Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus is published. The book, by 21-year-old Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, is frequently called the world's first science fiction novel. In Shelley's tale, a scientist animates a creature constructed from dismembered corpses. The gentle, intellectually gifted creature is enormous and physically hideous. Cruelly rejected by its creator, it wanders, seeking companionship and becoming increasingly brutal as it fails to find a mate.
Mary Shelley created the story on a rainy afternoon in 1816 in Geneva, where she was staying with her husband, the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, and their friend Lord Byron. Byron proposed they each write a gothic ghost story, but only Mary Shelley completed hers. Although serving as the basis for the Western horror story and the inspiration for numerous movies in the 20th century, the book Frankenstein is much more than pop fiction. The story explores philosophical themes and challenges Romantic ideals about the beauty and goodness of nature.
Mary Shelley led a life nearly as tumultuous as the monster she created. The daughter of free-thinking philosopher William Godwin and feminist Mary Wollstonecraft, she lost her mother days after her birth. She clashed with her stepmother and was sent to Scotland to live with foster parents during her early teens, then eloped with the married poet Shelley when she was 17. After Shelley's wife committed suicide in 1817, the couple married but spent much of their time abroad, fleeing Shelley's creditors. Mary Shelley gave birth to five children, but only one lived to adulthood. Mary was only 24 years old when Shelley drowned in a sailing accident; she went on to edit two volumes of his works. She lived on a small stipend from her father-in-law, Lord Shelley, until her surviving son inherited his fortune and title in 1844. She died at the age of 53. Although Mary Shelley was a respected writer for many years, only Frankenstein and her journals are still widely read.
Originally published on History.com. Click below to get your own copy.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Guest Post: Kristina McMorris
Kristina McMorris, author of Letters From Home, was great in that she agreed to write a guest post to go along with my review of her book. Enjoy!
THE BLISS OF LITERARY IGNORANCE
Kristina McMorris
Did I always want to be a writer? Nope.
Was I a voracious reader before deciding to pen a book myself? Nuh-uh.
What, then, prompted me to take on a project as ambitious as a novel—and one set during World War II, at that? In two words: blissful ignorance.
If I'd known what I was getting myself into from the beginning, I would have undoubtedly run screaming in the other direction—for the amount of required research alone. Thankfully, by the time I realized how little I knew about the craft, or the crazy publishing business, I'd already completed an entire manuscript. There was no reason to give up quite yet. At least not without a decent try.
You see, I had no idea that World War II novels weren't considered "popular" in women's fiction, nor did I know that romance and 1940s didn't mix. In fact, when I entered RWA's prestigious Golden Heart contest in 2007, the most applicable categories were Short Historical, defined as "before World War I," and Contemporary, described as "after World War II."
After scratching my head at this odd and notable gap, I flipped a coin and went with Short Historical. To my amazement, I became a finalist. When I started sending query letters to agents, I touted this accolade. I also included quotes from a few bestselling authors who were kind enough to endorse my manuscript. (I'm trying not to cringe now at the thought of what those poor gals had to read.) Mind you, I wasn't aware that presenting blurbs for an unpublished novel was a rarity.
And yet, those very quotes helped obtain requests for material, which led to representation, which ultimately led to a publishing contract. If I'd known the "rules" first, if I'd known to steer clear of a World War II setting, if I’d known how little I knew about, well, all of it…I would have recognized the wisdom of opting for another career path. And I would have missed celebrating my official book launch this week.
All thanks to blissful ignorance.
THE BLISS OF LITERARY IGNORANCE
Kristina McMorris
Did I always want to be a writer? Nope.
Was I a voracious reader before deciding to pen a book myself? Nuh-uh.
What, then, prompted me to take on a project as ambitious as a novel—and one set during World War II, at that? In two words: blissful ignorance.
If I'd known what I was getting myself into from the beginning, I would have undoubtedly run screaming in the other direction—for the amount of required research alone. Thankfully, by the time I realized how little I knew about the craft, or the crazy publishing business, I'd already completed an entire manuscript. There was no reason to give up quite yet. At least not without a decent try.
You see, I had no idea that World War II novels weren't considered "popular" in women's fiction, nor did I know that romance and 1940s didn't mix. In fact, when I entered RWA's prestigious Golden Heart contest in 2007, the most applicable categories were Short Historical, defined as "before World War I," and Contemporary, described as "after World War II."
After scratching my head at this odd and notable gap, I flipped a coin and went with Short Historical. To my amazement, I became a finalist. When I started sending query letters to agents, I touted this accolade. I also included quotes from a few bestselling authors who were kind enough to endorse my manuscript. (I'm trying not to cringe now at the thought of what those poor gals had to read.) Mind you, I wasn't aware that presenting blurbs for an unpublished novel was a rarity.
And yet, those very quotes helped obtain requests for material, which led to representation, which ultimately led to a publishing contract. If I'd known the "rules" first, if I'd known to steer clear of a World War II setting, if I’d known how little I knew about, well, all of it…I would have recognized the wisdom of opting for another career path. And I would have missed celebrating my official book launch this week.
All thanks to blissful ignorance.
Book Review and Giveaway: Letters From Home
Title: Letters From Home
Author: Kristina McMorris
Publisher: Kensington
Published Date: March 1, 2011
ISBN: 978-0758246844
Pages: 352
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher for my honest review.
I have one copy to giveaway of this book. Please leave a comment below to enter. The winner will be chosen on March 20.
Synopsis from Publishers Weekly:
This sweeping debut novel, told through letters and alternating points of view, is ambitious and compelling. During the turmoil of WWII, three Chicago roommates discover that matters of the heart cannot be controlled or planned. Betty Cordell hopes to avoid her mother's mistakes by marrying well. Julia Renard rejects a prestigious fashion internship in order to be waiting for her fiancé when he comes home from the war. Liz Stephens begins to question her future as a professor and a politician's wife as she corresponds with a soldier who thinks she's Betty. Deft description and solid research take readers to the trenches in Europe, a field hospital in Dutch New Guinea, and the glittering lights of Chicago society.
My review:
The war is raging in Europe in 1944 and lives are forever being changed by what was going on in the world. The story follows three women: Julia, Liz, and Betty; as they do their part for the war effort. However, events quickly make their lives take on unexpected roles that were not expected from their efforts. It is a story of love, romance, war, and how all of those together can complicate life and the world around you. The book contains a good amount of romance, yet it is written with an historical fiction feel that keeps the romance from overpowering the story. The book will be loved by those that are looking for a good romance, yet also will appeal to those that aren't romance genre fans. The book weaves a great story that I think all will connect with.
About The Author:
Kristina McMorris resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their two sons. Her works of fiction have garnered more than twenty national literary awards and two nominations for the highly coveted Golden Heart®. She holds a B.S. in International Marketing with a language concentration from Pepperdine University. Having been saved as a newborn by Seattle Children’s Hospital, she is also an advocate of many charitable causes for children’s health and wellbeing. For her diverse accomplishments, she has been named one of Portland’s “Forty Under 40″ by The Business Journal. Her self published cookbook, Grandma Jean’s Rainy Day Recipes, sold at such stores as Borders and was featured in a variety of regional media (with proceeds benefiting the Food Bank).
Letters from Home is McMorris’s first published novel. A portion of the sales proceeds will benefit United Through Reading®, a nonprofit organization that video records deployed U.S. military personnel reading bedtime stories for their children. To learn more about McMorris and her work, please visit the author’s site.
Author: Kristina McMorris
Publisher: Kensington
Published Date: March 1, 2011
ISBN: 978-0758246844
Pages: 352
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher for my honest review.
I have one copy to giveaway of this book. Please leave a comment below to enter. The winner will be chosen on March 20.
Synopsis from Publishers Weekly:
This sweeping debut novel, told through letters and alternating points of view, is ambitious and compelling. During the turmoil of WWII, three Chicago roommates discover that matters of the heart cannot be controlled or planned. Betty Cordell hopes to avoid her mother's mistakes by marrying well. Julia Renard rejects a prestigious fashion internship in order to be waiting for her fiancé when he comes home from the war. Liz Stephens begins to question her future as a professor and a politician's wife as she corresponds with a soldier who thinks she's Betty. Deft description and solid research take readers to the trenches in Europe, a field hospital in Dutch New Guinea, and the glittering lights of Chicago society.
