Announcing: ‘Betrothed to the Red Dragon’

Tags

Betrothed to the Red Dragon, Guinevere, Historical Fiction, King Arthur, medieval, Middle Ages

Today is launch day for my short story “Betrothed to the Red Dragon,” my interpretation of Arthur and Guinevere—or Artorius and Gwenhwyfar as I call them—and why they marry.

This is somewhat intimidating. There are countless interpretations of the legends and the characters, and yet here I am, adding my version to the mix.

My story is based on a legend that places Gwenhwyfar as monarch and Artorius as a general. The dynamic of a woman holding power in her own right intrigued me.

The plot is my imagination, but the setting and culture are as true as I can make them. The story takes place in fifth century Britain, when very little was written down, and the accounts are biased. We don’t even know if Arthur existed.

My Gwenhwyfar is a strong-willed queen, content to rule alone, but the Saxons are fighting their way west. When her own captain dies, she turns to an outsider—the general Artorius—for assistance. What he wants in return is more than she bargained for: her hand in marriage.

You will need to read the story to see how this turns out, and you can get it on Amazon. If you have Prime or Kindle Unlimited, it’s free. Get “Betrothed to the Red Dragon” now.

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Did I Get Age 50 Right?

Tags

Historical Fiction, Medieval Nun, Sister Elisabeth, The Ashes of Heaven's Pillar, The Cross and the Dragon, Turning 50

Sometimes I feel like a fraud as I write my novels. How could I know what it’s like to be an early medieval teenager whose family is seeking a husband for her to build a political alliance? How could I have any inkling of what it’s like to be an adolescent boy of any era, let alone the Middle Ages?

This comes to mind as my 50th birthday draws near and I think about Sister Elisabeth, a nun who appears in The Cross and the Dragon and The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar. I created her when I was in my 30s and needed a motherly character to take care of my wounded hero in my first novel.

A Benedictine nun from F.A. Gasquet’s 1904 English Monastic Life (public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

At the time I was revising the manuscript, a couple of my critique partners were going through menopause, and I appropriated their experiences. Describing Elisabeth’s hot flashes and insomnia was a way to establish her age. And those symptoms helped make her real to me.

In a couple of weeks, I will be Elisabeth’s age. My first thought was I would soon learn if I indeed got the 50-year-old Elisabeth right, although I know my wonderful critique partners would never steer me wrong. But the truth is, everyone’s experience with this age is different, and more important, Elisabeth’s life as a 50-year-old in 8th century Aquitaine is a lot different from mine in 21st century America.

Elisabeth did not have angst over a milestone. Like most early medieval people, Elisabeth doesn’t know her exact age, yet she is well aware she has lived longer than most people, especially the women who died in childbirth. Her father chose the convent for her—no medieval child was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up—and she runs a hospital. All her life, Elisabeth has been reminded of what awaits her in the afterlife. She is keenly aware of her mortality but knows she still has a lot to contribute.

I enjoyed writing about Elisabeth, and she struck a chord with my critique partners. As I confront stereotypes about what older women should be—witch (or something that rhymes with “witch”) or sweet, submissive little old lady—she strikes that same chord with me. Elisabeth is neither harridan nor pushover. She is devout yet devious when she needs to be, and she is a competent leader with intelligence, compassion, and courage.

Charlemagne: Hero or Villain?

Tags

Charlemagne, Dark Ages, Franks, Historical Fiction, historical novelists, medieval, Middle Ages, Queen of the Darkest Hour, The Ashes of Heaven's Pillar, The Cross and the Dragon

Did Charlemagne unite his country when he seized his dead brother’s kingdom from his toddling nephews? Did he save Rome from the invading Lombards? Did he destroy the Irminsul, a pillar sacred to the Continental Saxon peoples? Did he have his daughters educated along with sons? Did he cut his eldest son from the succession?

All of the above. Whether those actions make him a hero or a monster depends on whose side you’re on. Or in in the case of a historical novelist, which character’s point of view.

