on the Historical Fiction senses. It’s one that should be listed at the top under the Wikipedia entry for ‘couldn’t put it down.’ Really good.

According to the dust jacket, Anthony Riches holds a degree in Military Studies and it shows. He knows his stuff, but doesn’t shove it in your face the whole time, like one Mr Sidebottom can tend to do. He’s gone for the angle that life and behaviour in the army, and on the parade ground, has largely been the same down the ages. And that Roman soldiers act mostly the same as their modern counterparts. Only the names of the god(s) they pray to and the weapons they use, have been changed. That and being able to look into the eyes of the person trying to kill you. I think what Anthony seems to be saying here is; what makes an army function well today is precisely what made an army function well back then. Training, routine, comradeship, loyalty to each other and the cause you’re fighting for and teamwork drilled in so much that it becomes unthinking second nature. The Roman Army was a professional fighting machine, just like ours are today. What I got from it was also the message that even though there’s close on two thousand years between us, we’re not that different now as people, to how they were then. It helps the reader relate to the characters and the situations. Obviously I can’t really relate to a Roman soldier facing death at the end of a blue-painted Pict’s spear, but by thinking he’s no different to me basically, I am in a better position to perhaps care a bit more about what he must have been going through. A bit more than endless chapters of political manoeuvring, debauchery and feeding people to the lions. You can’t get away with that sort of behaviour nowadays, not even here in Harlev, East Jutland. I feel closer, more of a kinship to these characters, I’m trying to say. I have really no idea of the truth of course, but reading a book like this, I’m more than prepared to say ‘ok, that’s how it was.’ It really is a down and dirty close look at life in the Roman Army and is absolutely enthralling for that alone.

The story is a tight one, honing in on life during wartime on Hadrian’s Wall, the northern part of Britannia, in the late second century AD. Our main character is one Marcus Valerius Aquila, who arrives at the wall as a way to disappear from the fatal attractions of the Emperor Commodus back in Rome. He goes ‘undercover' somewhat, to disguise his high-born background, assumes a new name and identity and joins the ordinary soldiers on the wall. Of course, some of his secrets do ‘escape' and treachery - or at least the threat of it - is never far away. Luckily, for me anyway, the intrigue and decadence and if he does this, what does Whatshisnameus Maximus think of all this over there in Whereveritwas, that usually has me sighing with ‘here we go again'-itis, is pretty much absent from 'Wounds of Honour.' Whilst there are hints of things going on 'backstage' the book concentrates on a relatively small field of operations, and a small number of characters, just behind and just in front of, Hadrian's Wall.

Of course, I don’t really care, being a man, but it’s is certainly a man’s, man’s, man’s world in the Roman Army and ‘Empire.' A macho man’s world at that. Not much time for women. Unless they’re being paid for ‘relaxation’, or held-captive, or tending to wounds. I think there’s only one woman character in the first 150-odd pages. And that was a wife of a senator, who had nothing to do with anything. Like I say, no problem for me, but I’d rather hope that in subsequent stores from the ‘Empire’ world, Anthony can find a way to introduce more women. I’m not necessarily wanting ‘love interest’, that isn’t what these sort of books are all about, but the nuances female characters would create wouldn’t go a miss. Not the least for increasing his readership market by about a half and hopefully helping with purging Goodreads and Amazon of their derivative, lazy, bodice-ripping, Mills & Boon crap that masquerades as Historical Fiction, but is really 'Love Actually' set three hundred years ago again and again and again.

For me, I’d consider it high praise indeed to be compared favourably to Douglas Jackson's first (well, the first Roman-period novel of his that I read, anyway). And thats what I’m doing. Favourably compared, but in no way overshadowed. I really was impressed all the way up to to stunned, and am having to hold myself back from rushing head-long into the rest of the series (I have taken the precaution of collecting the whole of Anthony’s Empire series (so far) before reading the first one, don’t ask me why). I’m really not sure why I should feel so impressed, if you understand what I mean, as I’d come across Anthony Riches and the exalted Romanesque on-line company he keeps, so it was easy to figure that 'Wounds of Honour' would be good. How good it was, I suppose I really wasn’t prepared for.