My review:
The war is raging in Europe in 1944 and lives are forever being changed by what was going on in the world. The story follows three women: Julia, Liz, and Betty; as they do their part for the war effort. However, events quickly make their lives take on unexpected roles that were not expected from their efforts. It is a story of love, romance, war, and how all of those together can complicate life and the world around you. The book contains a good amount of romance, yet it is written with an historical fiction feel that keeps the romance from overpowering the story. The book will be loved by those that are looking for a good romance, yet also will appeal to those that aren't romance genre fans. The book weaves a great story that I think all will connect with.
About The Author:
Kristina McMorris resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their two sons. Her works of fiction have garnered more than twenty national literary awards and two nominations for the highly coveted Golden Heart®. She holds a B.S. in International Marketing with a language concentration from Pepperdine University. Having been saved as a newborn by Seattle Children’s Hospital, she is also an advocate of many charitable causes for children’s health and wellbeing. For her diverse accomplishments, she has been named one of Portland’s “Forty Under 40″ by The Business Journal. Her self published cookbook, Grandma Jean’s Rainy Day Recipes, sold at such stores as Borders and was featured in a variety of regional media (with proceeds benefiting the Food Bank).
Letters from Home is McMorris’s first published novel. A portion of the sales proceeds will benefit United Through Reading®, a nonprofit organization that video records deployed U.S. military personnel reading bedtime stories for their children. To learn more about McMorris and her work, please visit the author’s site.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
The new Jane Eyre movie is being released today in select theatres and you can check out my previous post on the movie. However, in keeping to the theme today, I thought I would post more info on the book.
Synopsis from Goodreads:
Charlotte Bronte's impassioned novel is the love story of Jane Eyre, a plain yet spirited governess, and her arrogant, brooding Mr. Rochester. Published in 1847, under the pseudonym of Currer Bell, the book heralded a new kind of heroine--one whose virtuous integrity, keen intellect and tireless perseverance broke through class barriers to win equal stature with the man she loved. Hailed by William Makepeace Thackeray as "the masterwork of great genius," Jane Eyre is still regarded, over a century later, as one of the finest novels in English literature.
About the Author:
Charlotte Brontë was born in 1816, the third daughter of the Rev. Patrick Brontë and his wife Maria. Her brother Patrick Branwell was born in 1817, and her sisters Emily and Anne in 1818 and 1820. In 1820, too, the Brontë family moved to Haworth, Mrs. Brontë dying the following year.
In 1824 the four eldest Brontë daughters were enrolled as pupils at the Clergy Daughter's School at Cowan Bridge. The following year Maria and Elizabeth, the two eldest daughters, became ill, left the school and died: Charlotte and Emily, understandably, were brought home.
In 1826 Mr. Brontë brought home a box of wooden soldiers for Branwell to play with. Charlotte, Emily, Branwell, and Ann, playing with the soldiers, conceived of and began to write in great detail about an imaginary world which they called Angria.
In 1831 Charlotte became a pupil at the school at Roe Head, but she left school the following year to teach her sisters at home. She returned returns to Roe Head School in 1835 as a governess: for a time her sister Emily attended the same school as a pupil, but became homesick and returned to Haworth. Ann took her place from 1836 to 1837.
In 1838, Charlotte left Roe Head School. In 1839 she accepted a position as governess in the Sidgewick family, but left after three months and returned to Haworth. In 1841 she became governess in the White family, but left, once again, after nine months.
Upon her return to Haworth the three sisters, led by Charlotte, decided to open their own school after the necessary preparations had been completed. In 1842 Charlotte and Emily went to Brussels to complete their studies. After a trip home to Haworth, Charlotte returned alone to Brussels, where she remained until 1844.
Upon her return home the sisters embarked upon their project for founding a school, which proved to be an abject failure: their advertisements did not elicit a single response from the public. The following year Charlotte discovered Emily's poems, and decided to publish a selection of the poems of all three sisters: 1846 brought the publication of their Poems, written under the pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. Charlotte also completed The Professor, which was rejected for publication. The following year, however, Charlotte's Jane Eyre, Emily's Wuthering Heights, and Ann's Agnes Grey were all published, still under the Bell pseudonyms.
In 1848 Charlotte and Ann visited their publishers in London, and revealed the true identities of the "Bells." In the same year Branwell Brontë, by now an alcoholic and a drug addict, died, and Emily died shortly thereafter. Ann died the following year.
In 1849 Charlotte, visiting London, began to move in literary circles, making the acquaintance, for example, of Thackeray. In 1850 Charlotte edited her sister's various works, and met Mrs. Gaskell. In 1851she visited the Great Exhibition in London, and attended a series of lectures given by Thackeray.
The Rev. A. B. Nicholls, curate of Haworth since 1845, proposed marriage to Charlotte in 1852. The Rev. Mr. Brontë objected violently, and Charlotte, who, though she may have pitied him, was in any case not in love with him, refused him. Nicholls left Haworth in the following year, the same in which Charlotte's Villette was published. By 1854, however, Mr. Brontë's opposition to the proposed marriage had weakened, and Charlotte and Nicholls became engaged. Nicholls returned as curate at Haworth, and they were married, though it seems clear that Charlotte, though she admired him, still did not love him.
In 1854 Charlotte, expecting a child, caught pneumonia. It was an illness which could have been cured, but she seems to have seized upon it (consciously or unconsciously) as an opportunity of ending her life, and after a lengthy and painful illness, she died, probably of dehydration.
1857 saw the postumous publication of The Professor, which had been written in 1845-46, and in that same year Mrs. Gaskell's Life of Charlotte Brontë was published.
Click on the link below to get your own copy of the book in paperback or click on the Kindle link and get it for FREE.
Synopsis from Goodreads:
Charlotte Bronte's impassioned novel is the love story of Jane Eyre, a plain yet spirited governess, and her arrogant, brooding Mr. Rochester. Published in 1847, under the pseudonym of Currer Bell, the book heralded a new kind of heroine--one whose virtuous integrity, keen intellect and tireless perseverance broke through class barriers to win equal stature with the man she loved. Hailed by William Makepeace Thackeray as "the masterwork of great genius," Jane Eyre is still regarded, over a century later, as one of the finest novels in English literature.
About the Author:
Charlotte Brontë was born in 1816, the third daughter of the Rev. Patrick Brontë and his wife Maria. Her brother Patrick Branwell was born in 1817, and her sisters Emily and Anne in 1818 and 1820. In 1820, too, the Brontë family moved to Haworth, Mrs. Brontë dying the following year.
In 1824 the four eldest Brontë daughters were enrolled as pupils at the Clergy Daughter's School at Cowan Bridge. The following year Maria and Elizabeth, the two eldest daughters, became ill, left the school and died: Charlotte and Emily, understandably, were brought home.
In 1826 Mr. Brontë brought home a box of wooden soldiers for Branwell to play with. Charlotte, Emily, Branwell, and Ann, playing with the soldiers, conceived of and began to write in great detail about an imaginary world which they called Angria.
In 1831 Charlotte became a pupil at the school at Roe Head, but she left school the following year to teach her sisters at home. She returned returns to Roe Head School in 1835 as a governess: for a time her sister Emily attended the same school as a pupil, but became homesick and returned to Haworth. Ann took her place from 1836 to 1837.
In 1838, Charlotte left Roe Head School. In 1839 she accepted a position as governess in the Sidgewick family, but left after three months and returned to Haworth. In 1841 she became governess in the White family, but left, once again, after nine months.
Upon her return to Haworth the three sisters, led by Charlotte, decided to open their own school after the necessary preparations had been completed. In 1842 Charlotte and Emily went to Brussels to complete their studies. After a trip home to Haworth, Charlotte returned alone to Brussels, where she remained until 1844.
Upon her return home the sisters embarked upon their project for founding a school, which proved to be an abject failure: their advertisements did not elicit a single response from the public. The following year Charlotte discovered Emily's poems, and decided to publish a selection of the poems of all three sisters: 1846 brought the publication of their Poems, written under the pseudonyms of Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. Charlotte also completed The Professor, which was rejected for publication. The following year, however, Charlotte's Jane Eyre, Emily's Wuthering Heights, and Ann's Agnes Grey were all published, still under the Bell pseudonyms.
In 1848 Charlotte and Ann visited their publishers in London, and revealed the true identities of the "Bells." In the same year Branwell Brontë, by now an alcoholic and a drug addict, died, and Emily died shortly thereafter. Ann died the following year.
In 1849 Charlotte, visiting London, began to move in literary circles, making the acquaintance, for example, of Thackeray. In 1850 Charlotte edited her sister's various works, and met Mrs. Gaskell. In 1851she visited the Great Exhibition in London, and attended a series of lectures given by Thackeray.