Alda, a Frankish aristocrat and heroine of The Cross and the Dragon, sees him as a hero. She follows the gossip about tensions between Charles and his younger brother, Carloman, each of whom inherited a kingdom when their father died. After Carloman’s death from an illness, she is relieved a strong leader takes over the entire realm, even though it means the king divorces a Lombard princess and marries a girl from an important family in Carloman’s former kingdom. Alda has little sympathy for Charles’s ex-father-in-law, Lombard King Desiderius, and supports the Franks’ invasion to save Rome from him.

Charlemagne reçoit la soumission de Widukind à Paderborn (1840), by Ary Scheffer (public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

Leova, a pagan, peasant Saxon and the heroine of The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar, has a very different take. In her eyes, Charles is a monster. His 772 invasion of Eresburg and the burning of the Irminsul ruin the good life she had. She has lost everything – her husband, her home, her faith, even her freedom. All she has left are her children, Deorlaf and Sunwynn. The only Frank she loathes more than Charles is Pinabel, a count who could have preserved the Saxon family’s freedom but bought them as slaves instead.

Fastrada, the heroine of my work in progress Queen of the Darkest Hour, has yet another perspective. As Charles’s fourth wife, she sees him as a husband and father. Pepin, Charles’s son from his first marriage, is angry with his dad because he feels cheated out of his inheritance.

So who was this guy we today call Charlemagne? It depends on whom you ask.

This post was originally published Sept. 1, 2014, at So Many Books, So Little Time.

Ganelon: the Villain of ‘The Song of Roland’

Tags

Charlemagne, Ganelon, Historical Fiction, medieval, Middle Ages, Roland, The Cross and the Dragon, The Song of Roland

What would be so despicable that the only justice is to tie the offender’s hands and feet to four stallions, have a mare nearby, and let them tear him apart? On top of that, 30 of his kinsmen are hanged—death by slow strangulation—and a buddy is slain in a duel.

Such is the fate of Ganelon, the villain of The Song of Roland, forever branded a traitor.

First a little context. Believed to have been written in the latter part of the 11th century, The Song of Roland is a medieval form of historical fiction, light on the historical and heavy on the fiction. The anonymous Old French epic says a lot about taking a stand against overwhelming odds, but it departs from the actual events that inspired it.

In reality, the retreating Franks were ambushed in 778 by Christian Basques at the Pass of Roncevaux in the Pyrenees, a defeat so traumatic that no one wrote about it while King Charles (Charlemagne) was alive.

Fast forward three centuries near the time of the first Crusades, and suddenly, the Muslim Saracens are the enemy. The war has lasted seven years instead of a few months. And now we have a traitor to blame for the defeat, Ganelon. The author might have been inspired to name his villain after Guenelon (also spelled Vénilon), a ninth-century bishop of Sens who crowned Charlemagne’s grandson Charles and later changed his allegiance.

Of course, a love-to-hate villain is great for storytelling, but I wonder if the author was trying to convey another message. French forces were superior, so good that only a betrayal would defeat them. Perhaps, the author was drawing a parallel to Jesus, who died because of Judas’s betrayal.

A 14th century depiction of the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, as portrayed in The Song of Roland, which took many creative liberties (public domain image via Wikimedia Commons).

In the poem, our hero, Roland, volunteers his stepfather, Ganelon, to convey the terms of Charlemagne’s treaty with Saracen King Marsil, who has just made an offer for peace. Ganelon is angry—two others guys who tried this were beheaded.

After relaying his emperor’s terms to Marsil, Ganelon reveals how the Saracen can defeat Charlemagne: get rid of Roland. Ganelon instructs Marsil to give Charlemagne gifts and hostages and wait until Charlemagne’s army withdraws, leaving the rearguard behind. Marsil then can attack with overwhelming numbers. Ganelon swears fealty to Marsil and gets treasures.

Roland is appointed to the rear guard at Ganelon’s behest, and sure enough, the Saracens ambush the Frankish rear guard. Roland and his companions fight valiantly, and perhaps the redeeming message of the poem is how the heroes face their certain deaths. After stubbornly refusing to call for help, Roland blows his horn and dies, along with everyone else in the rear guard.

