Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 130

Interview with Margaret Frazer

I have a new blog up and since Goodreads has become a bit erratic about posting them automatically, here is the link.
http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/

I interview Margaret Frazer, the author of two excellent medieval mystery series, about her new novel, Circle of Witches.

INTERVIEW WITH MARGARET FRAZER FOR CIRCLE OF WITCHES

I am delighted to welcome Margaret Frazer back to my blog. I am a great fan of Margaret’s historical mysteries, as most of you know, and highly recommend her Sister Frevisse series and her newer one, featuring one of my favorite characters, the dashing player and sometimes spy, Joliffe.  But Margaret has temporarily abandoned the fifteenth century.  Her new novel, available now as an e-book, Circle of Witches, is set in nineteenth century Yorkshire.  I was quite intrigued by this switch and so I invited Margaret to stop by so I could find out more.

Sharon: Where did your idea for writing this book come from?

Margaret:  Long, long ago I had unlimited access to a university library and I just plundered the shelves. I wasn’t a student. I was working there. And I had a lovely time just searching the shelves for things that caught my interest.
I got involved in studying megalithic circles and standing stones, which sidelined me into books about paganism and alternative ways of seeing our relationship with nature. I remember reading countless books on these topics. And out of this began to grow the idea that these were all good elements for a story. At the same time, I had a deep love for the Yorkshire dales. So I thought that would be a good place to set a story like this: It wouldn’t be modern, but it wouldn’t be far in the past. It would be some place where the transition was happening: Where the ancient world and ancient beliefs were just about gone and the modern world had not yet arrived.

Sharon:  Is that what led you to pick the 1800s as a time period?

Margaret:  Yes. Because they were well past the point where people were saying things like “burn the witches”, but there was still the possibility in the remote areas that the old ways could continue seriously instead of as folk parties designed for tourists to come to.

Sharon:  Speaking of these ancient religious themes versus modern religious themes, the religious themes in Circle of Witches are very different from those in your Dame Frevisse novels. How do you think your readers are going to react to that?

Margaret:  I hope they’ll be intrigued by the differences. I know that a lot of people reading my other books are convinced that I must be Catholic because I create such believable Benedictine nuns, but I’m not. This is simply – or not so simply – an author researching and using imagination to create what they believe to be a real person. And I’ve met nuns who have said, “She’s so real. And all the nuns are so real.” So I know that it worked.
But it’s true. For those who are convinced that this was my primary expression of faith, they’re going to be very intrigued – and perhaps a little disoriented – when I’m talking about a totally different mindset that I’ve research and imagined and created and made real. So I’m hoping that they’ll appreciate the different, for lack of a better word, ambience of the two approaches.

Sharon:  Was it a deliberate choice? Were you deliberately making it different from what you did before?

Margaret:  No, it wasn’t deliberate. It was simply what the story required. If I was interested in this theme and this was the plot I was working on, then this was the way the story had to go. It wasn’t, “I’m going to be very different in this book.” It was simply what the book demanded.

Sharon: You mention the themes and the historical aspects of the time period you’ve chosen in the 1800s. But why this particular location? Why the Yorkshire dales?

Margaret:  I visited the dales several times and once lived there for six months. It’s beautiful. And in the 1800s – especially the early 1800s – it was still a remote part of England. The railways had not come. So the landscape had so many elements in it that make it perfect for centering this story around.
And there was also a simple desire to write about it as a way to re-experience a place I love and care about deeply. So, in some ways, the book is my song of the Yorkshire dales.

Sharon: I know that this is a novel that you came back to time and time again until it was perfect. How did it change and grow over time for you?

Margaret:  Well, I grew and changed over time, so my perception of characters – of people’s relationships to each other and to themselves and to the world – became more complex and hopefully deeper. So things that had been all right when I was in my thirties I wanted to express more of when I was in my forties and fifties. There was more to be said and more to be done. And once you do that all of a sudden there are possibilities in the plot that hadn’t existed when these people weren’t so involved (both internally and externally).

Sharon: What’s the most important idea in the book for you?

Margaret:  I have to think about that… [long pause, then thoughtfully]
That love of place and people should most deeply inform our decisions about life.
 