The Rev. A. B. Nicholls, curate of Haworth since 1845, proposed marriage to Charlotte in 1852. The Rev. Mr. Brontë objected violently, and Charlotte, who, though she may have pitied him, was in any case not in love with him, refused him. Nicholls left Haworth in the following year, the same in which Charlotte's Villette was published. By 1854, however, Mr. Brontë's opposition to the proposed marriage had weakened, and Charlotte and Nicholls became engaged. Nicholls returned as curate at Haworth, and they were married, though it seems clear that Charlotte, though she admired him, still did not love him.
In 1854 Charlotte, expecting a child, caught pneumonia. It was an illness which could have been cured, but she seems to have seized upon it (consciously or unconsciously) as an opportunity of ending her life, and after a lengthy and painful illness, she died, probably of dehydration.
1857 saw the postumous publication of The Professor, which had been written in 1845-46, and in that same year Mrs. Gaskell's Life of Charlotte Brontë was published.
Click on the link below to get your own copy of the book in paperback or click on the Kindle link and get it for FREE.
Jane Eyre Movie - March 11
I love the book Jane Eyre and am excited to see a new movie version of the book is coming out. The new movie is in select theatres today so be sure to go and check it out. I would love to hear your thoughts on it so please post them in the comments section or write a guest post to be featured here on the blog. You can go and visit the site HERE.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Sourcebooks-Read an EBook Week
Do I have a fabulous eBook deal to share with you! This week just so happens to be Read an eBook Week, and Sourcebooks has a great variety of titles available for FREE so you can get a jumpstart on celebrating eBooks.
Title: The Highest Stakes
Digital List Price: $15.99
Category: Fiction
Print ISBN: 9781402236426
PDF ISBN: 9781402236433
EPUB ISBN: 9781402249877
Historical fiction featuring the exciting origins of horse racing in England and the American colonies.
·Published in time for the Kentucky Derby
·A strong romantic element makes the story accessible and emotional
·Horses are a topic of almost universal appeal and horseracing is a sport enjoyed by millions—the origins of the sport are little known and dramatic
Available at:
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Google
Apple
US
CA
AU
FR
DE
UK
Title: The Immigrants
Digital List Price: $15.99
Category: Fiction
Print ISBN: 9781402237911
PDF ISBN: 9781402237966
EPUB ISBN: 9781402247026
“A most wonderful book,” the Los Angeles Times.
“Emotional, exciting and entertaining” the Philadelphia Inquirer
·A major New York Times bestseller, with over 2.5 million copies in print
·The Immigrants was widely acclaimed and was turned into a movie
·A big repackage for widely known, brand-name author Howard Fast
Sourcebooks
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
**Please note that AMAZON/KINDLE is currently uploading their link to this title, so it might not be listed as free right away. We apologize for the inconvenience!** As soon as I have a link for this version, I will get it posted.
Title: The Wild Sight
Digital List Price: $6.99
Category: Romance
Print ISBN: 9781402213946
PDF ISBN: 9781402220906
EPUB ISBN: 9781402236778
Romantic suspense with a paranormal element, set in the mystical Irish countryside.
·Romantic suspense is the #2 romance subgenre
·The Ireland location is very popular
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Google
Apple
US
CA
FR
AU
DE
UK
Title: The Best Little Stories from the Civil War
Digital List Price: $18.99
Category: History
Print ISBN: 9781402239106
PDF ISBN: 9781402239168
EPUB ISBN: 9781402247101
A collection of more than 100 true stories from the men and women of the blue and gray, this truly unique approach will capture the attention of history enthusiasts and civil war buffs alike.
·Now revised and updated, featuring new packaging
·First edition sold over 16,500 units
·Civil War is a strong category on the history shelf and human interest angle is a unique hook for the category
·PR opportunities centered around major battles
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
FR
AU
DE
UK
Title: The Highest Stakes
Digital List Price: $15.99
Category: Fiction
Print ISBN: 9781402236426
PDF ISBN: 9781402236433
EPUB ISBN: 9781402249877
Historical fiction featuring the exciting origins of horse racing in England and the American colonies.
·Published in time for the Kentucky Derby
·A strong romantic element makes the story accessible and emotional
·Horses are a topic of almost universal appeal and horseracing is a sport enjoyed by millions—the origins of the sport are little known and dramatic
Available at:
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
AU
FR
DE
UK
Title: The Immigrants
Digital List Price: $15.99
Category: Fiction
Print ISBN: 9781402237911
PDF ISBN: 9781402237966
EPUB ISBN: 9781402247026
“A most wonderful book,” the Los Angeles Times.
“Emotional, exciting and entertaining” the Philadelphia Inquirer
·A major New York Times bestseller, with over 2.5 million copies in print
·The Immigrants was widely acclaimed and was turned into a movie
·A big repackage for widely known, brand-name author Howard Fast
Sourcebooks
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
**Please note that AMAZON/KINDLE is currently uploading their link to this title, so it might not be listed as free right away. We apologize for the inconvenience!** As soon as I have a link for this version, I will get it posted.
Title: The Wild Sight
Digital List Price: $6.99
Category: Romance
Print ISBN: 9781402213946
PDF ISBN: 9781402220906
EPUB ISBN: 9781402236778
Romantic suspense with a paranormal element, set in the mystical Irish countryside.
·Romantic suspense is the #2 romance subgenre
·The Ireland location is very popular
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Barnes and Noble
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
FR
AU
DE
UK
Title: The Best Little Stories from the Civil War
Digital List Price: $18.99
Category: History
Print ISBN: 9781402239106
PDF ISBN: 9781402239168
EPUB ISBN: 9781402247101
A collection of more than 100 true stories from the men and women of the blue and gray, this truly unique approach will capture the attention of history enthusiasts and civil war buffs alike.
·Now revised and updated, featuring new packaging
·First edition sold over 16,500 units
·Civil War is a strong category on the history shelf and human interest angle is a unique hook for the category
·PR opportunities centered around major battles
Sourcebooks
Amazon
Kobo
BooksonBoard
Sony
BooksAMillion
Apple
US
CA
FR
AU
DE
UK
Harry Potter: The Exhibition
From the press release:
Harry Potter fans in New York City can rejoice, as they will soon have the chance to step inside the famous wizard’s magical world with Harry Potter: The Exhibition, which opens at Discovery Times Square on April 5, 2011. The previously unscheduled stop in New York City will serve as the tour’s final North American destination before going international. Tickets are on sale now, and can be purchased online at DiscoveryTS.com, at the Discovery Times Square box office (226 West 44th Street) or by calling (866) 987-9692.
In partnership with Warner Bros. Consumer Products, Global Experience Specialists, Inc. (GES) created the 14,000-square-foot experiential exhibition, where visitors will be able to visit dramatic displays inspired by the Hogwarts™ film sets and see the amazing craftsmanship behind authentic costumes and props from the films. Original artifacts from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows™ - Part 1 and the highly anticipated finale, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows™ - Part 2, will be on display, along with hundreds of original props and costumes from all of the previous Harry Potter films.
“From the moment they step inside, visitors to Harry Potter: The Exhibition are immersed in the fantastic world brought to life in the blockbuster films,” said Brad Globe, president, Warner Bros. Consumer Products. “New York is the perfect location for our last stop in North America. We think fans will be thrilled to have one more opportunity to experience firsthand the magic of this incredible exhibition.”
Harry Potter: The Exhibition offers fans a firsthand view of hundreds of authentic artifacts displayed in settings inspired by the film sets—including the Great Hall, Hagrid's hut, the Gryffindor™ common room—and more.
“We are pleased to offer east coast fans this bonus destination of the exhibition, all housed within the perfect venue,” said Eddie Newquist, chief creative officer for GES. “There is no better way to celebrate the imagination and creativity of the Harry Potter film series than to actually walk among the iconic costumes and props that helped bring the world of the films to life.”
“We are excited to present New York residents and visitors with this special presentation of Harry Potter: The Exhibition designed specifically for a venue of this magnitude. We’ve saved the best for this last stop - this finale will be the biggest and most magical,” said James Sanna, president of Discovery Times Square.
Check out the site HERE.