Hearing the call, Ganelon tries to convince Charlemagne that it wasn’t Roland’s horn and that there is no battle. But Charlemagne knows otherwise, and the Franks take revenge. In the meantime, Ganelon is chained and beaten by the kitchen staff and his beard is torn.

And then Ganelon’s story takes an interesting turn. Ganelon doesn’t deny what he did. Instead he shows up in Charlemagne’s presence with 30 of his kinsmen and says that he’s not guilty because he was taking revenge, not committing treason.

Inexplicably, the noblemen at the court are buying this, but not everyone. And so for even more drama, we have a trial by duel between the warrior Thierry and Ganelon’s champion and buddy, Pinabel. Now why would Ganelon, a warrior who has named his sword and rides a charger, need a champion? Was the poet trying to show what a wimp Ganelon was for not fighting his own battles? Given what happened to him after Pinabel is killed in the duel, Ganelon would have been better off taking his chances in a duel.

A 19th century illustration of the Inferno by Gustave Dure (public domain image via Wikimedia Commons)

Ganelon’s reputation as traitor follows him through time, as author Tinney Sue Heath explained in an earlier post. In the 14th century, Dante envisioned Ganelon in the lowest frozen parts of Hell, not that far away from where Satan gnaws on the traitors Brutus, Cassius, and Judas.

Ganelon is the villain of The Cross and the Dragon, but I portray him differently. Hruodland (Roland) and Ganelon come from two feuding families and are rivals for the heroine, Lady Alda. In my version of events, Ganelon is not a traitor, but don’t worry, there is still plenty to hate about him.

A version of this post was originally published at Unusual Historicals on April 22, 2013.

 

A New Life for ‘The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar’

Tags

Historical Fiction, historical novelists, medieval, Middle Ages, The Ashes of Heaven's Pillar

Icy helps me show The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar.

I feel like a truly independent author with today’s rerelease of my second novel, The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar.

Thanks to artist Jessica Kerkhoff, it has a new look. Inside, it’s the same book reviewers have called “captivating,” “triumphant,” “refreshing,” and “powerful.”

Here is the blurb:

772: Charlemagne’s battles in Saxony have left Leova with nothing but her two children, Deorlaf and Sunwynn. Her beloved husband died in combat. Her faith lies shattered in the ashes of the Irminsul, the Pillar of Heaven. The relatives obligated to defend her and her family instead sell them into slavery.

In Francia, Leova is resolved to protect her son and daughter, even if it means sacrificing her honor. Her determination only grows stronger as Sunwynn blossoms into a beautiful young woman attracting the lust of a cruel master and Deorlaf becomes a headstrong man willing to brave starvation and demons to free his family. Yet Leova’s most difficult dilemma comes in the form of a Frankish friend, Hugh. He saves Deorlaf from a fanatical Saxon and is Sunwynn’s champion—but he is the warrior who slew Leova’s husband.

Set against a backdrop of historic events, including the destruction of the Irminsul, The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar explores faith, friendship, and justice.

To those of you who’ve bought, read, or reviewed my book when it was first published, you have my gratitude. If you meant to get the book but didn’t quite get to it, here is your chance.

To celebrate my book’s new life, I’m giving away a signed paperback on Goodreads, open through Dec. 2 (see the widget below).

If you’d like to read the book right now, you can get it in either paperback or ebook at:

• Amazon
• Kobo
• Barnes & Noble
• iTunes
• CreateSpace
• Smashwords

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar

by Kim Rendfeld

Giveaway ends December 02, 2016.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

 

Coming Aug. 3, 2016: ‘The Cross and the Dragon’

Tags

Historical Fiction, historical novelists, medieval, Middle Ages, The Cross and the Dragon

My debut novel, The Cross and the Dragon, will be reintroduced to the world on Wednesday, Aug. 3, 2016, under my own imprint.

When all the rights to my books reverted to me in April, the path that made the most sense was to go indie—in other words, take on the role of publisher as well as author and promoter. The vast majority of people who’ve read The Cross and the Dragon and The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar loved them. So at this moment, I no longer want or need to prove myself to agents and editors.