Sharon:  How have the love of place and people informed your decisions about life?

Margaret: I suppose, when I was in my teens, I fell in love with Shakespeare’s plays. That led to falling in love with England before I ever went there. And it was wonderful when I got there to discover that it was even better than my youthful dreams had envisioned. From there, I fell in love with English history in the 1400s, so that a great deal of my life and my travels have been focused around knowing that time period and knowing that place more intimately.
And my love of people – or, at least, certain people – has given me a deeper understanding of how lives link in order to benefit or harm each other. So I have this love among people and loves of a place and time. And when you love you want to know more. So for decades that’s what’s been informing my life and my work. To explore and to learn.

Sharon:  Do you see parallels between that and the characters in Circle of Witches? Do you see yourself in the character of Damaris?

Margaret:  It’s always been diverting for people to say, “Oh, you see yourself as your main character!” Whoever that might be in the present book. But the truth is, I’m in all of those characters. In order to write believable characters, I have to find some element of myself that I can then explore and enlarge and turn into this person on the page.

So, Damaris? Yes. But also everyone else in the book: The loving ones, the destructive ones, the foolish ones. They all have elements of me. Without that they would be… unliving.
Of course, when it’s someone really nasty sometimes you find things out about yourself you didn’t really want to know! [laughs]

Sharon:  Speaking of that, let’s talk about the villainess of Circle of Witches – the platinum blonde Virna. What do you see of yourself in her?

Margaret:  I have experienced hatred born out of frustration or anger. It’s never led me to try to destroy someone, but it burns and it hurts and it’s terrible. And if you’re lucky, you realize how destructive it is. I did. And I worked at… disposing of the anger in me; turning it into something else and accepting the situation and the people who had given rise to it.
But in Virna’s case, she never does. She hates and that’s all she becomes: Her hatred.
And I can see myself in that: If I had taken that feeling of hatred that I experienced and let it take over my life, that would have been Virna.

Sharon:  But for those of us who love your medieval books, you will be going back there, right?

Margaret:  Most certainly! The two books I’m working on now – the ones roiling in my head – are both back in the 1400s: Not history mysteries, but straight historical fiction.

Sharon:  And for those who have enjoyed your medieval stories, does Circle of Witches have something to offer them?

Margaret:  Oh, yes! It’s an extremely good, exciting story that you can lose yourself in. Which is, I suppose, what I hope for in everything I write. And what I look for in everything that I read.

Sharon:  Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview, Margaret.   Circle of Witches is available now on Amazon.   And I discovered that you have a new collection of Sister Frevisse stories out in Kindle, too, Sins of the Blood.  Naturally I could not resist getting it, too.  So once again you are playing havoc with my deadline for A King’s Ransom!  Here is the Amazon link to Circle of Witches.  http://www.amazon.com/Circle-of-Witches-ebook/dp/B00AG3KGFK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1355629529&sr=1-1&keywords=Circle+of+Witches  
 And since I won’t have another blog up until the new year, I would like to wish all of my readers a peaceful and happy holiday, with fervent hope that 2013 will be a better year for us all.
December 15, 2012  
 

 

St Lucias flood, Vlad the Impaler, a Scots king

On December 14, 1287, one of the worst floods in history occurred. It was known as the St Lucia’s flood because it happened the day after St Lucy’s Day. A dike broke during a savage storm and it is estimated that 50,000 people were drowned in the Netherlands and northern Germany. Hundreds also died in England. The flood changed the history of the Netherlands by creating direct sea access for the village of Amsterdam, which allowed it to become a major port city.
On December 14, 1476 (maybe) Vlad the Impaler died. Prince of Wallachia, he earned a reputation in his lifetime for great cruelty, as his name indicates. But his real notoriety came in the 19th century when the novelist Bram Stoker chose Vlad’s family name—Dracul—for his infamous vampire, Dracula.
And on December 14th, 1542, King James V of Scotland died. He was the son of Margaret Tudor and the father of the little girl who would become known to history as Mary, Queen of Scots.

