“The Dovekeepers”, by Alice Hoffman

 

 

528 pages, Scribner, ISBN-13: 978-1451617481

 

The Dovekeepers is the twenty-eighth novel by Alice Hoffman and is set around 70 AD after the Roman conquest of Judea and the fall of Jerusalem. Taking place over four years, it centers on the lives of four women who make their way to the Herodian stronghold of Masada and the families of several other survivors, especially the zealots who could rightly be held responsible for the whole thing (although the Romans needed precious little excuse for conquest).

• Yael, is treated like a dog by her father the assassin because her mother died giving birth to her, leaving her to maneuver life almost in a vacuum
• Revka, who could only stand by and watch helplessly as Roman deserters brutally raped and murdered her daughter, only to enact her revenge
• Aziza, who was raised as a boy and fought as a warrior by her stepfather, two facts that leave her adrift and without a place in the world
• Shirah, reputed to be a witch who worships Ashtoreth and has powers others believe in more than she does herself, and is the mother of Aziza

These four very different women are the Dovekeepers, whose work involves collecting these bird’s eggs for food and their droppings for fertilizer. The work is humble and dirty but, amid the filth and noise of the birdhouse, the women grow close, their lives becoming inextricably bound together as they inexorably change and the Romans come ever closer, all against the backdrop of the destruction of the world of these ancient Jews.

I was taken in by The Dovekeepers from the first word; Hoffman is a master storyteller who creates characters of flesh and blood and behave as they will in the situations she puts them in. Not once did I think that Yael, Revka, Aziza or Shirah did this act or spoke those words merely because that is what the plot called for. They behaved exactly as you would expect them to, knowing what you know about them. Their actions drive the story from one tragedy to the next, and the fact that you become so caught up in the lives of these women long gone speaks to the narrative power of the author. You truly feel for Yael, Revka, Aziza and Shirah – and for those who come into their orbit – and feel their every emotion as if it were your own. Being a little familiar with the Siege of Masada, I knew that the ultimate fates of most of these women would not be pleasant, and as I approached the end of the book, I became increasingly concerned for the well-being of them all.

Another strength of The Dovekeepers is how well Hoffman depicts the First Century AD in all of its dusty glory. This world in which the Romans sought to subjugate everything in their path merely for the sake of subjugation is as real within these pages as the world outside your door. From the fall of Jerusalem, to the deserts our protagonists wander through, to the relative paradise of Masada are all described in detail and brought forth once more. As much as her characterizations, the backdrop against which our heroines lived is as important to the story as they are, and this whole sun-drenched and sand-blasted place is made real once more by Hoffman. Between our four protagonists and everyone they encounter to the land they encounter them in, The Dovekeepers is that rare feat of historical fiction that is as informs like a textbook as it entertains like a novel. I will certainly miss Yael, Revka, Aziza and Shirah.

“The Lost Girls: Love and Literature in Wartime London”, by D. J. Taylor

 

336 pages, Pegasus Books, ISBN-13: 978-1643133157

Sonia Brownell, Lys Lubbock, Janetta Parladé and Barbara Skelton are amongst only a few of the subjects of D. J. Taylor’s The Lost Girls: Love and Literature in Wartime London. These swinging dames cut a swath through English literary and artistic life, with World War II barely slowing them down. All found themselves drawn into the orbit of Cyril Connolly (the most unlikely ladies’ man imaginable) and his literary magazine Horizon. Three of them had affairs with Lucian Freud, one of them married George Orwell while another became the mistress of the King of Egypt. No shrinking violets here, make no mistake. Equally at home in Bloomsbury and SoHo (or Cairo, for that matter), along with the couture studios of Schiaparelli and Hartnell, these “Lost Girls” would inspire the work of Nancy Mitford, George Orwell, Anthony Powell and Evelyn Waugh, and afford the missing link between the Lost Generation and Bright Young Things and the cultural revolution of the damnable 60s. And if you’re like me, you never even heard of any of them.

