Nancy Bilyeau's Blog, page 26
January 8, 2015
"A Mesmerizing Heroine"
I'm excited to see the first blogger review of The Tapestry!
"Nancy Bilyeau, a relative newcomer to the historical fiction scene, has created a mesmerizing heroine with her Joanna Stafford character. Her two previous books in this series, The Crown and The Chalice, were both five-star reads, in my opinion, and this latest is even better. The story just takes off rocket-like from page 1 and doesn’t slow down until the final page. Joanna, a prospective nun about to take final vows when we first meet her in The Crown, finally makes her choice between the cloistered life and marriage in The Tapestry, but not before a series of breathtaking events almost gets her killed, not once but several times...."
To read the rest, go to https://denisesbooklist.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/review-the-tapestry-by-nancy-bilyeau/
"Nancy Bilyeau, a relative newcomer to the historical fiction scene, has created a mesmerizing heroine with her Joanna Stafford character. Her two previous books in this series, The Crown and The Chalice, were both five-star reads, in my opinion, and this latest is even better. The story just takes off rocket-like from page 1 and doesn’t slow down until the final page. Joanna, a prospective nun about to take final vows when we first meet her in The Crown, finally makes her choice between the cloistered life and marriage in The Tapestry, but not before a series of breathtaking events almost gets her killed, not once but several times...."
To read the rest, go to https://denisesbooklist.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/review-the-tapestry-by-nancy-bilyeau/
December 17, 2014
Blog Hop: Christmas After the Priory
My series of historical thrillers tell the story of Joanna Stafford, a Dominican novice struggling to survive the turbulent reign of Henry VIII. This excerpt comes from the second novel in my series, The Chalice. It is Christmas 1538. Sister Joanna and her fellow nuns and the friars have lost their home--Dartford Priory was demolished as part of the Dissolution of the Monasteries--and they are trying to make new lives. It's difficult--and it's dangerous.
At Mass on Christmas Day, there was not an empty seat to be found in Holy Trinity Church. The church had been stripped of its adornments, its beautiful images painted over, but something significant was added: long wooden pews. As Father William Mote told the story of Our Savior with as much vigor as he was capable of, I sat in a pew halfway down the middle of the church, next to Arthur and Sister Winifred, with Brother Edmund on the other side. We were no longer relegated to the chantries chapel.
But then there was the chain.
As Father William expounded, he stood next to it--a platform nailed to the altar and, attached to that altar by a long and heavy chain, the first English translation of the Great Bible, written by Myles Coverdale. "I am exhorted by Lord Privy Seal Cromwell to gently and charitably exhort you to read this Bible for yourselves," Father William announced to us two Sundays ago.
Ironically, the only parishioner who made it his business to study Coverdale's Bible was Brother Edmund. "I do not fear the Scriptures and will not be corrupted by misinterpretation," Brother Edmund reassured Sister Eleanor, who begged him not to put himself at risk. After a few days of reading, he commented, "Cloverdale acquits himself well. He was an Augustinian, after all."
My problem was not with the book itself but the chain. Every time I looked at it, I feared I was being dragged back to London, to the court and prison and scaffold of King Henry VIII. As I listened to Father William's sermon, I put both my hands around my throat and closed my eyes.
When Mass was finished, Brother Edmund asked, "Sister Joanna, may I have your assistance in the infirmary for a short time?"
"Of course," I said.
Brother Edmund's small infirmary on the High Street, tidily kept and stocked with potions, pills, plasters and herbs, was empty. As Brother Edmund lit a small fire in the back, I thought it was doubtful that someone from town would require the services of an apothecary on Christmas Day.
"Sister Joanna, I must speak to you in confidence about something important," he said, gesturing to the stools set next to his oak work table.
"Yes, Brother?" My breath quickened. I wanted to be important to Brother Edmund.
He pulled his stool close to mine so that we were inches apart. I had not been alone with him since we were together in the calefactorium at Blackfriars, in London.
Running his hands through his ash-blond hair, he said, "I must know if you have noticed anyone following you."