The reluctant archbishop

I’d like to thank Rania and Koby for remembering Geoffrey, the Archbishop of York, yesterday, for I admittedly did not. So I thought I’d make it up to him by posting about him today. I discovered something interesting about him last night. I’d always heard that he died on December 12th, 1212, as both Rania and Koby posted. But according to Marie Lovatt, the author of his entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, he most likely died on December 18th in 1212. He died in exile and even in death he proved loyal to his father. Henry had wanted to be buried at Grandmont, but after his death at Chinon, that was not possible and he was buried instead at Fontevrault Abbey—and thank heaven for that! But Geoffrey was buried at the Grandmontine house of Notre Dame du Parc outside Rouen which had been founded by Henry in 1156.
Geoffrey’s career as Archbishop of York was a remarkably turbulent one, filled with feuds and tension and chaos. But as his Oxford biographer points out, his main faults were impetuosity and a lack of judgment, not the worst of sins. As compensation for ignoring him yesterday, I am going to share a passage from A King’s Ransom which pertains to him. So here is Geoffrey, as seen through Eleanor’s eyes. (I am giving all this background history for the benefit of new readers because this is his first appearance in Ransom.)
* * *
Eleanor leaned back in her seat, studying Geoff covertly through half-closed eyes. He’d been raised at her husband’s court and she’d made no objections, believing that a man should assume responsibility for children sired in and out of wedlock. But their relationship had soured when she and her sons had rebelled against Henry, for Geoff had never forgiven any of them for that. Richard had honored all of Henry’s deathbed promises and approved Geoff’s elevation to the archbishopric of York, even though all knew that he did not have the temperament for a Church career and Geoff himself had never wanted to take holy vows. Few had expected him to stir up so much turmoil, though, in his new vocation. He’d feuded bitterly with the Bishop of Durham, even excommunicating him. He’d clashed with Longchamp and antagonized York’s cathedral chapter by trying to get his maternal half-brother elected as Dean of York. He’d horrified his fellow prelates by having his archiepiscopal cross carried before him in other sees than his own, and then offended Hubert Walter by challenging the primacy of Canterbury over York. Eleanor had lost track of all those he’d excommunicated, including a priory of nuns. She’d always known that he’d inherited his fair share of the Angevin temper, but he’d never been so unreasonable or so belligerent in the past, and she could only conclude that York’s archbishop was a very unhappy man…. Seeing Geoff glance in her direction, she discreetly lowered her gaze, thinking it was a shame that Harry had been so stubbornly set upon making Geoff into what he was not, could not be, and never wanted to be.
* * *

Sad stories, a book giveaway, butterflies, and an act of forgiveness

I would like to thank you all for your eloquent and moving comments yesterday to my post about the death of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. It means more than I can say to know that my books have touched others like this.
The news has seemed particularly sad this week. That dreadful shooting at a Portland Mall. An alarming crime in the Philadelphia area, where a woman was robbed at gunpoint by two boys, age seven and thirteen; the seven year old told the older boy to “Show her your piece.” Words fail me. A particularly gruesome story of a husband and wife who ran a dog-fighting ring out of their house, a house they shared with their five children. So I want to post today about things that will give us a reason to smile. I’ll start with this news for fans of the brilliant writer, Barbara Kingsolver. Her publisher is giving away a copy of her newest book. Man of La Book is one of my favorite blogs and I have him to thank for calling this to my attention. Here is the link to his blog.
http://manoflabook.com/wp/?p=7170&...
I am including a story below of a family that saved two monarch butterflies from Hurricane Sandy. I know that many will read this and think the efforts of the family were quixotic or even odd. But I think they taught their children a valuable lesson about compassion and the environment.
http://www.care2.com/causes/2-monarch...
Lastly, this is an example of forgiveness that is truly remarkable. Some of you may have heard of the auto accident last week in which a Dallas Cowboy player, Josh Brent, drove while drunk, and crashed his car. He survived, but his passenger, Jerry Brown, a fellow football player, did not. He has been charged with manslaughter and has to live with the burden of killing his best friend. I read that he wanted to attend the memorial service for Jerry, but feared he would not be welcome. Well, Jerry’s mother not only assured him that he was welcome, she asked him to ride with her to the service, saying he and her son had been close friends since college and she knew that Josh grieved for Jerry as much as his family did. This is a very special woman.

