|
Gillian Bradshaw seems to have changed publishers -- her latest book is published by Severn House, evidently more accustomed to publishing slushy romances, judging by the tacky cover. It's an entertaining read and is bound to please her fans. But I wouldn't recommend it as an introduction to Bradshaw's work, as it's well below the standard set by the delightful Wolf Hunt, and the even better The Beacon At Alexandria (still my favourite of her novels). It's set in 7th-century Constantinople, where the Christian Empire is under threat from Arab invasion (as so often, Bradshaw picks a theme with modern resonance!). Anna is a single mother, ex-concubine of the Emperor Constans' brother, who was killed for suspected treason. She now runs a perfumery and brings up her daughter, who has never been officially recognised as the ruling emperor Constantine's illegitimate cousin. At the beginning of the story she meets Kallinikos, a Syrian refugee who is interested in alchemy and is drawn into inventing a new secret weapon to defeat the Arabs. For once, the wedding comes halfway through the story, and the latter half of the book picks up pace and page-turning excitement as evil people plot to steal the secret from Kallinikos and sell it to the Arabs. But the plot and characters aren't as well developed as in some of her earlier novels -- like her previous book, Render Unto Caesar, you get the impression she knocked it off quickly and to order. She seems to have settled to a rhythm of one or two books a year -- perhaps she'd do better to write fewer, better ones ... But like Mary Renault she still has a knack for vivid, realistic scene-setting and connvincing detail. The first paragraph: "It was early in June, and for three weeks the workshop had been making attar of roses. Rose petals were everywhere: floors, tables, even the workshop latrine. Trodden upon and swept aside, their delicate pink had become a damp brown litter which squashed into wads on the workers' shoes. The heady fragrance of the fresh blooms was almost smothered by the cloying smell of the darkening cakes removed from the presses. The workers breathed rotting rose, and the thick sticky scent flavoured everything they ate. 'I hate roses,' Theodosia declared mutinously, shortly after lunch ..."
|