And there’s a reason for that. Taylor describes these women as chic, glamorous and bohemian and, for the most part, all of that is true. But as you read on you discover that these trailblazing women were actually rather conventional, seeking domesticity, albeit on their terms. They fell into and out of relationships, fought with their lovers, had abortions, married unsuitable men who cheated on them, divorced and tried again. Toward the end of their lives, some lived in penury, succumbed to alcoholism or died friendless. Not a hell of a lot to celebrate, one would argue. When I got this book, I somehow imagined that these Lost Girls were part of a wider movement in which women expanded their opportunities during an unprecedented catastrophe – but mostly, it was a record of an elite set of women and the clothes they wore, parties they attended and gossip they spread. Even though these Lost Girls hovered ‘round and worked with a bevy of famous literary people, they seemed more focused on status and fame, and snagging a rich husband. How very pedestrian.

All were comely, their beauty noted upon by critics in that era, and they tended to have a middle-to-upper middle-class upbringing in which they frequently became estranged from at least one of their parents. They often remembered their school years less than favorably, were members of the first generation of women to become independent in their 20s and take jobs that involved war effort work or in offices. According to Peter Quinnell, a staffer at Horizon, the Lost Girls seemed to carry a “sense of personal trauma” with them, and others noted their “air of waywardness and loneliness”, but also called them “courageous”. Another similarity was their relationship at different times with Cyril Connolly, who acted as the hub of the literary world in London then (yet another was that they all seemed to place a high premium on not being “boring”). Taylor states that “any attempt to label them ought to be resisted”, but throughout the book, he employs the “Lost Girl” label to explain their lives.

“The Devil’s Due”, by Bonnie MacBird

 

384 pages, HarperCollins, ISBN-13: 978-0008348106

Bonnie MacBird’s The Devil’s Due is her third interpretation of Arthur Conan Doyle’s immortal detective, and just like in her two previous outings, she succeeds in breathing new life into this most famous of sleuths. Under her keyboard, Holmes and Watson are believably drawn, so much so that one would like to believe the conceit of the author that she did not write this tale but that it was gifted to her by person or persons unknown and that the true author is in fact Dr. John Watson, just like Conan Doyle always maintained. Her Holmes/Watson dynamic is believable, so much so that the whole Watson-One-Step-Behind-Holmes thing comes across as natural rather than tedious (and which becomes necessary in the denouement). The Devil’s Due circles around the narratives of an alphabetical killer of philanthropists with dark secrets, a new Chief Commissioner of police and budding fascist, French terrorists, and a girl’s school that is more than it seems. Through it all Holmes, naturally, sticks to his guns and follows the clues where they lead him though the Heavens fall, Watson, naturally, staying doggedly alongside him.

The Devil’s Due moves along at a brisk pass and never flags due to overwrought dialog or melodrama, two things Holmes would never countenance. MacBird does a fine job of leading the reader astray with a red herring or two throughout, so much so that I was kicking myself for not seeing who the perp really was. The story also contains an eclectic mix of eccentric characters that always populate a Sherlock Holmes mystery, whether they be an illiterate street urchin-come-spy or needy society widow. With that being said, a little more development of these characters would have served the story better, considering the roles that some of them end up playing by the conclusion. And MacBird does a fine job of leading the reader astray with a red herring or two throughout, so much so that I was kicking myself for not seeing who the perp really was. Also, the book is freighted with a lot hyperventilating about modern problems, especially immigrants and the prejudices around them; while this was indeed an issue at the time, MacBird seemed to come at the issue with a modern sensibility that was grating and, worse, inaccurate.

But it is the dialogue MacBird employs that is the highlight of not only The Devil’s Due, but of all of her other Holmes books, as well. The Watsoncentric ambiance of her books is true to Conan Doyle and adds a kind of credibility and continuity to all of the works. For all of those Sherlockians the world over for whom the original run of stories is simply not enough, MacBird has done a masterful imitation of the master’s voice and style nicely, and this book provides true satisfaction to any fan of the Baker Street fiddler. The mysteries are good, the characters, old and new, are excellent and the experience is uplifting. While having Holmes being (literally) demonized in the London press didn’t pass the London fog smell test, and having Holmes be entirely too deferential to some of the other main personages is out of character for this genius who can’t help but look down on those not as brilliant as he (which is most of humanity), The Devil’s Due still made me long for yet more tales from MacBird; as a true heir to Conan Doyle she has no competitor, and one can only hope for yet more Holmes stories in the very near future.