At Mass on Christmas Day, there was not an empty seat to be found in Holy Trinity Church. The church had been stripped of its adornments, its beautiful images painted over, but something significant was added: long wooden pews. As Father William Mote told the story of Our Savior with as much vigor as he was capable of, I sat in a pew halfway down the middle of the church, next to Arthur and Sister Winifred, with Brother Edmund on the other side. We were no longer relegated to the chantries chapel.
But then there was the chain.
As Father William expounded, he stood next to it--a platform nailed to the altar and, attached to that altar by a long and heavy chain, the first English translation of the Great Bible, written by Myles Coverdale. "I am exhorted by Lord Privy Seal Cromwell to gently and charitably exhort you to read this Bible for yourselves," Father William announced to us two Sundays ago.
Ironically, the only parishioner who made it his business to study Coverdale's Bible was Brother Edmund. "I do not fear the Scriptures and will not be corrupted by misinterpretation," Brother Edmund reassured Sister Eleanor, who begged him not to put himself at risk. After a few days of reading, he commented, "Cloverdale acquits himself well. He was an Augustinian, after all."
My problem was not with the book itself but the chain. Every time I looked at it, I feared I was being dragged back to London, to the court and prison and scaffold of King Henry VIII. As I listened to Father William's sermon, I put both my hands around my throat and closed my eyes.
When Mass was finished, Brother Edmund asked, "Sister Joanna, may I have your assistance in the infirmary for a short time?"
"Of course," I said.
Brother Edmund's small infirmary on the High Street, tidily kept and stocked with potions, pills, plasters and herbs, was empty. As Brother Edmund lit a small fire in the back, I thought it was doubtful that someone from town would require the services of an apothecary on Christmas Day.
"Sister Joanna, I must speak to you in confidence about something important," he said, gesturing to the stools set next to his oak work table.
"Yes, Brother?" My breath quickened. I wanted to be important to Brother Edmund.
He pulled his stool close to mine so that we were inches apart. I had not been alone with him since we were together in the calefactorium at Blackfriars, in London.
Running his hands through his ash-blond hair, he said, "I must know if you have noticed anyone following you."
December 13, 2014
"The Tapestry" Makes a Most Anticipated List of 2015
How nice to wake up on a Saturday morning and discover that The Tapestry made it onto Book Drunkard's 12 Day of Christmas List of Most Anticipated Books of 2015!
To read more on the two books selected, go here.
To read more on the two books selected, go here.
December 7, 2014
Snipppet Sunday: The Tapestry
I learned about Snippet Sunday from author Kris Waldherr. It is a monthly meme organized by Stephanie Dray in which historical novelists share six-sentence snippets of their novels. Go to Stephanie's website to learn more about Stephanie and her fantastic and innovative new book A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii, co-written with Sophie Perinot, Kate Quinn, Ben Kane, E. Knight and Vicky Alvear Shecter.
And I encourage you to stop by Kris's blog Art and Words. The writing in her snippet, from a novel set in 1851, is exquisite!
As for my Snippet Sunday, it comes from the third novel in my trilogy set in Tudor England, The Tapestry, the opening of Chapter Six:
And that's it! I hope you will be interested in reading more.... The Tapestry will be published by Simon & Schuster on March 24, 2015
From my box of advance galleys!
And I encourage you to stop by Kris's blog Art and Words. The writing in her snippet, from a novel set in 1851, is exquisite!
As for my Snippet Sunday, it comes from the third novel in my trilogy set in Tudor England, The Tapestry, the opening of Chapter Six:
Catherine Howard always slept with a window open. We were so different in temperament, in interests, but that was a preference we had shared at Howard House, even in the icy cold.
This was a cloudless night, and so the moon's bath of light swam through the bedchamber. I was too troubled by the day's events to find rest. But she slept soundly, one of her arms thrown over her head. She was a different person when she slept. Some cynical, calculating adults look like innocent children when their eyes are closed, but Catherine was more childlike when awake.
And that's it! I hope you will be interested in reading more.... The Tapestry will be published by Simon & Schuster on March 24, 2015
From my box of advance galleys!November 20, 2014
The Day the Box Arrives...