The last Prince of Wales

December 11th is always a sad day for me, as it was on this date in 1282 that Llywelyn ap Gruffydd was slain at Cilmeri, and with him died any hopes for Welsh independence. There were so many deaths in my books, deaths that changed history, usually for the worst. But few deaths were as difficult for me to write as the death of the man the Welsh would call Ein Llyw Olaf—Our Last Leader. More than twenty years ago, I was driving along a Welsh road as darkness came on, thinking what a challenge it would be to write of Llywelyn’s tragic end. Suddenly it was as if I heard a voice, so clear and vivid that it was almost as if the words had been spoken aloud. A man ought to die with his own language echoing in his ears. When the time came to write that scene, I remembered.
From The Reckoning, page 534.
* * *
“Is it true?” he asked. “Are you the Welsh prince?”
Llywelyn labored to draw enough air into his lungs. “I am Llywelyn, son of Gruffydd, son of Llywelyn Fawr, Prince of Wales and Lord of Eryri,” he said, softly but distinctly, “and I have urgent need of a priest.”
The young Englishman seemed momentarily nonplussed. “I’d fetch one,” he said hesitantly, “if it were up to me.” Kneeling in the snow, he unhooked his flask, supported Llywelyn’s head while he drank. “There will be a doctor at the castle,” he said, and then, surprisingly, “I’m Martin.”
“Thank you, Martin,” Llywelyn whispered, and drank again. He was almost amused by their solicitude, their determination to keep him from dying. He could envision no worse fate than to be handed over, alive and helpless, to Edward. But he did not fear it, for he knew it would not come to pass. He’d be dead ere they reached Buellt Castle, mayhap much sooner. He measured his life now not in hours or even moments, but in breaths, and he would answer for his sins to Almighty God, not the English king.
Another of the soldiers was coming back. “Here, Martin, put this about him.”
Martin took the blanket. “He’s in a bad way, Fulk,” he murmured, as if Llywelyn ought not to hear. Fulk picked up the lantern, and swore under his breath at the sight of the blood-soaked snow.
“Christ,” he said, and then, to Llywelyn, almost fiercely, “You hold on, hear? We’re going to get you to a doctor, for the king wants you alive!”
Llywelyn gazed up at him, marveling. “Indeed,” he said, “God forbid that I should disoblige the English king by dying.” It was only when he saw that Fulk and Martin were uncomprehending that he realized he’d lapsed into Welsh. But he made no effort to summon back his store of Norman-French. A man ought to die with his own language echoing in his ears.
The English soldiers were discussing his wound in troubled tones. But their voices seemed to be coming now from a distance, growing fainter and fainter until they no longer reached Llywelyn. He heard only the slowing sound of his heartbeat, and he opened his eyes, looked up at the darkening sky.
* * *
When they realized Llywelyn was dead, the English soldiers cut off his head so they would have proof of his death to show King Edward. After they rode away, Llywelyn’s squire Trevor crept out of hiding.
Page 536.
* * *
They’d left a blanket behind, blood-drenched by the decapitating. Trever reached for it, began to drape it over Llywelyn’s body, taking great care. By the time it was done to his satisfaction, he’d gotten blood all over himself, too, but he did not mind, for it was his lord’s blood. Sitting down in the snow beside the body, he said, “I’ll not leave you, my lord. I’ll not leave you.”
And that was how Goronwy found them, long after the battle of Llanganten had been fought and lost.
* * *
Llywelyn’s brother Davydd claimed the crown, vowing to continue the fight against the English. But the Welsh knew it was over. A poetic people, they expressed their grief in anguished elegies, none more impassioned and heart-rending than the one written by Llywelyn’s court bard, Gruffydd ab yr Ynad Goch.
See you not that the stars have fallen?
Have you no belief in God, foolish men?
See you not that the world is ending?
Even after so many centuries, the pain of that lament transfixes us, allowing us to share their sorrow, their uncomprehending rage, and their understanding that Wales had suffered a mortal blow when their prince had been struck by that English spear. Ah, God, that the sea should cover the land! What is left us that we should linger? That haunting cri de coeur was Llywelyn ap Gruffyd’s true epitaph.