“The Last Action Heroes: The Triumphs, Flops, and Feuds of Hollywood’s Kings of Carnage”, by Nick de Semlyen

 

352 pages, Crown, ISBN-13‏: ‎ 978-0593238806

While I read for any number of reasons, it is knowledge and self-improvement that tops my list – but man cannot live on salad alone, or steak, or poultry and so on; now and again a slice of cheesecake or dish of ice cream is called for. So when I saw The Last Action Heroes: The Triumphs, Flops, and Feuds of Hollywood’s Kings of Carnage by Nick de Semlyen at the Clinton-Macomb Public Library I thought “Ah, what the hell. Ice Cream is back on the menu”. Semlyen’s book is rather like Caseen Gaines’ We Don’t Need Roads: The Making of the Back to the Future Trilogy (reviewed on March 19^th, 2024), in that neither is very challenging or enlightening; many of the tales he tells are familiar and are simply rehashed in this volume. Indeed, while de Semlyen does better than Gaines by in fact interviewing the subjects of this book, the vast majority of those interviews were cribbed from earlier sources, and so The Last Action Heroes resembles a movie montage in which our Hero becomes stronger and faster after five minutes of training.

But so what. De Semlyen has written a memoir of my youth when giants walked the earth, movies were entertaining and an expansive VHS collection was a status symbol. All of these titans of the multiplex are here, along with other, less statuesque stars. Chuck Norris. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Sylvester Stallone. Bruce Willis. Jackie Chan. Jean-Claude Van Damme. Steven Seagal. Dolph Lundgren. One could argue that not all of these names belong, but one cannot argue that each left an impact on popular culture – even if only as punchlines. This testosterone and patriotic fueled era of American movies (not Chan) was a once-a-millennium phenomenon, never to be repeated, and pity the poor fools of later generations who missed out on all of the fun. To be alive and a movie fan at this time meant to be spoiled for choice as to what movie to see every week, even if you were young and broke (like me) and had to wait for HBO to broadcast it or Blockbuster to rent it to you. You know: The Good Old Days.

And we learn a thing or two about these muscle-bound celluloid gods. Chuck Norris was actually a non-violent Christian who would rather talk than fight. Arnold Schwarzenegger is as driven as you have heard with a never-say-die attitude and an immigrant’s faith in America. Sylvester Stallone is as resilient as Rocky (or Rambo) who never lets a bomb get him down. Bruce Willis was as ordinary as you would think who seemed just happy to be mentioned in the same breath as these others. Jackie Chan was an international star who struggled to make it in America but whose stunt innovations influenced others well outside of China. Jean-Claude Van Damme, for all his ridiculousness, is an unfiltered quote-machine who has struggled with his demons and seemingly come out on top. Steven Seagal is truly the humorless asshole he comes across as and one wonders how more successful he’d be with a little self-awareness. Dolph Lundgren is fluent in five languages and was on his way to becoming a scientist before Stallone discovered him.

The Last Action Heroes was a fun read and allowed me the pleasure of reliving my youth when popular culture sought to entertain and not indoctrinate, when movies could be unabashedly patriotic and movie stars were bigger-than-life personalities for all the right reasons.

“Patton, Montgomery, Rommel: Masters of War”, by Terry Brighton

 

480 pages, Crown, ISBN-13: 978-0307461551

Patton, Montgomery, Rommel: Masters of War by Terry Brighton is a kind of broad, triple biography of perhaps the greatest American, British and German generals of World War II (let the arguments begin on that declaration). The book is broadly chronological as it follows its three subjects while they maneuver through their relative country’s military structures and serve the same in peace and war. As is shown, Patton, Montgomery and Rommel served three quite different nations with quite different military establishments and quite different ways of shimmying up the greasy pole of promotion. And I have to say that Brighton, a British military historian, does not shirk his duty in showing us his subjects, warts and all.