Harry Potter fans in New York City can rejoice, as they will soon have the chance to step inside the famous wizard’s magical world with Harry Potter: The Exhibition, which opens at Discovery Times Square on April 5, 2011. The previously unscheduled stop in New York City will serve as the tour’s final North American destination before going international. Tickets are on sale now, and can be purchased online at DiscoveryTS.com, at the Discovery Times Square box office (226 West 44th Street) or by calling (866) 987-9692.
In partnership with Warner Bros. Consumer Products, Global Experience Specialists, Inc. (GES) created the 14,000-square-foot experiential exhibition, where visitors will be able to visit dramatic displays inspired by the Hogwarts™ film sets and see the amazing craftsmanship behind authentic costumes and props from the films. Original artifacts from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows™ - Part 1 and the highly anticipated finale, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows™ - Part 2, will be on display, along with hundreds of original props and costumes from all of the previous Harry Potter films.
“From the moment they step inside, visitors to Harry Potter: The Exhibition are immersed in the fantastic world brought to life in the blockbuster films,” said Brad Globe, president, Warner Bros. Consumer Products. “New York is the perfect location for our last stop in North America. We think fans will be thrilled to have one more opportunity to experience firsthand the magic of this incredible exhibition.”
Harry Potter: The Exhibition offers fans a firsthand view of hundreds of authentic artifacts displayed in settings inspired by the film sets—including the Great Hall, Hagrid's hut, the Gryffindor™ common room—and more.
“We are pleased to offer east coast fans this bonus destination of the exhibition, all housed within the perfect venue,” said Eddie Newquist, chief creative officer for GES. “There is no better way to celebrate the imagination and creativity of the Harry Potter film series than to actually walk among the iconic costumes and props that helped bring the world of the films to life.”
“We are excited to present New York residents and visitors with this special presentation of Harry Potter: The Exhibition designed specifically for a venue of this magnitude. We’ve saved the best for this last stop - this finale will be the biggest and most magical,” said James Sanna, president of Discovery Times Square.
Check out the site HERE.
First Card Book Feature
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
A Trail of Ink: The Third Chronicle of Hugh de Singleton, Surgeon
Monarch Books (February 28, 2011)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mel Starr was born and grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan. After graduating with a MA in history from Western Michigan University in 1970, he taught history in Michigan public schools for thirty-nine years, thirty-five of those in Portage, MI, where he retired in 2003 as chairman of the social studies department of Portage Northern High School. Mel and his wife, Susan, have two daughters and seven grandchildren.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Some valuable books have been stolen from Master John Wyclif, the well known scholar and Bible translator. He calls upon his friend and former pupil, Hugh de Singleton, to investigate. Hugh's investigation leads him to Oxford where he again encounters Kate, the only woman who has tempted him to leave bachelor life behind, but Kate has another serious suitor. As Hugh's pursuit of Kate becomes more successful, mysterious accidents begin to occur. Are these accidents tied to the missing books, or to his pursuit of Kate?
One of the stolen books turns up alongside the drowned body of a poor Oxford scholar. Another accident? Hugh certainly doesn’t think so, but it will take all of his surgeon’s skills to prove.
So begins another delightful and intriguing tale from the life of Hugh de Singleton, surgeon in the medieval village of Bampton. Masterfully researched by medieval scholar Mel Starr, the setting of the novel can be visited and recognized in modern-day England. Enjoy more of Hugh’s dry wit, romantic interests, evolving faith, and dogged determination as he pursues his third case as bailiff of Bampton.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Monarch Books (February 28, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1854249746
ISBN-13: 978-1854249746
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
I had never seen Master John Wyclif so afflicted. He was rarely found at such a loss when in disputation with other masters. He told me later, when I had returned them to him, that it was as onerous to plunder a bachelor scholar’s books as it would be to steal another man’s wife. I had, at the time, no way to assess the accuracy of that opinion, for I had no wife and few books.
But I had come to Oxford on that October day, Monday, the twentieth, in the year of our Lord 1365, to see what progress I might make to remedy my solitary estate. I left my horse at the stable behind the Stag and Hounds and went straightaway to Robert Caxton’s shop, where the stationer’s comely daughter, Kate, helped attract business from the bachelor scholars, masters, clerks, and lawyers who infest Oxford like fleas on a hound.
My pretended reason to visit Caxton’s shop was to purchase a gathering of parchment and a fresh pot of ink. I needed these to conclude my record of the deaths of Alan the beadle and of Henry atte Bridge. Alan’s corpse was found, three days before Good Friday, near to St Andrew’s Chapel, to the east of Bampton. And Henry, who it was who slew Alan, was found in a wood to the north of the town. As bailiff of Bampton Castle it was my business to sort out these murders, which I did, but not before I was attacked on the road returning from Witney and twice clubbed about the head in nocturnal churchyards. Had I known such assaults lay in my future, I might have rejected Lord Gilbert Talbot’s offer to serve as his bailiff at Bampton Castle and remained but Hugh the surgeon, of Oxford High Street.
Kate promised to prepare a fresh pot of ink, which I might have next day, and when she quit the shop to continue her duties in the workroom I spoke to her father. Robert Caxton surely knew the effect Kate had upon young men. He displayed no surprise when I asked leave to court his daughter.
I had feared raised eyebrows at best, and perhaps a refusal. I am but a surgeon and a bailiff. Surgeons own little prestige in Oxford, full of physicians as it is, and few honest men wish to see a daughter wed to a bailiff. There were surely sons of wealthy Oxford burghers, and young masters of the law, set on a path to wealth, who had eyes for the comely Kate. But Caxton nodded agreement when I requested his permission to pay court to his daughter. Perhaps my earlier service to mend his wounded back helped my suit.
I left the stationer’s shop with both joy and apprehension. The joy you will understand, or would had you seen Kate and spent time in her presence. I was apprehensive because next day I must begin a thing for which I had no training and in which I had little experience. While at Balliol College I was too much absorbed in my set books to concern myself with the proper way to impress a lass, and none of those volumes dealt with the subject. Certainly the study of logic avoided the topic. Since then my duties as surgeon and bailiff allowed small opportunity to practice discourse with a maiden. And there are few females of my age and station in Bampton.
I made my way from Caxton’s shop on Holywell Street to Catte Street and thence to the gate of Canterbury Hall, on Schidyard Street. As I walked I composed speeches in my mind with which I might impress Kate Caxton. I had forgotten most of these inventions by next day. This was just as well.
Master John Wyclif, former Master of Balliol College and my teacher there, was newly appointed Warden of Canterbury Hall. Several months earlier, frustrated at my inability to discover who had slain Alan the beadle and Henry atte Bridge, I had called upon Master John to lament my ignorance and seek his wisdom. He provided encouragement, and an empty chamber in the Hall where I might stay the night, safe from the snores and vermin at the Stag and Hounds.
When I left him those months earlier he enjoined me to call when I was next in Oxford and tell him of the resolution of these mysteries. At the time of his request I was not sure there ever would be a resolution to the business.
But there was, and so I sought Master John to tell him of it, and seek again his charity and an empty cell for the night. The porter recognized me, and sent me to Master John’s chamber. I expected to find him bent over a book, as was his usual posture when I called. But not so. He opened the door to my knock, recognized me, and blurted, “Master Hugh… they’ve stolen my books.”
The greeting startled me. I peered over the scholar’s shoulder as if I expected to see the miscreants and the plundered volumes. I saw Master John’s table, and a cupboard where his books were kept. Both were bare. He turned to follow my gaze.
“Gone,” he whispered. “All of them.”
“Who?” I asked stupidly. Had Master John known that, he would have set after the thieves and recovered the books. Or sent the sheriff to do so.
“I know not,” Wyclif replied. “I went to my supper three days past. When I returned the books were gone… even the volume I left open on my table.”
Master John is not a wealthy man. He has the living of Fillingham, and the prebend of Aust, but these provide a thin subsistence for an Oxford master of arts at work on a degree in theology. The loss of books accumulated in a life of study would be a blow to any scholar, rich or poor.
“The porter saw no stranger enter or leave the Hall while we supped,” Wyclif continued. “I went next day to the sheriff, but Sir John has other matters to mind.”
“Sir John?”
“Aye. Roger de Cottesford is replaced. The new high sheriff is Sir John Trillowe.”
“He offered no aid?”
“He sent a sergeant ’round to the stationers in the town, to see did any man come to them with books he offered to sell. Two I borrowed from Nicholas de Redyng. He will grieve to learn they are lost.”
“And the stationers… they have been offered no books?”
“None of mine missing. And Sir John has no interest, I think, in pursuing my loss further.”