I always get emotional when the box of Advance Reading Copies lands on my doorstep (or in my case, the apartment lobby mailbox).
I think that this cover is the most effective of the three, mingling beauty with menace. Very grateful to the art department of Touchstone Books!
Looking forward to hearing from my readers!
I think that this cover is the most effective of the three, mingling beauty with menace. Very grateful to the art department of Touchstone Books!
Looking forward to hearing from my readers!
November 9, 2014
The Mysterious Life & Horrific Death of Mary Jane Kelly
On November 9th, 1888, a 25-year-old woman known as Mary Jane Kelly was found murdered with incomprehensible savagery in her room at 13 Miller's Court, off Dorset Street, dubbed "the worst street in London.
In my post I explore the enigma of Mary, believed to be the last victim of Jack the Ripper...
Go here to read it: http://bit.ly/1AM68kg
In my post I explore the enigma of Mary, believed to be the last victim of Jack the Ripper...
Go here to read it: http://bit.ly/1AM68kg
November 4, 2014
German Publisher Buys Rights to THE TAPESTRY!
Very excited to report that DTV is buying the third in my trilogy. Publication date not set yet.
[image error]November 3, 2014[image error][image error]International rights: Fiction German rights to Nancy Bilyeau's THE TAPESTRY, the third book in her Joanna Stafford series, again to DTV in Germany, by Sebastian Ritscher at Mohrbooks, on behalf of Heide Lange at Sanford J. Greenburger Associates.[image error]
A part of THE TAPESTRY takes place in Germany, so this is important to me. Not many historical novels written by Americans take their characters to Germany, which is such a shame. It was a place of turmoil, beauty, revolutionary change...and magic.
As soon as I have a publication date, I will share it!
[image error]November 3, 2014[image error][image error]International rights: Fiction German rights to Nancy Bilyeau's THE TAPESTRY, the third book in her Joanna Stafford series, again to DTV in Germany, by Sebastian Ritscher at Mohrbooks, on behalf of Heide Lange at Sanford J. Greenburger Associates.[image error]
A part of THE TAPESTRY takes place in Germany, so this is important to me. Not many historical novels written by Americans take their characters to Germany, which is such a shame. It was a place of turmoil, beauty, revolutionary change...and magic.
As soon as I have a publication date, I will share it!
November 2, 2014
Halloween: The Tudor Connection
By Nancy Bilyeau
I have a passion for 16th century England. My friends and family, not to mention my agent and editors, are accustomed to my obsession with the Tudorverse. Namely, that for me, all roads lead back to the family that ruled England from 1485 to 1603. Could it be possible that Halloween, one of my favorite days of the year, is also linked to the Tudors?
Yes, it turns out, it could.
To read my blog on English Historical Fiction Authors, go to http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2011/10/truth-about-halloween-and-tudor-england.html:
I have a passion for 16th century England. My friends and family, not to mention my agent and editors, are accustomed to my obsession with the Tudorverse. Namely, that for me, all roads lead back to the family that ruled England from 1485 to 1603. Could it be possible that Halloween, one of my favorite days of the year, is also linked to the Tudors?
Yes, it turns out, it could.
To read my blog on English Historical Fiction Authors, go to http://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2011/10/truth-about-halloween-and-tudor-england.html:
October 22, 2014
Charles Brandon: Fact and Fiction and Henry Cavill
By Nancy Bilyeau
There are few figures of the court of Henry VIII who carry more romantic baggage than Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, famously portrayed by Henry Cavill on the series The Tudors.
Read my blog post for English Historical Fiction Authors on the real Brandon. From before the battle of Bosworth to his marriage to the king's beautiful younger sister, I look at the facts.
There are few figures of the court of Henry VIII who carry more romantic baggage than Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk, famously portrayed by Henry Cavill on the series The Tudors.
Read my blog post for English Historical Fiction Authors on the real Brandon. From before the battle of Bosworth to his marriage to the king's beautiful younger sister, I look at the facts.