While many historians have tried to explain away Johannes Erwin Eugen Rommel’s fascination with and support for Hitler, Brighton shows that the Generalfeldmarschall supported his Führer up to the final moments of his life. His complete acceptance of the Nazi program and belief system (even though he never joined the actual party) is well laid out, and there can be no doubt that he was a fervent supporter of the same and was not just being a “good German soldier” who did not have all of the facts. While no doubt a military genius who did the best he could with his limited resources, Rommel made his share of blunders, although Brighton shows the Desert Fox continuously learning from his mistakes. One can only thank whomever that Nazi Germany never got its act together and fully supplied Rommel with whatever he needed.

George Smith Patton Jr. was beyond just bombastic and profane, as his well-known episodes of losing control and slapping soldiers in hospitals for being cowards are described. Without question the most privileged of the three, Patton had his share of obstacles to overcome, not least of which was dyslexia. And his love affair with the M4 Sherman medium tank over the M26 Pershing heavy tank is inexcusable. But as a tank commander his only equal was Rommel or, more controversy perhaps, Guderian, the true inventor of the Blitzkrieg. As an armor strategist with a clear-eyed view of what the tank could (and couldn’t) do, and what the Allies needed to do to win the war, Patton was brilliant, forceful and without remorse. One can see why Eisenhower tolerated him as he did and why the Germans were right to count him as Enemy Number One.

Surprisingly, coming from a British author, Bernard Law Montgomery comes across as the worst of the bunch, a general who managed to win one battle in one setting and then applied that same philosophy the rest of the way, whether or not such tactics fit the situation at hand. When he does not get the resources he wants, or is denied the command he seeks, he purposely slows his progress down and causes numerous casualties to his fellow commanders as a way of showing that he should have been given this support or command all along. How many thousands of unnecessary casualties were caused by this self-absorption? How long was the war extended by this prima donna? Perversely, Montgomery was the most successful of the three post-war, only because he was the only one to survive the hostilities.

Patton, Montgomery, Rommel illustrates all of this and shows how and why these gifted if difficult leaders of men succeeded and failed, and all without any obvious prejudice. Would that all histories were this enlightening.

“Vengeful”, by V. E. Schwab

 

480 pages, Tor Books, ISBN-13: ‎ 978-0765387523

Vengeful by V. E. Schwab is the second in her “Villains” series and the sequel to Vicious (reviewed on January 26^th, 2026); it is also the second V. E. Schwab we reviewed for the Fraser Public Library Books on Tap book club – after my original choice, the brilliant The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher: A Shocking Murder and the Undoing of a Great Victorian Detective by Kate Summerscale (reviewed on April 8^th, 2021) was nixed by my crew. Harumph. Anyway, in short, Vengeful continues the tale of Victor Vale and his ragtag gang of EOs – short for ExtraOrdinaries…that is, beings with superpowers – as they attempt to carve out a place for themselves in an ever-more-dangerous world. Oh, Eli Ever is still about, imprisoned and the victim of sadistic experiments, and we are introduced to other EOs who make an impact, along with the government agency EON – ExtraOrdinary Observation and Neutralization – that seeks to track and capture EOs. The structure of Vengeful follows that of Vicious, switching back and forth between past and the near-present and forcing the reader to stay on his toes, but I never once found it to be confusing.

Let’s face it: most sequels suck, but Vengeful does that which all sequels attempt to do; remains sufficiently loyal to the original work to bring the loyal fanbase back while being satisfactorily different to justify its existence. The key elements are back, with new Villains added to our returning characters and an expansion of the world Schwab has created. EOs are a recognized thing now by the powers that be (and their reaction is about what you’d expect) and everyone tries to maneuver through a new world in which the rules are still being written (oh, and Schwab manages to make Eli Ever sympathetic, if you can imagine). But if Vengeful has a theme, it is desperation. Victor is desperate to be himself again, his resurrection at Sydney’s hands having broken him. Eli is desperate to be free, having been in prison since the end of the last book. Sydney is desperate for her sister’s company and contemplates her resurrection. Marcela is desperate for power and the respect she has been denied her whole life. June is desperate for revenge against those who wronged her. Stell is desperate to capture EOs and see them tamed and broken.