Being English, I see Hastings from the English side. We were invaded. They came from Normandy. They won, we lost. Later, we fought back. And lost again. I 'know' of course, about how badly 'we' were later treated by 'them.' Think Robin Hood. It's taken for granted that the Normans are the bad guys. One-dimensional bad guys at that. Until I read James Aitcheson's 'Sworn Sword', I hadn't actually considered that there might actually be a Norman side to 1066 and all that. Which was why, to me at least, 'Sworn Sword' came as such a fresh, wonderful, confusing surprise. Suddenly here was I, an Englishman, rooting for Tancred á Dinant, one of 'them.' A horrid Norman.

After reading 'Knights of the Hawk', over a couple of days, though at more or less one sitting, I can safely say that the freshness, the surprise and the satisfaction, are all still there. And then some. Expertly written, with passion and verve, 'Knights of the Hawk' is by far the best book I will read all year. Five of Goodreads' finest stars. Straight out. No doubt. No other conclusion possible.

Expertly weaving his way in and out of what (little) we know of the history of this period (as Tancred says; "...the seasons turn and the years and the decades pass, the stories grow ever wilder, and the myths grow more powerful than the truth") James Aitcheson has created a novel - a series of novels now - brim-filled with the energy, with the sights and sounds and not least the smells, of daily life - and death - on and away from the battlefields of the new Norman Britain. Compelling and gripping and packed with nerve-tingling, nail-biting action, 'Knights of the Hawk' is a story that really could have happened, but one I now think only James could have written.

It is five years since the slaughter at Hastings and the English resistance still hasn't been extinguished. The Norman invasion of Britain is bogged down, literally, in and around the English rebels' stronghold at Ely. Something needs to be done to rescue the conquest and someone needs to do it. Now. Step forward Tancred á Dinant. A Norman knight who came over with William, who fought at Hastings and who ruled lands in the west of England as vassal to his sworn lord, Robert Malet. But who has, despite saving the day on frequent occasions in the years since Hastings, fallen somewhat in the esteem and pecking order amongst his fellow Normans. He can't understand why he is 'reduced to this escort duty', guarding supply wagons, instead of being richly rewarded for his efforts in securing the England for King William. Wealth and fame, battle honours and leadership, look to be passing him by. While he could be forgiven for giving up and going home, he's still the only one who actually delivers the goods and gets the Normans into Ely.

Then, when they've achieved what they set out to do, reached a point where they might have expected to be able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of all their labours, it starts to unravel for Tancred. He has go against his sworn lord and he suddenly finds enemies where he thought he had friends. Hell, as a Norman, you must realise you're in trouble when you realise you identify with the English leader who stood between you and all you thought you ever wanted. Hereward. "He and I were more similar than I'd realised. We both strove for recognition for our deeds, and struggled against the weighty oaths that bound us. Both of us had at one time led whole armies into the field, yet now found ourselves in somewhat humbler circumstances, lacking the respect we craved and which for a while at least we had commanded." However, as we find out later, by removing Hereward for the Normans, Tancred has in fact removed the obstacle stopping him from getting on with living his own life.

That's just the first part of the story, as the book can be said to divide itself into two parts. The first, is in line with what we know of the early years of the conquest. The character of Tancred is James' invention, but the events the books have described and the five years it took before William had anything that passed for total control over his newly conquered kingdom, the treachery, the back-stabbing, the rebellions at Ely led by Hereward, all happened. Exactly what happened, we don't know. But I'll go for James' version if it comes to a vote.

The second half of the book moves away from inserting Tancred into known events, and we sail (literally) off into the unknown. Into Tancred's own, self-determined future. He has to leave, to find himself. He has lost his faith in the Norman system, so he must find someone from his past, who can give him a future he can believe in. He has been a part of the Norman war machine, he must now go in search of who he, Tancred, really is. "The Breton had become a Norman, had become bound to England." By freeing himself, Tancred realises it can be he who decides who he is and what path his own future should take.