October 7, 2014
Missing My Friend, M.M. Bennetts
On December 11, 2011, I sent a Facebook friend request to a British writer named M.M. Bennetts with the following message: "You are the funniest person in our group. Please do me the honor of permitting Facebook friendship."
Her swift response: "Ha. Ha. Ha. Can't think what I've said. But yes, absolutely, delighted to."
And that was the beginning of it.
In December 2011 I was a woman with a debut novel one month away from publication. As we are all advised to do, I was writing a flurry of blog posts and meeting fellow authors in person and online. And enjoying myself. I loved writing my first post, one about Halloween in the Tudor era, for English Historical Fiction Authors, a group blog launched by author Debra Brown with the idea that each day a different person would post something on real history, either touched on in the research of a novel or simply of great interest.
Enter M.M.
As Debbie told me in an email: "It was in December. Things got behind with holidays, and I did not have enough posts. I invited British histfic authors from the Triberr group I was in to join, and that is when she came in. She said she could provide two or three posts if I needed them. 'Just ask,' she said. 'Anytime.' "
She was the perfect addition to the group and soon became one of its most active members. M.M. Bennetts, an accomplished author of two novels, Of Honest Fame and May 1812, was also a tireless researcher and editor and a book critic of many years with The Christian Science Monitor.
Or, as M.M. once put it to me: "I know I'll dig and dig until I get as close to the truth as possible, even if it means I annoy the hell out of everyone. And I don't care if people like me--I was too long a book critic to care about that."
You see, that was what I loved most about her. She was brilliant and talented and generous--and she had an edge. A wicked sense of humor and little tolerance for a "nincompetentpoop" or "wholly unintelligible drivel." We reviewed each other's books--mine Tudor thrillers and hers Napoleonic spy stories--and furiously promoted each other's blog posts on social media. And in 687 private Facebook messages over nearly three years (is this a record??), we would vent to each other about the difficulty of publishing novels. "The prob is at the minute over here, everything is World War I until I'm about to vomit. It's everybloodywhere." We swapped bits of hard-won experience and insight. There were a few tears but more often there were jokes, as in her priceless assessment: "The publishing industry is knee deep in horse muck. Only horse muck is good for roses and I'm not sure what they're good for."
I was a little intimidated by how many things she did well. She was a talented pianist. She was a horsewoman. She knew a lot about gardening. M.M. and I had in common a distaste for easy sentiment about historical figures. She had done years of research into Napoleon and knew about the havoc of his armies. She did not like the romanticizing of him, and she approved my similarly un-sentimental feeling toward Henry VIII.
I was nervous about my first bookstore reading, and she shot me useful advice in an email. Afterward I celebrated with her. No one was better than M.M. Bennetts at celebrating something going well for once.
On the bookstore reading: "The worst is one where no one comes. Ha ha. I once had a reading at a local shop and about an hour before really bad weather blew in and the heavens just opened and there were flash floods locally. So there I was with the bookshop owner and one friend who braved the deluge (and she was dripping...) So that was a bit tense, but you just have to laugh because there's nothing you can do about it. Though you do feel like a numpty with these stacks of books just sitting there. So chuffed it went well for you."
We kept nagging each other to visit. Only the Atlantic Ocean separated us! I'd traveled to London in the summer of 2011 to research The Chalice but I hadn't known M.M. then. When I pressed her to come to Florida for the June 2013 Historical Novel Society conference, she responded: "Me, on an airplane, with my claustrophobia? That's just not going to happen." Also: "June is the month in which Parnel sits her A-levels, has her final Speech Day, has her Leavers' Ball (parents invited) and sundry parties. You may have thought otherwise, but really, I'm just a high-end taxi service. So I have a better plan. You come here. For research for your next book. I could be nice and take you on the cakey tour!"
I wanted very much to visit, but finances wouldn't permit it. Still, we talked a lot about our agenda during my theoretical stay. I confided: "High tea is what has the power to bring me to tears."
M.M. responded: "Don't cry over it. That just ruins the tea. If you want high tea, we should go over to what used to be the family shack in Sparsholt. Now it's a posh hotel. Or there's a place down in Brockenhurst which does a fine high tea. Ginger Two has the best cake in Hampshire and that's in Winchester. Very homey--there's a pic of all the cake on my wall--the only pic. I have my priorities."