This process is exciting and nerve-wracking for the same reasons—I make the decisions about the story, cover, prices, release date, and promotion, starting with this announcement about The Cross and the Dragon and the reveal of the beautiful new cover, designed by Jessica Kerkhoff.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t provide a little something on what The Cross and the Dragon is about:

Francia, 778, the tenth year of Charlemagne’s reign: Alda has never forgotten Ganelon’s vow of vengeance when she married his rival, Hruodland. Yet the jilted suitor’s malice is nothing compared to Alda’s premonition of disaster for her beloved, battle-scarred husband.

Although the army invading Hispania is the largest ever and King Charles has never lost a war, Alda cannot shake her anxiety. Determined to keep Hruodland from harm, even if it exposes her to danger, Alda gives him a charmed dragon amulet.

Is its magic enough to keep Alda’s worst fears from coming true—and protect her from Ganelon?

Inspired by legend and painstakingly researched, The Cross and the Dragon is a story of tenderness, sacrifice, lies, and revenge—a novel reviewers call “addictive,” “a delightfully entertaining and thrilling read,” and “a powerful tale.”

To the readers who supported me when The Cross and Dragon was first published by buying the book, writing a review, or spreading the word, you have my deep gratitude. And if you’ve been interested in the novel but didn’t get around to ordering a copy, here is your chance. Ebooks are available for preorder on Amazon. Print copies will be available on the launch date, and if you’d like a friendly reminder, email me at kim [at] kimrendfeld [dot] com.

Cross and Dragon‘s companion, The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar, will be rereleased in November.

Ugly Petras: Outcast but Free

Tags

19th century, Historical Fiction, historical novelists, Lithuanian Folklore, Ugly Petras

Today, I am happy to welcome Marina J. Neary back to Outtakes as she introduces her latest release, The Gate of Dawn, a dark folkloric thriller with pagan elements. Here, she shares a dark Lithuanian tale with moral underpinnings and emotional justice.

By Marina J. Neary

I wanted to thank Kim for hosting me. I have very much enjoyed her Carolingian novels, particularly her depiction of the religious atmosphere of early Christianity and residual paganism. The Baltics were among the last European regions to accept Christianity.

Much of the Lithuanian folklore is centralized. Like in any other tradition, some of the folklore is local and regional, confined to the villages in which they originated. It’s not hard to conceive that similar horror tales generated in different locations. They represent collective phobias. Abominations like rape, deformity, and child abandonment are universal.

The tale of Ugly Petras is one of those fairy tales. I learned it from my paternal grandmother who lived on the border between Lithuania and Belarus. The tale actually originated in the western part of Lithuania that was under Prussian rule in the 19th century. I incorporated it into my latest novel The Gate of Dawn, set in 1880s Lithuania that was under the rule of Czar Alexander III. Please read the excerpt below. A young man is telling a chilling tale to a girl after he had just seduced her. A very interesting choice of pillow talk material!

A Lithuanian bog, by Šarūnas Šimkus (released to the public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

***

“Once upon a time, there was a landlord. Let’s call him Adomas. His frigid and barren wife could not produce him an heir, so his attentions shifted onto a comely maid named Greta. Before long the girl fell pregnant. The landlord’s wife, a staunch keeper of morals, kicked Greta out of the house, to set an example for the rest of the servants. For months the hapless girl roamed the countryside, moving from village to village, hiding in the barns by night, eating whatever scraps were discarded. One midsummer morning she made a nest in the bog and birthed a boy as handsome as the young woodland god Velnias. She named him Aras, meaning Eagle. As soon as she clutched the hungry babe to her breast, another wave of pain came, and her body expelled a hideous being, her second son. Even the mischievous bog nixies scattered at the sight of him. Every limb was crooked, every feature was deformed. Greta fled in terror with Aras in her arms. She left her handsome son at the doorstep of the church and ran off, never to be seen again. That day Adomas came to mass. When the landlord beheld the boy’s features, he recognized him as his own. His wife did not object, though she looked particularly sullen that day.