The colleges have always wished to rule themselves, free of interference from the town and its government. No doubt the sheriff was minded to allow Canterbury Hall the freedom to apprehend its own thief, without his aid or interference.
“How many?”
“My books? Twenty… and the two borrowed.”
I performed some mental arithmetic. Master John read my thoughts.
“The books I borrowed from Master Nicholas… one was Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, worth near thirty shillings. One of mine was of paper, a cheap-set book, but the others were of parchment and well bound.”
“Your loss is great, then. Twenty pounds or more.”
“Aye,” Wyclif sighed. “Four were of my own devising. Some might say they were worth little. But the others… Aristotle, Grossteste, Boethius, all gone.”
Master John sighed again, and gazed about his chamber as if the stolen books were but misplaced, and with closer inspection of dark corners might yet be discovered.
“I am pleased to see you,” Master John continued. “I had thought to send for you.”
“For me?”
“Aye. I have hope that you will seek my stolen books and see them returned to me.”
“Me? Surely the sheriff…”
“Sir John is not interested in any crime for which the solution will not bring him a handsome fine. Rumor is he paid King Edward sixty pounds for the office. He will be about recouping his investment, not seeking stolen books.
“And you are skilled at solving mysteries,” Wyclif continued. “You found who ’twas in Lord Gilbert’s cesspit, and unless I mistake me, you know by now who killed your beadle and the fellow found slain in the forest. Well, do you not?”
“Aye. It was as I thought. Henry atte Bridge, found dead in the wood, slew Alan the beadle. Alan had followed him during the night as Henry took a haunch of venison poached from Lord Gilbert’s forest, to the curate at St Andrew’s Chapel.”
“Venison? To a priest?”
“Aye… a long story.”
“I have nothing but time, and no books with which to fill it. Tell me.”
So I told Master John of the scandal of the betrayed confessional of the priest at St Andrew’s Chapel. And of the blackmail he plotted with Henry atte Bridge – and Henry’s brother, Thomas – of those who confessed to poaching, adultery, and cheating at their business.
“I came to Oxford this day to buy more ink and parchment so I may write of these felonies while details remain fresh in my memory.”
“And what stationer receives your custom?”
“Robert Caxton. It was you who sent me first to Caxton’s shop. You knew I would find more there than books, ink, and parchment.”
“I did? Yes, I remember now telling you of the new stationer, come from Cambridge with his daughter… ah, that is your meaning. I am slow of wit these days. I think of nothing but my books.”
“You did not guess I might be interested in the stationer’s daughter?”
“Nay,” Wyclif grimaced. “I surprise myself for my lack of perception. You are a young man with two good eyes. The stationer’s daughter…”
“Kate,” I said.
“Aye, Kate is a winsome lass.”
“She is. And this day I have gained her father’s permission to seek her as my wife.”
Master John’s doleful expression brightened. The corners of his mouth and eyes lifted into a grin. “I congratulate you, Hugh.”
“Do not be too quick to do so. I must woo and win her, and I fear for my ability.”
“I have no competency in such matters. You are on your own. ’Tis your competency solving puzzles I seek.”
“But I am already employed.”
Master John’s countenance fell. “I had not considered that,” he admitted. “Lord Gilbert requires your service… and pays well for it, I imagine.”
“Aye. I am well able to afford a wife.”
“But could not the town spare you for a week or two, until my books are found? Surely a surgeon… never mind. You see how little I heed other men’s troubles when I meet my own.”
“All men think first of themselves. Why should you be different?” I asked.
“Why? Because my misplaced esteem tells me I must. Do you not wish the same, Hugh? To be unlike the commons? They scratch when and where they itch and belch when and where they will and the letters on a page are as foreign to them as Malta.”
“But… I remember a lecture…”
Wyclif grimaced.
“… when you spoke of all men being the same when standing before God. No gentlemen, no villeins, all sinners.”
“Hah; run through by my own pike. ’Tis true. I recite the same sermon each year, but though we be all sinners, and all equally in need of God’s grace, all sins are not, on earth, equal, as they may be in God’s eyes. Else all punishments would be the same, regardless of the crime.”
“And what would be a fitting penalty for one who stole twenty books?”
Wyclif scowled again. “Twenty-two,” he muttered. “My thoughts change daily,” he continued. “When I first discovered the offense I raged about the Hall threatening the thief with a noose.”
“And now?”
Master John smiled grimly. “I have thought much on that. Was the thief a poor man needing to keep his children from starvation, I might ask no penalty at all, so long as my books be returned. But if the miscreant be another scholar, with means to purchase his own books, I would see him fined heavily and driven from Oxford, and never permitted to study here again, or teach, be he a master.
“Both holy and secular wisdom,” Wyclif mused, “teach that we must not do to another what we find objectionable when done to us. No man should hold a place at Oxford who denies both God and Aristotle.”
“You think an Oxford man has done this?”
Wyclif chewed upon a fingernail, then spoke. “Who else would want my books, or know their worth?”
“That, it seems to me, is the crux of the matter,” I replied. “Some scholar wished to add to his library, or needed money, and saw your books as a way to raise funds.”
As it happened, there was a third reason a man might wish to rob Master John of his books, but that explanation for the theft did not occur to me until later.
“I am lost,” Wyclif sighed. “I am a master with no books, and I see no way to retrieve them.”
I felt guilty that, for all his aid given to me, I could offer no assistance to the scholar. I could but commiserate, cluck my tongue, and sit in his presence with a long face.
The autumn sun set behind the old Oxford Castle keep while we talked. Wyclif was about to speak again when a small bell sounded from across the courtyard.
“Supper,” he explained, and invited me to follow him to the refectory.
Scholars at Canterbury Hall are fed well, but simply. For this supper there were loaves of maslin – wheat and barley – cheese, a pease pottage flavored with bits of pork, and tankards of watered ale. I wondered at the pork, for some of the scholars were Benedictines. Students peered up from under lowered brows as we entered. They all knew of the theft, and, I considered later, suspected each other of complicity in the deed.
A watery autumn sun struggled to rise above the forest and water meadow east of Oxford when I awoke next morning. Wyclif bid me farewell with stooped shoulders and eyes dark from lack of sleep. I wished the scholar well, and expressed my prayer that his books be speedily recovered. Master John believes in prayer, but my promise to petition our Lord Christ on his behalf seemed to bring him small comfort. I think he would rather have my time and effort than my prayers. Or would have both. Prayers may be offered cheaply. They require small effort from men, and much from God. The Lord Christ has told us we may ask of Him what we will, but I suspect He would be pleased to see men set to their work, and call upon Him only when tasks be beyond them.
I thought on this as I walked through the awakening lanes of Oxford to Holywell Street and Robert Caxton’s shop. Was it really my duty to Lord Gilbert which prevented me from seeking Wyclif’s stolen books, or was I too slothful to do aught but pray for their return? I did not like the answer which came to me.
As I approached the stationer’s shop I saw a tall young man standing before it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The fellow was no scholar. He wore a deep red cotehardie, cut short to show a good leg. His chauces were parti-colored, grey and black, and his cap ended in a long yellow liripipe coiled stylishly about his head. The color of his cap surprised me. All who visit London know that the whores of that city are required by law to wear yellow caps so respectable maidens and wives be left unmolested on the street. He was shod in fine leather, and the pointed toes of his shoes curled up in ungainly fashion.
The fellow seemed impatient; while I watched he strode purposefully past Caxton’s shop, then reversed his steps and walked past in the opposite direction, toward my approach. I drew closer to the shop, so that at each turn I could see his face more clearly. His countenance and beard were dark, as were his eyes. The beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes peered at my approach from above an impressive nose – although, unlike mine, his nose pointed straight out at the world, whereas mine turns to the dexter side. He seemed about my own age – twenty-five years or so. He was broad of shoulder and yet slender, but good living was beginning to produce a paunch.
I slowed my pace as I approached the shuttered shop. Caxton would open his business soon, and I assumed this dandy needed parchment, ink, or a book, although he did not seem the type to be much interested in words on a page.
I stood in the street, keeping the impatient coxcomb company, until Robert Caxton opened his shop door and pushed up his shutters to begin business for the day. The stationer looked from me to his other customer and I thought his eyes widened. I bowed to the other client and motioned him to precede me into the shop. He was there before me.
The morning sun was low in the southeast, and did not penetrate far into the shop. But dark as the place was, I could see that Kate was not within. He of the red cotehardie saw the same, and spoke before I could.
