Thoughts upon completing The Grass Crown by Colleen McCullough by Rebecca Moll

A book review of such a masterfully written historical fiction work of art, The Grass Crown and the 2nd in Colleen McCullough’s Masters of Rome novel series 97-86 BC, would be like my challenging Gaius Marius’ loyal and gigantic Germanic slave, Burgundus, to an arm wrestle. Need I say, I am but a little more than a little on the little side?
However, the thoughts do come at the completion of such a novel. And as this is my third of the series, a bit of a rebel, I read the 4th book in the series first, Caesar’s Women 67-59 BC, a baptism by fire of sorts for a first foray into Roman history, I feel a familiarity with the author, her style, whit, humor much like picking up with a lifelong friend after a long absence. In stride in no time.
For me, it is the dialogue that brings the period, culture, and characters to life and McCullough is a genius at revealing her story through secondary characterization. Dialogue, letters, and the reactionary behavior, verbal and non-verbal, of a cast of characters paint a moving picture. I chuckle, laugh, grimace, and sigh as history plays out over 815 pages, always something around the corner, my thoughts traveling to the next page, and the next, and the next.
A bookend book for sure, yet, I find myself reaching for the next in the series, Fortune’s Favorites 83-69 BC.
We all know the true hues of history fade with time and, in life, rarely is it an absolute matter of good against evil. Roman culture is no different. From infancy to the Republic, Empire, to its devastating fall, Roman culture has memorized generation after generation with both light and dark, heights and depths, good and evil. And while, as a whole, the culture may be idolized or hated, it is the intimacy with which McCullough tells her story that I find myself identifying and commiserating with characters and culture that walk off the page and into your life. Oh, to have a sip of wine with Julia, to listen to Young Caesar in the other room, to hide from the evil eyes of Sulla, to stand on the Rostra and feel your purpose, to wander and recognize faces, names, temples, shops, and roads, those Roman roads, those old Roman roads still standing the test of time today.
I find myself contemplating how, no matter time or place, mankind, at its very core, is still much the same.
I am thankful McCullough’s passion for the ancient world has presented such a palatable presentation for those of us whom dabble with infantile skills into the realm of scholars. Her love of the period and everything Roman shines through, basking the reader in a warm glow, a true legacy to a writer of immense talent and accomplishment.
Do not be daunted by the size or breath of this series. Like any journey worth traveling, take one step at a time, one page, one chapter, one book. Carry those you’ve come to know and walk on. Consider the Appian Way and the Via Appia will not disappoint, each stone a foothold as your toes find purchase and eyes seek the horizon, soaking in the colors of a culture, vivid and riveting, burgeoning, unfolding. As we all know, “Rome was not built in a day.”
And perhaps, along the way, we shall meet, side by side, somewhere between Pompey and Sulla or Caesar and Quintus. Let’s head for the Crossroads College, the one by Aurelia’s insula and the home of Julius Caesar’s youth. Perhaps, Lucius Decumius will offer his protection, for I hear Ancient Rome is a dangerous place to be. “When in Rome…”
May the road rise up to meet you and may the sun set before you. Travel like a true Roman, “Veni, vidi, vici,” and the spoils will leave you rich in body, mind, and spirit.
Safe travels my friends.