“The deformed child was found by a witch named Vaida who lived in a cottage near the bog. He was so perfect in his ugliness that he made her black heart sing. She rejoiced in him more than Adomas rejoiced in his handsome son. Old Vaida adopted him and named him Petras, for the lad was sturdy as a rock. She taught him all her wicked tricks, all her pernicious spells. He knows how to conjure the water sprites and make them dance to his song. To this day Ugly Petras haunts the countryside, rummaging the barns and the chicken coops, where his mother once found refuge. His first retaliation was against his natural father, Adomas. The haughty landlord took leave of his senses and hanged himself on a cherry tree.

“But the handsome twin proved to have a noble and charitable heart. And though Aras never met Ugly Petras, he sensed that he had a brother, and always left a pitcher of ale and a slice of ham on the porch for him. Petras gobbled up the treats and cast spells of protection upon his brother’s estate. Since then no drought, no pestilence has plagued the land.”

***

Despite the gruesome images, I find the tale strangely life-affirming. It’s a celebration of brotherhood. Conceived in violence, separated physically and socially, the two brothers share a tacit bond. It really makes the reader wonder, which brother was more fortunate and in control of his destiny. Was it Aras, confined to a life of conformity as young lord of the manor, or Petras, banished from society and therefore freed from the constraints?

About The Gate of Dawn

Welcome to 1880s Vilnius, a volatile Northeastern metropolis where Balts, Germans, Poles, Russians, and Jews compete for a place in the sun. After sustaining fatal burns in a fire instigated by his rivals, textile magnate Hermann Lichtner spends his final days in a shabby infirmary. In a hasty and bizarre deathbed transaction he gives his fifteen-year-old daughter Renate in marriage to Thaddeus, a widowed Polish farmer who rejects social hierarchy and toils side by side with his peasants.

Renate’s arrival quickly disrupts the bucolic flow of life and antagonizes every member of the household. During an excursion to the city, Renate rekindles an affair with a young Jewish painter who sells his watercolors outside the Gate of Dawn chapel. While her despairing husband might look the other way, his servants will not stand by and watch while their adored master is humiliated.

Taking us from the cobblestone streets of old Vilnius, swarming with imperial gendarmes, to the misty bogs of rural Lithuania where pagan deities still rule, The Gate of Dawn is a folkloric tale of rivalry, conspiracy, and revenge.

It is available at Amazon and other vendors.

About Marina J. Neary

A self-centered only child of classical musicians, Marina Julia Neary spent her early years in Eastern Europe and came to the US at the age of 13. Her literary career revolves around depicting military and social disasters, from the Charge of the Light Brigade, to the Irish Famine, to the Easter Rising in Dublin, to the nuclear explosion in Chernobyl some 30 miles away from her hometown. Notorious for her abrasive personality and politically incorrect views that make her a persona non grata in most polite circles, Neary explores human suffering through the prism of dark humor, believing that tragedy and comedy go hand in hand.

Same Historical Events, Different Stories

Tags

Historical Fiction, medieval, Middle Ages, The Ashes of Heaven's Pillar, The Cross and the Dragon

The plot points are the same: Saint Kilian becomes a missionary in Thuringia, urges the duke to separate from his wife because of consanguinity, and the duchess orders his assassination and faces divine justice. Yet the point of view (called POV among writers) alters the tale.

A few months ago, I told this story in Unusual Historicals from the POV of the spurned duchess, Geilana. Today, I’m looking at it from Kilian’s perspective on English Historical Fiction Authors. As I wrote the post, I saw the issues in a different way.

The headline to this post could apply to my two published novels. Both take place around the same time in history. The Cross and the Dragon shows historical events from the POV of a Christian Frankish noblewoman determined not to be stuck in a miserable marriage. The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar shows those same events from the perspective of a widowed peasant who has lost everything but her children.

Those stories are different because the main characters are different. One example takes place during the 777 assembly at Paderborn, when emirs ask Charles (Charlemagne) to invade Hispania and help them overthrow an adversary.

From The Cross and the Dragon:

Alda bit her lip and tried to ignore a twinge in her belly. It went against all reason, but the emirs’ request gave her a bad feeling.