“Is Mistress Kate at leisure?” he asked.
Caxton glanced at me, then answered, “Near so. Preparing a pot of ink in the workroom. Be done shortly.”
“I’ll wait,” the fellow said with a smile. “’Tis a pleasant morning. And if Kate has no other concerns, I’d have her walk with me along the water meadow.”
He might as well have swatted me over my skull with a ridge pole. My jaw went slack and I fear both Caxton and this unknown suitor got a fine view of my tonsils.
Robert Caxton was not so discomfited that he forgot his manners. He introduced me to Sir Simon Trillowe. A knight. And of some relation to the new sheriff of Oxford, I guessed.
When he learned that I was but a surgeon and bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot, Sir Simon nodded briefly and turned away, his actions speaking what polite words could not: I was beneath his rank and unworthy of his consideration.
“We heard naught of you for many months, Master Hugh,” Caxton remarked.
This was true. I had neglected pursuit of Kate Caxton while about Lord Gilbert’s business in Bampton. And, to be true, I feared Kate might dismiss my suit should I press it. A man cannot be disappointed in love who does not seek it.
“No doubt a bailiff has much to occupy his time,” the stationer continued.
Sir Simon doubtless thought that I was but a customer, not that I was in competition with him for the fair Kate. He would learn that soon enough.
The door to Caxton’s workroom was open. Kate surely heard this exchange, which was a good thing. It gave her opportunity to compose herself. A moment later she entered the shop, carrying my pot of promised ink, and bestowed a tranquil smile upon both me and Sir Simon. I smiled in return, Trillowe did not. Perhaps he had guessed already that it was not ink I most wished to take from Caxton’s shop.
“Mistress Kate,” Sir Simon stepped toward her as she passed through the door. “’Tis a pleasant autumn morn… there will be few more before winter. Perhaps we might walk the path along the Cherwell… if your father can spare you for the morning.”
With these words Trillowe turned to the stationer. Caxton shrugged a reply.
“Good.” Sir Simon offered his arm and, with a brief smile and raised brows in my direction, Kate set the pot of ink on her father’s table and took Trillowe’s arm. They departed the shop wordlessly.
Caxton apparently thought some explanation in order. “You didn’t call through the summer. Kate thought you’d no interest. I told her last night you’d asked to pay court. But Sir Simon’s been by a dozen times since Lammas Day… others, too.”
“Others?”
“Aye. My Kate does draw lads to the shop. None has asked me might they pay court, though. But for you.”
“Not Sir Simon?”
“Nay. Second son of the sheriff, and a knight. He’ll not ask leave of one like me to do aught.”
“And Kate returns his interest?”
Caxton shrugged. “She’s walked out with him three times now. A knight, mind you. And son of the sheriff. Can’t blame a lass for that.”
“No,” I agreed.
“Can’t think how his father’d be pleased, though. A stationer’s daughter! A scandal in Oxford Castle when word gets out, as it surely has, by now,” Caxton mused.
“Aye. What lands his father may hold will pass to his brother. The sheriff will want Sir Simon seeking a wife with lands of her own.”
I hoped that was so. But if a second or third son acts to displease his father, it is difficult to correct him. How can a man disinherit a son who is due to receive little or nothing anyway? So if a son courting Kate Caxton displeased the sheriff of Oxford, such offense might escape retribution. This thought did not bring me joy.
But I had come to Oxford on that October day, Monday, the twentieth, in the year of our Lord 1365, to see what progress I might make to remedy my solitary estate. I left my horse at the stable behind the Stag and Hounds and went straightaway to Robert Caxton’s shop, where the stationer’s comely daughter, Kate, helped attract business from the bachelor scholars, masters, clerks, and lawyers who infest Oxford like fleas on a hound.
My pretended reason to visit Caxton’s shop was to purchase a gathering of parchment and a fresh pot of ink. I needed these to conclude my record of the deaths of Alan the beadle and of Henry atte Bridge. Alan’s corpse was found, three days before Good Friday, near to St Andrew’s Chapel, to the east of Bampton. And Henry, who it was who slew Alan, was found in a wood to the north of the town. As bailiff of Bampton Castle it was my business to sort out these murders, which I did, but not before I was attacked on the road returning from Witney and twice clubbed about the head in nocturnal churchyards. Had I known such assaults lay in my future, I might have rejected Lord Gilbert Talbot’s offer to serve as his bailiff at Bampton Castle and remained but Hugh the surgeon, of Oxford High Street.
Kate promised to prepare a fresh pot of ink, which I might have next day, and when she quit the shop to continue her duties in the workroom I spoke to her father. Robert Caxton surely knew the effect Kate had upon young men. He displayed no surprise when I asked leave to court his daughter.
I had feared raised eyebrows at best, and perhaps a refusal. I am but a surgeon and a bailiff. Surgeons own little prestige in Oxford, full of physicians as it is, and few honest men wish to see a daughter wed to a bailiff. There were surely sons of wealthy Oxford burghers, and young masters of the law, set on a path to wealth, who had eyes for the comely Kate. But Caxton nodded agreement when I requested his permission to pay court to his daughter. Perhaps my earlier service to mend his wounded back helped my suit.
I left the stationer’s shop with both joy and apprehension. The joy you will understand, or would had you seen Kate and spent time in her presence. I was apprehensive because next day I must begin a thing for which I had no training and in which I had little experience. While at Balliol College I was too much absorbed in my set books to concern myself with the proper way to impress a lass, and none of those volumes dealt with the subject. Certainly the study of logic avoided the topic. Since then my duties as surgeon and bailiff allowed small opportunity to practice discourse with a maiden. And there are few females of my age and station in Bampton.
I made my way from Caxton’s shop on Holywell Street to Catte Street and thence to the gate of Canterbury Hall, on Schidyard Street. As I walked I composed speeches in my mind with which I might impress Kate Caxton. I had forgotten most of these inventions by next day. This was just as well.
Master John Wyclif, former Master of Balliol College and my teacher there, was newly appointed Warden of Canterbury Hall. Several months earlier, frustrated at my inability to discover who had slain Alan the beadle and Henry atte Bridge, I had called upon Master John to lament my ignorance and seek his wisdom. He provided encouragement, and an empty chamber in the Hall where I might stay the night, safe from the snores and vermin at the Stag and Hounds.
When I left him those months earlier he enjoined me to call when I was next in Oxford and tell him of the resolution of these mysteries. At the time of his request I was not sure there ever would be a resolution to the business.
But there was, and so I sought Master John to tell him of it, and seek again his charity and an empty cell for the night. The porter recognized me, and sent me to Master John’s chamber. I expected to find him bent over a book, as was his usual posture when I called. But not so. He opened the door to my knock, recognized me, and blurted, “Master Hugh… they’ve stolen my books.”
The greeting startled me. I peered over the scholar’s shoulder as if I expected to see the miscreants and the plundered volumes. I saw Master John’s table, and a cupboard where his books were kept. Both were bare. He turned to follow my gaze.
“Gone,” he whispered. “All of them.”
“Who?” I asked stupidly. Had Master John known that, he would have set after the thieves and recovered the books. Or sent the sheriff to do so.
“I know not,” Wyclif replied. “I went to my supper three days past. When I returned the books were gone… even the volume I left open on my table.”
Master John is not a wealthy man. He has the living of Fillingham, and the prebend of Aust, but these provide a thin subsistence for an Oxford master of arts at work on a degree in theology. The loss of books accumulated in a life of study would be a blow to any scholar, rich or poor.
“The porter saw no stranger enter or leave the Hall while we supped,” Wyclif continued. “I went next day to the sheriff, but Sir John has other matters to mind.”
“Sir John?”
“Aye. Roger de Cottesford is replaced. The new high sheriff is Sir John Trillowe.”
“He offered no aid?”
“He sent a sergeant ’round to the stationers in the town, to see did any man come to them with books he offered to sell. Two I borrowed from Nicholas de Redyng. He will grieve to learn they are lost.”
“And the stationers… they have been offered no books?”
“None of mine missing. And Sir John has no interest, I think, in pursuing my loss further.”
The colleges have always wished to rule themselves, free of interference from the town and its government. No doubt the sheriff was minded to allow Canterbury Hall the freedom to apprehend its own thief, without his aid or interference.
“How many?”
“My books? Twenty… and the two borrowed.”
I performed some mental arithmetic. Master John read my thoughts.
“The books I borrowed from Master Nicholas… one was Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, worth near thirty shillings. One of mine was of paper, a cheap-set book, but the others were of parchment and well bound.”