Tudor Justice

This is not medieval, but we are used to those pushy Tudors crashing the party. On December 10th, 1541, Thomas Culpeper and Francis Dereham were executed for the crime of carnally knowing Henry VIII’s fifth wife, Catherine Howard. Culpeper and Dereham were sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, but because Henry VIII had once been fond of Culpeper, he agreed to spare him the worst of the sentence and Culpeper was beheaded. Henry showed no such mercy to Francis Dereham, who suffered the ultimate penalty. Francis Dereham’s execution has always seemed particularly unfair to me for he was not charged with sleeping with Catherine after she wed Henry and became queen. His “offense” was having sex with her before she married Henry. Catherine was executed the following February, and there is something pathetic about the account of her last hours; she spent it practicing kneeling before the block so she would make a proper death and not disgrace herself. If ever there was a minnow swimming with sharks, it was silly little Catherine Howard. Legend had it that she declared, “I die a queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Thomas Culpeper.” It is not true, was discredited by historians long ago. People going to the block in Tudor England did not die defiantly. They did not dare to do so, for they wanted to protect their families from Tudor vengeance.

A Scots king, an English poet, and an American actor

December 9th, 1165, was the date of death for the Scots King known as Malcolm the Maiden, who was only twenty-four at the time. He suffered from ill health and it has been suggested he may have died of Paget’s Disease. He was unmarried and was succeeded by his brother William the Lion, whom we discussed earlier this week.
Moving on to the non-medieval, the renowned English poet, John Milton, was born on December 9th, 1608. And the actor and writer Kirk Douglas was born on this day in 1916. I had to mention this because of an act of kindness by Mr. Douglas this summer. I had mentioned in one of my blogs that I’d loved his book about the making of the classic film, Spartacus, and the ending of the Blacklist. To my astonishment, I received a handwritten note from him, telling me he was pleased that I’d enjoyed it. I have no idea how this was brought to his attention, but he made my day, week, and month! For those who have not read “I am Spartacus,” you are in for a wonderful reading experience, as entertaining as it is informative, as amusing as it is insightful. And if anyone has not yet seen this brilliant film, I urge you to remedy that before the year is out. It has more than stood the test of time and should not be missed.

Hanukkah

I would like to wish my Jewish friends and readers a very Happy Hanukkah.

Henry II, Richard I, and the Scots

On December 8th, 1154, Henry and Eleanor landed in England, having sailed from Barfleur in a wild storm, as I mentioned yesterday. They would be crowned on the 19th. I tried to capture their triumphant, euphoric mood in the last paragraph of Saints:
* * *
“Ranulf glanced back once. Henry and Eleanor were still out in the snow-blanketed bailey. They waved as Ranulf turned, and that was to be the memory he would carry into Wales: the two of them, standing together in the bright winter sunlight, smiling, sure that the world, like the English crown, was theirs for the taking.”
* * *
On December 8th twenty years later, in 1174, King William the Lion of Scotland was forced to accept the humiliating harsh terms of the Treaty of Falaise, in which he and the other Scots lords had to swear fealty to Henry as their liege lord. A very high price for gaining his freedom. Had this held, the Scots would have found themselves in the same subordinate position as the Welsh. But luckily for William, Richard was in dire need of money for his crusade and he never seems to have had dynastic ambitions in Scotland, so he was willing to return the strongholds that William had been forced to surrender to Henry and to acknowledge Scottish independence—for a price, of course. As a result, though, he enjoyed good relations with Scotland for the remainder of his reign. Henry had William brought in chains from Alnwick and then imprisoned him in Falaise Castle. This seems to mirror Richard’s treatment when he was taken prisoner in Germany. But the difference was that William had been invading England at the time and in alliance with Henry’s enemies in a serious attempt to dethrone him, whereas Richard was under the protection of the Church and no state of war had existed between England and Germany.
Also on December 8th, 1542, Mary, Queen of Scots, was born. Hers was a life filled with such improbable drama and really bad decisions that no novelist would have dared to invent any of it.