It is of course, the character of Tancred that carries the book. We've a reasonable idea of his character from previous novels, but through the course of 'Knights of the Hawk', he fills out. He's always been adaptable, resourceful and believable, now he's a much more nuanced and fully-rounded character. Actually, he's got the decency you normally associate with being English! But Tancred is sometimes too decent, not devious enough, too trusting to imagine for instance, someone might be laying a trap for him. 'Friend' or foe. As the book progresses, Tancred adapts. I won't say he 'learns', but he becomes more aware of other possibilities than the one he has rushed headlong into. He is a Knight, an honourable one at that, but this belief in his own honour and trustworthiness, as proved time and time again in the most desperate of circumstances, sometimes blinds him. That his fellow Normans might see his honourable actions in a different way, in a maybe more cynical way and use his trustworthiness against him, that's what he doesn't see at first. And it causes frustration, which leads to rashness which leads to murder and exile. Not just from a land and friends - also an ideal. Of honour. Leaving all he knew behind and seemingly having his options reduced, as it were, actually helps him become a more complex character.

'Knights of the Hawk' begins stealthily, but like a hunting party in the midst of the mists and marshes of Ely, it creeps up and ambushes you. Rich with compelling dialogue and vigorously peppered with heart-stopping action, desperate feats of derring-do, incident and intrigue, this is a book that keeps you on your toes at all times. Not least with the unexpected alliances that pop up. Unexpectedly. The tension, the suspense and the don't dare breathe even though you're just reading the book, in case you give Tancred away - those sequences are astoundingly well-handled. There are highs and lows and heartbreaks, great tragedy and blinking away the tears optimism. There is so much to remember this book for, but (for now) the way James draws out a scene, twisting the tension level up and up and leading to the final delivery of the outcome - while you're trying not to break the tension and flick a look at the last lines to see how the paragraph ends - is what I will perhaps remember perhaps the most from this novel. If you're going to say you 'devour' a book, then this is delicious. Oh, and an ending that is…well, you'll have to read it, wipe your eyes and trust that Tancred is back soon.

This novel has really showcased what a really fine new, young writer we have on the Historical Fiction (battle) field, in James Aitcheson. It surely won't be long before we're comparing people like Bernard Cornwell and Conn Iggulden, to James. There is a maturity and confidence to his writing, that if you'd said this was James 20th book, you'd believe it. The surprising thing is, 'Knights of the Hawk' is just James' third outing - we really are spoiled to still have so much to look forward to from him.

And we learned that 11th Century Welshmen liked cleaning their teeth. A lot.

With a start that fair knocks you off your feet and takes your breath away at the same time, ‘Feud' opens with one hell of a bang and throws us almost physically back 500-odd years to England during the War of The Roses. There’s no time to settle, we’re straight in at the deep end of the action and incident of later Medieval England.

I know most books try and go straight at it and grab the reader’s attention with a violent start (those of the Historical Fiction type I want to read anyway), but few can have done it as successfully and convincingly as ‘Feud’. As an aside, it reminded me of the first of Robert E Howard’s ‘Conan' series I read way back when, as a teenager, where Conan also emerges from the forest into a clearing and straight into a fight. With ‘Feud', the silence of an otherwise normal day in a forest clearing is shattered as steel-clad death thunders out from the trees and towards our heroes and is is as, exciting, tense and relentless start as starts come.

Our heroes are the various members of the Elder family. Mainly Ned, Emma and Eleanor and their friend Will, and we follow their feud of the title with the Radcliffe family of Lord Robert, Richard and - boo, hiss - Edmund, and their partially reluctant involvement in the larger feud of The Wars of The Roses. Neat, eh?