“Your loss is great, then. Twenty pounds or more.”
“Aye,” Wyclif sighed. “Four were of my own devising. Some might say they were worth little. But the others… Aristotle, Grossteste, Boethius, all gone.”
Master John sighed again, and gazed about his chamber as if the stolen books were but misplaced, and with closer inspection of dark corners might yet be discovered.
“I am pleased to see you,” Master John continued. “I had thought to send for you.”
“For me?”
“Aye. I have hope that you will seek my stolen books and see them returned to me.”
“Me? Surely the sheriff…”
“Sir John is not interested in any crime for which the solution will not bring him a handsome fine. Rumor is he paid King Edward sixty pounds for the office. He will be about recouping his investment, not seeking stolen books.
“And you are skilled at solving mysteries,” Wyclif continued. “You found who ’twas in Lord Gilbert’s cesspit, and unless I mistake me, you know by now who killed your beadle and the fellow found slain in the forest. Well, do you not?”
“Aye. It was as I thought. Henry atte Bridge, found dead in the wood, slew Alan the beadle. Alan had followed him during the night as Henry took a haunch of venison poached from Lord Gilbert’s forest, to the curate at St Andrew’s Chapel.”
“Venison? To a priest?”
“Aye… a long story.”
“I have nothing but time, and no books with which to fill it. Tell me.”
So I told Master John of the scandal of the betrayed confessional of the priest at St Andrew’s Chapel. And of the blackmail he plotted with Henry atte Bridge – and Henry’s brother, Thomas – of those who confessed to poaching, adultery, and cheating at their business.
“I came to Oxford this day to buy more ink and parchment so I may write of these felonies while details remain fresh in my memory.”
“And what stationer receives your custom?”
“Robert Caxton. It was you who sent me first to Caxton’s shop. You knew I would find more there than books, ink, and parchment.”
“I did? Yes, I remember now telling you of the new stationer, come from Cambridge with his daughter… ah, that is your meaning. I am slow of wit these days. I think of nothing but my books.”
“You did not guess I might be interested in the stationer’s daughter?”
“Nay,” Wyclif grimaced. “I surprise myself for my lack of perception. You are a young man with two good eyes. The stationer’s daughter…”
“Kate,” I said.
“Aye, Kate is a winsome lass.”
“She is. And this day I have gained her father’s permission to seek her as my wife.”
Master John’s doleful expression brightened. The corners of his mouth and eyes lifted into a grin. “I congratulate you, Hugh.”
“Do not be too quick to do so. I must woo and win her, and I fear for my ability.”
“I have no competency in such matters. You are on your own. ’Tis your competency solving puzzles I seek.”
“But I am already employed.”
Master John’s countenance fell. “I had not considered that,” he admitted. “Lord Gilbert requires your service… and pays well for it, I imagine.”
“Aye. I am well able to afford a wife.”
“But could not the town spare you for a week or two, until my books are found? Surely a surgeon… never mind. You see how little I heed other men’s troubles when I meet my own.”
“All men think first of themselves. Why should you be different?” I asked.
“Why? Because my misplaced esteem tells me I must. Do you not wish the same, Hugh? To be unlike the commons? They scratch when and where they itch and belch when and where they will and the letters on a page are as foreign to them as Malta.”
“But… I remember a lecture…”
Wyclif grimaced.
“… when you spoke of all men being the same when standing before God. No gentlemen, no villeins, all sinners.”
“Hah; run through by my own pike. ’Tis true. I recite the same sermon each year, but though we be all sinners, and all equally in need of God’s grace, all sins are not, on earth, equal, as they may be in God’s eyes. Else all punishments would be the same, regardless of the crime.”
“And what would be a fitting penalty for one who stole twenty books?”
Wyclif scowled again. “Twenty-two,” he muttered. “My thoughts change daily,” he continued. “When I first discovered the offense I raged about the Hall threatening the thief with a noose.”
“And now?”
Master John smiled grimly. “I have thought much on that. Was the thief a poor man needing to keep his children from starvation, I might ask no penalty at all, so long as my books be returned. But if the miscreant be another scholar, with means to purchase his own books, I would see him fined heavily and driven from Oxford, and never permitted to study here again, or teach, be he a master.
“Both holy and secular wisdom,” Wyclif mused, “teach that we must not do to another what we find objectionable when done to us. No man should hold a place at Oxford who denies both God and Aristotle.”
“You think an Oxford man has done this?”
Wyclif chewed upon a fingernail, then spoke. “Who else would want my books, or know their worth?”
“That, it seems to me, is the crux of the matter,” I replied. “Some scholar wished to add to his library, or needed money, and saw your books as a way to raise funds.”
As it happened, there was a third reason a man might wish to rob Master John of his books, but that explanation for the theft did not occur to me until later.
“I am lost,” Wyclif sighed. “I am a master with no books, and I see no way to retrieve them.”
I felt guilty that, for all his aid given to me, I could offer no assistance to the scholar. I could but commiserate, cluck my tongue, and sit in his presence with a long face.
The autumn sun set behind the old Oxford Castle keep while we talked. Wyclif was about to speak again when a small bell sounded from across the courtyard.
“Supper,” he explained, and invited me to follow him to the refectory.
Scholars at Canterbury Hall are fed well, but simply. For this supper there were loaves of maslin – wheat and barley – cheese, a pease pottage flavored with bits of pork, and tankards of watered ale. I wondered at the pork, for some of the scholars were Benedictines. Students peered up from under lowered brows as we entered. They all knew of the theft, and, I considered later, suspected each other of complicity in the deed.
A watery autumn sun struggled to rise above the forest and water meadow east of Oxford when I awoke next morning. Wyclif bid me farewell with stooped shoulders and eyes dark from lack of sleep. I wished the scholar well, and expressed my prayer that his books be speedily recovered. Master John believes in prayer, but my promise to petition our Lord Christ on his behalf seemed to bring him small comfort. I think he would rather have my time and effort than my prayers. Or would have both. Prayers may be offered cheaply. They require small effort from men, and much from God. The Lord Christ has told us we may ask of Him what we will, but I suspect He would be pleased to see men set to their work, and call upon Him only when tasks be beyond them.
I thought on this as I walked through the awakening lanes of Oxford to Holywell Street and Robert Caxton’s shop. Was it really my duty to Lord Gilbert which prevented me from seeking Wyclif’s stolen books, or was I too slothful to do aught but pray for their return? I did not like the answer which came to me.
As I approached the stationer’s shop I saw a tall young man standing before it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The fellow was no scholar. He wore a deep red cotehardie, cut short to show a good leg. His chauces were parti-colored, grey and black, and his cap ended in a long yellow liripipe coiled stylishly about his head. The color of his cap surprised me. All who visit London know that the whores of that city are required by law to wear yellow caps so respectable maidens and wives be left unmolested on the street. He was shod in fine leather, and the pointed toes of his shoes curled up in ungainly fashion.
The fellow seemed impatient; while I watched he strode purposefully past Caxton’s shop, then reversed his steps and walked past in the opposite direction, toward my approach. I drew closer to the shop, so that at each turn I could see his face more clearly. His countenance and beard were dark, as were his eyes. The beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes peered at my approach from above an impressive nose – although, unlike mine, his nose pointed straight out at the world, whereas mine turns to the dexter side. He seemed about my own age – twenty-five years or so. He was broad of shoulder and yet slender, but good living was beginning to produce a paunch.
I slowed my pace as I approached the shuttered shop. Caxton would open his business soon, and I assumed this dandy needed parchment, ink, or a book, although he did not seem the type to be much interested in words on a page.
I stood in the street, keeping the impatient coxcomb company, until Robert Caxton opened his shop door and pushed up his shutters to begin business for the day. The stationer looked from me to his other customer and I thought his eyes widened. I bowed to the other client and motioned him to precede me into the shop. He was there before me.
The morning sun was low in the southeast, and did not penetrate far into the shop. But dark as the place was, I could see that Kate was not within. He of the red cotehardie saw the same, and spoke before I could.
“Is Mistress Kate at leisure?” he asked.
Caxton glanced at me, then answered, “Near so. Preparing a pot of ink in the workroom. Be done shortly.”
“I’ll wait,” the fellow said with a smile. “’Tis a pleasant morning. And if Kate has no other concerns, I’d have her walk with me along the water meadow.”