She envied Hildegard and Bertrada. Queens were the only women who could speak at the assemblies. Yet even if Alda could voice her worries, she dared not contradict her husband in public.

Alfihar said, “We have much to gain from an alliance with our guests. Look at the riches Hispania will offer — the horses, the spices, and they said the hills are rich in iron.”

Alda closed her eyes and shook her head as more nobles spoke in favor of a conquest against the ruler of Cordoba.

And now from The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar:

The Frankish nobility debated the matter, discussing trade, the Church in Hispania, and the danger of crossing the Pyrenees and involving Francia in a feud between Islamic factions. When the king announced Frankish forces would invade Hispania next year, Deorlaf smiled to himself. With the Frankish army elsewhere, the Saxons could retake their lost land.

Charles could build Christian cities on Saxon soil. He could convince Saxons to kneel in a basin and have water poured on their heads. But as long as Herzog Widukind was free, the Westphalians would not be cowed, Deorlaf thought, standing straighter, and they would fight another day and rid themselves of Charles’s puppet in Eresburg.

Deorlaf looked across the hall at his mother. She was pulling a piece of lamb off the bone and slipping it into her mouth. She turned toward the clay platters and began to pick them up.

If I truly loved my country, I would escape and seek out Widukind and become one of his warriors. He pressed his hand to his ring hidden under his shirt. Wodan, forgive me, I can’t. Widukind will have scores of men, but if I left, no one would protect her.

The excerpts show another point when we learn about history or current events: who tells the story is just as important as what happens.

A Post-Soviet Princess’s Autobiographical Satire

Tags

20th Century, Belarus, Chernobyl, Cold War, Gomel, Soviet Union

Today it’s my pleasure to host my friend author Marina Julia Neary on Outtakes as she introduces her latest release, Saved by the Bang, based on her experience growing up after the disaster at Chernobyl. Her book is an eye-opener, especially for those of us who remember the Cold War (for more, read my review). – Kim

By Marina Julia Neary

After years of being nagged by my readers, I finally wrote something autobiographical (God forbid!) Most of my fiction deals with the Anglo-Irish conflict, even though I’m not Irish by blood. I spent the first 13 years of my life in Belarus, a former Soviet Republic, which is now a sovereign country that has managed to stay out of world news. Nothing remarkably good or bad happens there.

The last major tragedy dates back to 1986, when one of the reactors blew up in Chernobyl across the Ukrainian border, drenching Belarusian cities in raw radiation. The full scope of the damage was not communicated to population to prevent an outbreak of panic. The authorities could not stop the flow of radiation, so they stopped the flow of information.

2013 photo by Paweł “pbm” Szubert via Wikimedia Commons, used under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike license (CC-BY-SA-3.0)

Almost 30 years later, people are still paying the price. Leukemia, lymphoma, thyroid cancer, and birth defects will continue to afflict the generations to come. Since I as an author specialize in disasters, I decided that my next novel would deal with one that I had experienced firsthand. It’s an opportunity for me to showcase my dark humor. As one of the reviewers mentioned, the novel is “not for the faint of heart.” Some readers will be disturbed and offended by the fact that I inject so much humor into my narrative depicting such tragic events.

The joke is that every Chernobyl story has to feature a girl named Maryana, just like any Jane Austen novel has to feature a girl named Elizabeth. Maryana was the name my biological father had originally picked out for me. He liked the archaic, folksy, old pan-Slavic slant. My mother hated it for those very reasons, so they settled on a more cosmopolitan Marina. Maryana is my alter ego, a privileged yet suffering child with a Jewish heritage, a lonely, old soul watching the world around her quietly slip into chaos.

The City of Swans and Violets

Much of the action takes place in Gomel, a squeaky-clean, low-key riverfront city famous for its gorgeous flower beds and summer folk concerts. The city’s coat of armor shows a muscular bobcat, a trademark Belarusian animal.

During World War II Gomel was occupied by the Nazis, and 80 percent of the city was destroyed. Luckily, the most prominent landmarks like the Rumyantsev-Paskevich Palace compound and the gorgeous Orthodox church were spared. The city has everything to satisfy an average person’s intellectual and cultural appetites. There are several universities, a drama theater, a swan pond, museums, and countless cinema art houses.