Of Honest Fame is a suspenseful and beautifully written novel. Read my review here: "A Regency Novel Like No Other." M.M. was doing an amazing job with her article writing and her editing of the EHFA anthology Castles, Customs and Kings. But what about another novel, I asked?
"I want to--just as you say--have fun with writing again," she responded. "Enjoy my work, enjoy playing with the language and characters like a sculptor plays with clay. But there's this manic focus on numbers--how many books have you written and how many have you sold and it's all push, push, push, and no time for reflection--but at heart, books are about dreaming... which is just the opposite. So I don't know..."
This past March I received an email from M.M. that surprised and worried me: "I've been, er, fighting the big c for a few years now, am just about finished with a kind of big thing with radiotherapy to the head--they are also convinced I'm going to be fine, and I'm looking forward, but you know, I want my life back, and I want to get back in the saddle with my work."
She reassured me several times that she was getting better, suggesting I write a guest post for her blog on the Hermit of Dartford, but at the same time I noticed her witty and knowledgeable comments on the EHFA Facebook group were becoming less and less frequent.
My last email to my friend M.M. Bennetts was on August 9, alerting her to my blog post on the Hellfire Club in Medmenham Abbey: "I thought that if anyone would enjoy a bit of Georgian debauchery, it would be you!"
There was never a response. And then I knew. Yet when her daughter emailed me in that M.M. had died, peacefully, surrounded by family on August 25, I looked at the message on my phone in disbelief. I read it on the way out of my apartment building and found I couldn't get out the door. I sat in the corner of the lobby, facing the courtyard window, and I cried and cried.
I mourn her friendship, her knowledge, her warmth, her never-to-be-forgotten jokes. I wish with all my heart she'd written another novel. I hope people will find the fine ones she did write.
"We learn and we grow wise and we do it ourselves," she once emailed me.
M.M., I promise you I will try.
[This post originally appeared on English Historical Fiction Authors. To see the comments of other friends, go here.]
Her swift response: "Ha. Ha. Ha. Can't think what I've said. But yes, absolutely, delighted to."
And that was the beginning of it.
In December 2011 I was a woman with a debut novel one month away from publication. As we are all advised to do, I was writing a flurry of blog posts and meeting fellow authors in person and online. And enjoying myself. I loved writing my first post, one about Halloween in the Tudor era, for English Historical Fiction Authors, a group blog launched by author Debra Brown with the idea that each day a different person would post something on real history, either touched on in the research of a novel or simply of great interest.
Enter M.M.
As Debbie told me in an email: "It was in December. Things got behind with holidays, and I did not have enough posts. I invited British histfic authors from the Triberr group I was in to join, and that is when she came in. She said she could provide two or three posts if I needed them. 'Just ask,' she said. 'Anytime.' "
She was the perfect addition to the group and soon became one of its most active members. M.M. Bennetts, an accomplished author of two novels, Of Honest Fame and May 1812, was also a tireless researcher and editor and a book critic of many years with The Christian Science Monitor.
Or, as M.M. once put it to me: "I know I'll dig and dig until I get as close to the truth as possible, even if it means I annoy the hell out of everyone. And I don't care if people like me--I was too long a book critic to care about that."
You see, that was what I loved most about her. She was brilliant and talented and generous--and she had an edge. A wicked sense of humor and little tolerance for a "nincompetentpoop" or "wholly unintelligible drivel." We reviewed each other's books--mine Tudor thrillers and hers Napoleonic spy stories--and furiously promoted each other's blog posts on social media. And in 687 private Facebook messages over nearly three years (is this a record??), we would vent to each other about the difficulty of publishing novels. "The prob is at the minute over here, everything is World War I until I'm about to vomit. It's everybloodywhere." We swapped bits of hard-won experience and insight. There were a few tears but more often there were jokes, as in her priceless assessment: "The publishing industry is knee deep in horse muck. Only horse muck is good for roses and I'm not sure what they're good for."