He might as well have swatted me over my skull with a ridge pole. My jaw went slack and I fear both Caxton and this unknown suitor got a fine view of my tonsils.
Robert Caxton was not so discomfited that he forgot his manners. He introduced me to Sir Simon Trillowe. A knight. And of some relation to the new sheriff of Oxford, I guessed.
When he learned that I was but a surgeon and bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot, Sir Simon nodded briefly and turned away, his actions speaking what polite words could not: I was beneath his rank and unworthy of his consideration.
“We heard naught of you for many months, Master Hugh,” Caxton remarked.
This was true. I had neglected pursuit of Kate Caxton while about Lord Gilbert’s business in Bampton. And, to be true, I feared Kate might dismiss my suit should I press it. A man cannot be disappointed in love who does not seek it.
“No doubt a bailiff has much to occupy his time,” the stationer continued.
Sir Simon doubtless thought that I was but a customer, not that I was in competition with him for the fair Kate. He would learn that soon enough.
The door to Caxton’s workroom was open. Kate surely heard this exchange, which was a good thing. It gave her opportunity to compose herself. A moment later she entered the shop, carrying my pot of promised ink, and bestowed a tranquil smile upon both me and Sir Simon. I smiled in return, Trillowe did not. Perhaps he had guessed already that it was not ink I most wished to take from Caxton’s shop.
“Mistress Kate,” Sir Simon stepped toward her as she passed through the door. “’Tis a pleasant autumn morn… there will be few more before winter. Perhaps we might walk the path along the Cherwell… if your father can spare you for the morning.”
With these words Trillowe turned to the stationer. Caxton shrugged a reply.
“Good.” Sir Simon offered his arm and, with a brief smile and raised brows in my direction, Kate set the pot of ink on her father’s table and took Trillowe’s arm. They departed the shop wordlessly.
Caxton apparently thought some explanation in order. “You didn’t call through the summer. Kate thought you’d no interest. I told her last night you’d asked to pay court. But Sir Simon’s been by a dozen times since Lammas Day… others, too.”
“Others?”
“Aye. My Kate does draw lads to the shop. None has asked me might they pay court, though. But for you.”
“Not Sir Simon?”
“Nay. Second son of the sheriff, and a knight. He’ll not ask leave of one like me to do aught.”
“And Kate returns his interest?”
Caxton shrugged. “She’s walked out with him three times now. A knight, mind you. And son of the sheriff. Can’t blame a lass for that.”
“No,” I agreed.
“Can’t think how his father’d be pleased, though. A stationer’s daughter! A scandal in Oxford Castle when word gets out, as it surely has, by now,” Caxton mused.
“Aye. What lands his father may hold will pass to his brother. The sheriff will want Sir Simon seeking a wife with lands of her own.”
I hoped that was so. But if a second or third son acts to displease his father, it is difficult to correct him. How can a man disinherit a son who is due to receive little or nothing anyway? So if a son courting Kate Caxton displeased the sheriff of Oxford, such offense might escape retribution. This thought did not bring me joy.
This Day in Literary History
Lolly Willowes, or The Loving Huntsman, the first Book-of-the-Month Club selection, is published by Viking Press.
The book was written by English novelist Sylvia Townsend Warner, who had intended to become a musicologist, not a writer. To that end, she edited a 10-volume work called Tudor Church Music. Warner claimed she became a poet and fiction writer accidentally when she ran across a piece of paper with "a particularly tempting surface." She was intensely interested in established religions and the occult and used her knowledge of witchcraft in Lolly Willowes, a story about a widow who scandalizes her relations by moving to a town involved in witchcraft.
The Book-of-the-Month Club's 4,000-plus members were not pleased with the novel. However, Warner was used to being controversial. As an openly gay woman in the early 1900s, she was the object of much hostility throughout her life. Warner later published 144 short stories in the New Yorker, as well as more novels, poetry, and translations. She died in 1978 in Dorset, England.
Originally published on History.com. Click below to get your copy.
The book was written by English novelist Sylvia Townsend Warner, who had intended to become a musicologist, not a writer. To that end, she edited a 10-volume work called Tudor Church Music. Warner claimed she became a poet and fiction writer accidentally when she ran across a piece of paper with "a particularly tempting surface." She was intensely interested in established religions and the occult and used her knowledge of witchcraft in Lolly Willowes, a story about a widow who scandalizes her relations by moving to a town involved in witchcraft.
The Book-of-the-Month Club's 4,000-plus members were not pleased with the novel. However, Warner was used to being controversial. As an openly gay woman in the early 1900s, she was the object of much hostility throughout her life. Warner later published 144 short stories in the New Yorker, as well as more novels, poetry, and translations. She died in 1978 in Dorset, England.
Originally published on History.com. Click below to get your copy.
Book Review: The Altar of Bones
Title: The Altar of Bones
Author: Philip Carter
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published Date: March 8, 2011
ISBN: 978-1-4391-9908-4
Pages: 455
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher for my honest review.
Synopsis:
In San Fransicso, a homeless woman is fatally stabbed by an assailant she's been expecting for years-and her cryptic last words unlock a decades buried secret that changed history.
In Galveston, an old man makes a chilling death bed confession-"I am not who you think I am"- that serves as a warning of deceit and deception to his sons.
In Massachusetts, a cold-blooded female assassin makes an insidious pact with a corporate billionaire over a highly incriminating film.
Each of these people has ties with a woman who, decadeas ago, fled a Soviet prison camp with an ancient knowledge people would sell their souls to possess.
Drawn in to this web of danger are Ry O'Malley, a mad desperate to outrun his own deadly fate; and oe Dmitroff, a San Francisco attorney who recognizes the slain homeless woman-a woman she was told had died nearly half a century ago.
No one can be trusted in the corrosive game of cat and mouse that ensues-one that spans a century, from the frozen Siberian terrian to the serpentine streets of Paris, from the shocking revelations of a doomed Hollywood legend to the deadly machinations of the KGB and the highest office of the United States...and ultimately to the guardians of an ancient religious icon.
From revelation to startling revelation, Philip Carter keeps the pages turning and the imagination running wild, in a razor-sharp thriller that sets a new standard for compulsive international suspense.
About the Author:
Philip Carter is a pseudonym for an internationally renowned author.
My review:
The book is fantastic. It is reminiscent of Dan Brown and The DaVinci Code, yet it is sure to be a best seller in its own right. The book is fast paced and kept me guessing as to what the outcome would be. I like to think I have it figured out, only to be shocked and surprised at the twists and turns I did not expect and this is exactly what Carter does. I could not put this book down and am in hopes this author has another book out soon. I have just found a new favorite suspense author to add to my shelves.
Author: Philip Carter
Publisher: Gallery Books
Published Date: March 8, 2011
ISBN: 978-1-4391-9908-4
Pages: 455
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher for my honest review.
Synopsis:
In San Fransicso, a homeless woman is fatally stabbed by an assailant she's been expecting for years-and her cryptic last words unlock a decades buried secret that changed history.
In Galveston, an old man makes a chilling death bed confession-"I am not who you think I am"- that serves as a warning of deceit and deception to his sons.
In Massachusetts, a cold-blooded female assassin makes an insidious pact with a corporate billionaire over a highly incriminating film.
Each of these people has ties with a woman who, decadeas ago, fled a Soviet prison camp with an ancient knowledge people would sell their souls to possess.
Drawn in to this web of danger are Ry O'Malley, a mad desperate to outrun his own deadly fate; and oe Dmitroff, a San Francisco attorney who recognizes the slain homeless woman-a woman she was told had died nearly half a century ago.
No one can be trusted in the corrosive game of cat and mouse that ensues-one that spans a century, from the frozen Siberian terrian to the serpentine streets of Paris, from the shocking revelations of a doomed Hollywood legend to the deadly machinations of the KGB and the highest office of the United States...and ultimately to the guardians of an ancient religious icon.
From revelation to startling revelation, Philip Carter keeps the pages turning and the imagination running wild, in a razor-sharp thriller that sets a new standard for compulsive international suspense.
About the Author:
Philip Carter is a pseudonym for an internationally renowned author.
My review:
The book is fantastic. It is reminiscent of Dan Brown and The DaVinci Code, yet it is sure to be a best seller in its own right. The book is fast paced and kept me guessing as to what the outcome would be. I like to think I have it figured out, only to be shocked and surprised at the twists and turns I did not expect and this is exactly what Carter does. I could not put this book down and am in hopes this author has another book out soon. I have just found a new favorite suspense author to add to my shelves.
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