Of course, there will always be those who’ll wrinkle their noses and say that Gomel is a provincial hole. But guess what? Not everyone can live in Moscow or St. Petersburg. As far as medium sized cities were concerned, Gomel offered enough opportunities to work and play. Growing up, I don’t remember being bored. Children had an ample selection of educational activities. Art, music, and dance lessons were accessible and affordable.

I’ve been asked on several occasions, “So what it was like to live behind the Iron Curtain?” Personally, I’ve never experienced the horrors of draconian censorship. By 1980s, most people had grown disillusioned with the Communist ideal so successfully force-fed to them in the previous decades. It was still customary to celebrate Communist holidays like the October Revolution Day (which actually falls on November 7, according to the new calendar) and Workers’ Solidarity Day (May 1). Most people used that time to party and get drunk, forgetting the symbolic significance of those holidays.

Gorbachev, an impressively progressive and democratic leader for his time, promoted free speech. Criticizing Socialism as a political and economic model became more commonplace. The West was no longer demonized. American pop music, bestselling novels, and blockbuster movies became widely available.

A Child of Dangerous Privilege

An only child of classical musicians, I was considered privileged – by the standards of the time. We belonged to what was called “artistic intelligentsia,” which automatically placed us in some imaginary capsule. In a socialist economy, in which fiscal mobility is severely limited and professors do not get paid significantly more than factory workers, your class was measured not by how much you had but by how much you knew, how many languages you spoke, and how many musical instruments you played.

Respectable professions were not always well compensated, and prestige did not translate into money, yet members of intelligentsia were adamant about setting themselves apart from the rest. I firmly believe that this quest for superiority is one of the fundamental human drives. People will find creative ways to rise above their peers. If they cannot do it through material possessions, they will do it through mannerisms, special skills, and knowledge.

In my novel, Maryana lives in a one-bedroom apartment with her parents and grandmother. An American reader might find such living arrangements horrifying, but by the standards of late Soviet era, this family is considered well off. Having famous parents and a high-achieving engineer grandmother makes the girl privileged.

At the same time, that privilege and her ethnicity make her a delicious target for her less fortunate peers. There were no anti-bullying campaigns, and teachers and school administrators looked the other way. Pedestrian anti-Semitism was widespread, and if a student of Jewish ancestry was assaulted verbally or even physically, the authorities would shrug it off as “Kids will be kids.”

Marina Julia Neary is an award-winning historical essayist, multilingual arts and entertainment journalist, published poet, playwright, actress, dancer, and choreographer. She has written several books set in 19th and 20th century England and Ireland. Her latest release, Saved by the Bang, is available on Amazon.

Siegfried: Legend or History?

Tags

Historical Fiction, medieval, Middle Ages, Siegfried, The Cross and the Dragon

To us in the 21st century, Siegfried’s story is a legend. While it might incorporate a few historic events, it is mainly a fantastic tale with a dragon, sleeping beauty in armor, betrayal, and murder.

To my 8th century characters in Francia and elsewhere, he is as historic to them as George Washington is to us, and the fact that he is their hero reveals a lot about their culture and values. That’s why his story has a presence in both of my published novels and my work in progress.

The heroine of my first novel, The Cross and the Dragon, has grown up across the river from the high hill where Siegfried is said to have slain the dragon. I simply could not ignore his legend, as you will see in the following snippet:

During the evening meal in the great hall, Alda’s gaze fell on the tapestries recounting Siegfried’s deeds in reds, greens, and yellows, brilliant even by firelight. She realized how much she had missed Drachenhaus, built with stone from Drachenfels Mountain across the Rhine, where Siegfried had slain the dragon centuries ago and bathed in its blood for invulnerability. The mountain’s rock carried that magic, and Alda felt it envelop her.

See my post at Unusual Historicals for more about a hero whose story captivated the medieval imagination.

After slaying the dragon, Siegfried tastes his blood and understands the language of birds, by Arthur Rackham, 1911 (public domain image via Wikimedia Commons)