I was a little intimidated by how many things she did well. She was a talented pianist. She was a horsewoman. She knew a lot about gardening. M.M. and I had in common a distaste for easy sentiment about historical figures. She had done years of research into Napoleon and knew about the havoc of his armies. She did not like the romanticizing of him, and she approved my similarly un-sentimental feeling toward Henry VIII.
I was nervous about my first bookstore reading, and she shot me useful advice in an email. Afterward I celebrated with her. No one was better than M.M. Bennetts at celebrating something going well for once.
On the bookstore reading: "The worst is one where no one comes. Ha ha. I once had a reading at a local shop and about an hour before really bad weather blew in and the heavens just opened and there were flash floods locally. So there I was with the bookshop owner and one friend who braved the deluge (and she was dripping...) So that was a bit tense, but you just have to laugh because there's nothing you can do about it. Though you do feel like a numpty with these stacks of books just sitting there. So chuffed it went well for you."
We kept nagging each other to visit. Only the Atlantic Ocean separated us! I'd traveled to London in the summer of 2011 to research The Chalice but I hadn't known M.M. then. When I pressed her to come to Florida for the June 2013 Historical Novel Society conference, she responded: "Me, on an airplane, with my claustrophobia? That's just not going to happen." Also: "June is the month in which Parnel sits her A-levels, has her final Speech Day, has her Leavers' Ball (parents invited) and sundry parties. You may have thought otherwise, but really, I'm just a high-end taxi service. So I have a better plan. You come here. For research for your next book. I could be nice and take you on the cakey tour!"
I wanted very much to visit, but finances wouldn't permit it. Still, we talked a lot about our agenda during my theoretical stay. I confided: "High tea is what has the power to bring me to tears."
M.M. responded: "Don't cry over it. That just ruins the tea. If you want high tea, we should go over to what used to be the family shack in Sparsholt. Now it's a posh hotel. Or there's a place down in Brockenhurst which does a fine high tea. Ginger Two has the best cake in Hampshire and that's in Winchester. Very homey--there's a pic of all the cake on my wall--the only pic. I have my priorities."
Of Honest Fame is a suspenseful and beautifully written novel. Read my review here: "A Regency Novel Like No Other." M.M. was doing an amazing job with her article writing and her editing of the EHFA anthology Castles, Customs and Kings. But what about another novel, I asked?
"I want to--just as you say--have fun with writing again," she responded. "Enjoy my work, enjoy playing with the language and characters like a sculptor plays with clay. But there's this manic focus on numbers--how many books have you written and how many have you sold and it's all push, push, push, and no time for reflection--but at heart, books are about dreaming... which is just the opposite. So I don't know..."
This past March I received an email from M.M. that surprised and worried me: "I've been, er, fighting the big c for a few years now, am just about finished with a kind of big thing with radiotherapy to the head--they are also convinced I'm going to be fine, and I'm looking forward, but you know, I want my life back, and I want to get back in the saddle with my work."
She reassured me several times that she was getting better, suggesting I write a guest post for her blog on the Hermit of Dartford, but at the same time I noticed her witty and knowledgeable comments on the EHFA Facebook group were becoming less and less frequent.
My last email to my friend M.M. Bennetts was on August 9, alerting her to my blog post on the Hellfire Club in Medmenham Abbey: "I thought that if anyone would enjoy a bit of Georgian debauchery, it would be you!"
There was never a response. And then I knew. Yet when her daughter emailed me in that M.M. had died, peacefully, surrounded by family on August 25, I looked at the message on my phone in disbelief. I read it on the way out of my apartment building and found I couldn't get out the door. I sat in the corner of the lobby, facing the courtyard window, and I cried and cried.
I mourn her friendship, her knowledge, her warmth, her never-to-be-forgotten jokes. I wish with all my heart she'd written another novel. I hope people will find the fine ones she did write.
"We learn and we grow wise and we do it ourselves," she once emailed me.
M.M., I promise you I will try.
[This post originally appeared on English Historical Fiction Authors. To see the comments of other friends, go here.]