All of this desperation leads people to make some morally gray decisions, and Schwab really gets inside of her character’s heads in order for You the Reader to truly understand their motivations and what drives them along. Really, it is a writer of rare talent that can make Villains sympathetic, but Schwab does it time and again, making you consider and reconsider their moral values – and your own. Her characters don’t necessarily want to cause death or destruction (well, not all of them, at any rate) but really just want revenge on the people who hurt them and security in a world that hates them. All of which are very human and all-too recognizable motivations (minus the superpowers, that is). This moral ambiguity leads to many a deep discussion, both with others and yourself, and the fact that there are no easy answers to any of these questions just adds to the book’s appeal. I have no doubt that Schwab will be writing about more Villains in the very near future and I, for one, look forward to reading more about these utterly fascinating and very maddening (and recognizable) people very soon. Even if they are the “Bad Guys”.

“1913: The Year before the Storm”, by Florian Illies

 

268 pages, Melville House, ISBN-13: 978-1612193519

Back on August 10^th, 2022, I reviewed 1913: In Search of the World before the Great War by Charles Emmerson, and said that “I wanted this lost world to be brought to life once again, even if briefly, but it wasn’t. There are facts and figures and allusions and discussions and so on and so forth, but this is just dry knowledge…While 1913 is an interesting global tour of the world of 1913, it in no way brought this world back to life, and it sadly remains hidden still”. And so it was with this in mind that I got 1913: The Year before the Storm by Florian Illies, a German writer and art historian – for free, for reasons too opaque to go through here. Ask me about it sometime.

1913: The Year before the Storm is divided in twelve chapters, each corresponding to a month in this last full year of peace; each chapter in turn is made up of a series of vignettes of something interesting that happened at that time, many in Germany and Europe (well, what did you expect from a German author?). No verse. No poetry. Just a chronology of stuff, much like the aforementioned and maligned 1913. And so I am seemingly right back to where I started, with a dry recording of facts in which this happened and then that happened with no magic occurring and no spirits lifted by a lost world brought back to life, even if only in our minds.

Only…this 1913 does what the other 1913 did not; brings this world, dead by mass suicide committed on a global-scale, to life once more. You wouldn’t think that this was so, seeing as all it is are accounts of mostly famous people doing their things: politicians politicking, artists painting, singers singing, musicians playing and on and on – but somehow Illies accomplishes that which Emmerson failed to do: breathe life once more into a world long dead. Perhaps it is because Illies allows his subjects to speak for themselves, as it were; he steps back and observes their goings-on while narrating what is happening, never interfering with his own input.

Or perhaps it is because Illies chose to go small scale rather than large: by focusing on the lives of persons – not ordinary persons, but all the same – rather than on places or policies or politicians, he made his book more intimate and relatable to you and I. As these folks go through their days with Armageddon mere months away, we see them as we would ourselves, with their concerns both sacred and profane dominating their lives and motivating their actions. Just like us, today. This, I think, is Illies’ secret: by focusing his tales on the small he in fact encompasses so much of this lost world and makes it breath again, if only in our imaginations.

1913: The Year before the Storm resurrected this lost year and made me yearn for a world long dead – and I don’t know why, seeing as there is little to recommend this dead place to a fella such as I. Perhaps on some level I am fascinated by an entire society that saw cultural seppuku as preferable to the way things were, all without knowing the blood and terror that would ensue when this (admittedly unjust and flawed, though stable) culture imploded. Or maybe it’s just that I miss all of that Edwardian fashion. Regardless, Illies has done us all an invaluable service in making 1913 live once more, if only briefly.