As I said, ‘Feud’ is set in the Wars of The Roses. It seems it wasn’t known as The Wars of The Roses at the time of course, that came later. As did the white rose to symbolise Yorkshire, the red rose to symbolise Lancashire - and is a period of English history, prior to reading Feud of course, I’ll admit to knowing little to nothing at all about. It will take a few more readings of books on the subject to get me beyond beginner status of course, but a look at some websites have confirmed the feelings I got from reading ‘Feud'. Which is of conflicts between brothers, between families, between neighbours which were played out on a national scale with the rival throne-claiming ‘houses’ of Lancashire and Yorkshire. The whole country was dragged into a confusing mire of shifting alliances, death, revenge and destruction, all dressed up as a noble struggle for the future of England. There were some parts of the ‘Feud' story where I wasn’t entirely sure who was on whose side and who was supposed to be fighting who, but then I thought - and hopefully it was intentional - surely that reflects what the ordinary man in the muddy battlefield must have experienced. Whose side are they on? Are they friends or enemies? What were they yesterday? Are they still the same today? Who knows and who is bothered with such niceties when staring down the wrong end of a sharp pike?

‘Feud' concentrates on the story of the local rivalry, the family feud between The Elders and the Radcliffes. A feud that has existed for some time but comes roaring back as the families use the Wars of The Roses as an excuse to try and settle old disputes. What the story shows is that the period, the clothes and the weapons might be different in ‘Feud', but the themes and the emotions are the same as in just about any conflict you see on your TV today. The story takes us from this local family conflict up in northern England, to battlefields throughout the country. To Wales - not often you read about having to fight your way out of a nunnery. In, yes, but out? - to London and the south, all serving to reflect the countrywide scope of this terrible conflict. And all while the characters try to find each other, or kill each other, or even just find out who they’re supposed to be fighting. They, and we, are the whole time plunged into very hot frying pans and into even hotter fires.

Whilst it is generally a finely wrought book, a tale of many layers and nuances, it's not all smooth reading. There are some what I would call 'speed bumps' along the way. A few things that perhaps don't work so well, or at least jar a little. For example, early on, right at the start actually, after the hectic, breathless opening, the girl Emma Elder is captured by the opposing family. She then seems in an almost indecent haste to accept her fate. She (unwisely as she herself admits) opens the doors to the Radcliffs, gets captured and taken away, gets the chance to rest (or rather doesn't) a while, goes downstairs, is greeted by Radcliff, told she is now his Ward asks to whom she will be married, told it is to be married to his son. And accepts her new fate. One minute free and enjoying life and running away from the evil neighbours, the next minute being told you're now the property of the evil neighbours number one son - with number two son of the opinion that he has an option on her as well. And it's “oh well, ho-hum, such is my fate, nothing to do about it." I seem to remember her even refusing to be rescued, because of this forced marriage. Didn’t really convince, sorry. Seemed a bit quick in terms of the story's time-frame, and the number of pages in between incidents. She seems more shocked and stunned that her wild, waif of a sister is already on her way to a nunnery, than she is of her own fate.

Otherwise, my only other reservation might be that after a hectic, fantastic start, the book becomes a bit bogged down in the central sections. It is in general maybe a bit too long and there were parts where I would have advised him to thin it out to maintain the momentum of that start. There were too many 'extra' incidents that were fun to read and were probably fun to write - which is probably why they were left in, but is always a mistake - which, when looking back at the story as a whole, didn't really serve much of a purpose. Having said that, there were then a couple of parts that felt a little underdeveloped, like more explanation was needed. But really, that's being me being overly churlish. You really should give it a go and see if you agree. Or not.

As a whole, ‘Feud' is a rattling good read. Interesting characters, incident a-plenty and a great introduction - for me at least - to a period I knew very little about. There were those reservations, as I've said above, but they in no way stopped me from thoroughly enjoying the story as a whole and more than ready to get stuck into the follow up, the second in the trilogy, which, if I'm not much mistaken, is called 'A Traitor’s Fate'. This is clearly a series worth getting stuck into and is going to be well worth following all the way.