Peter Tremayne

I do recommend NOT studying the list of principal characters too closely before reading the book, although I don't know that it really spoiled much for me. This volume picks up after the events The Leper's Bell, and the series as a whole seems to have more continuity now. Unfortunately, my own read of The Leper's Bell was a good long time ago, so I probably should have reread it...it isn't totally necessary, but I would have had a stronger connection to some of the characters, such as Gannica. I'll leave off too much plot description because it could very easily lead to spoilers, but the political strife between the Uí Fidgente and Cashel continues, despite the fragile peace under Donennach.

On the whole, the character development continues to mature. Tremayne uses Fidelma and Eadulf to show varying perspectives on Christianity--Fidelma is tolerant of the old ways, making space for "finding God in his own way" (203) in deference to the proud Pagan Gáeth. Eadulf, on the other hand, has the fervor of a young convert, and tends to be judgmental and one-dimensional in his thinking (occasionally).

I was particularly interested in some continuity of what seemed to be minutiae. Tremayne revisits a chant "Regem regnum rogamus in nostris sermonibus" which is sung in two languages to a "Gallic" chant melody, and this same song also appears in The Monk who Vanished, supposedly composed by one Colmán moccu Clusaif/mac Uí Clusaim who helped his people during the threat of the Yellow Plague. I was unable to find an actual historical person by this name, but my guess is that there is a model here for Tremayne. These little details, however, keep me coming back for more. I've started a list of concordances that I may turn into a wiki at some point.

The copyediting and editing is still not great, however (some library patron took to the copy I read with a pencil, thankfully). We also get unnecessary repetition, such as when we are told "Eadulf, who knew something of the healing arts..." (193) when that has already been on display earlier in the book. There does seem to be a little less repetition of Fidelma's status as a dalaigh, qualified to the level of anruth, and when she can sit in the presence of a king, etc. etc within a single volume now, so that is an improvement.

The development was slow in this one, but things get moving rather quickly once Fidelma, Conrí, and Eadulf set sail for an island. The details regarding the scriptorium and copying are interesting, and there are some more colorful characters including Slébéne, chief of the Corco Duibhne. I'm very glad that Conrí, who we first meet in Badger's Moon, I believe, seems to have a returning presence in the series. He is one of the more complex characters in the narrative of the Uí Fidgente.

Overall a really good installment and I'll looking forward to learning more as the political intrigue is bound to return.… (more)

In this second collection of short stories in the Sister Fidelma series (Hemlock at Vespers is the first), we get three original stories, and the rest have appeared elsewhere. This can be frustrating for the already-initiated. I'd love to have a "dossier" or bio of Fidelma in the beginning -- she's a dalaigh, qualified to the level of anruth, etc, etc. so that these details could be left out of every story. But, I get it -- most short story collections are like this, but when they all involve the same character, it can feel tedious to go through it each time, in each story. I understand it in the books--that way they can be read out of sequence.

That aside, Fidelma fans may appreciate the appearance of characters such as Abbot Laisran, Fidelma's distant cousin/friend (not sure? varying descriptions), who appears in three different stories in the collection (see also "A Canticle for Wulfstan" in Hemlock at Vespers). Abbot Colmán, too, appears elsewhere in the Fidelmaverse. One of the more interesting stories for those wanting more of Fidelma's backstory is "The Blemish"--it is a bit of slog unless you love socratic debate, but it is nice to see Fidelma as a young law student in examination with THE Brehon Morann (of whom we hear in almost every book). Eadulf only makes one appearance in the last story, "The Lost Eagle" (and strangely, he doesn't speak). I enjoyed "The Banshee" because one of the most interesting aspects of Fildema's character is how she has to negotiate Christianity and the old religion, without dismissing the latter wholly as "superstition" and acknowledging the powertripping aspects of the former. "The Fosterer", new to the collection, is particularly sad, as no one really "wins" at the end.

The collection would work well for someone not that familiar with the series--it definitely stands alone, and readers who follow the chronology of the series might not appreciate the disruption. It is interesting to see all the different contexts, however, and amusing to see that the stories have previous appeared volumes ranging from Great Irish Drinking Stories to The Mammoth Book of Ancient Roman Whodunits.… (more)

(There is a BUT in the second paragraph.) An enjoyable novel, the first in the Sister Fidelma series. The setting of the Synod of Whitby and its theological (and political) tensions are of interest to me, although the abbess Hilda is thinly drawn and dull, as a character. But Fidelma and her Seaxun colleague cum friend, Eadulf, are far better drawn, and the mystery does carry the reader along. It is not deep reading, and is not fabulously written, but it is well written and a good distraction; a good read and a promising start to the series. I will read on. HOWEVER...

Fidelma is a religious sister in 7th century Ireland, a member of the order of Saint Brigit of Kildare, which is what attracted me to the series. (Brigit herself doesn’t come up at all in the book.) There is a prologue, “Sister Fidelma’s World,” that concerns me. It gives a distorted impression of medieval Irish society, particularly as regards women. Given that the book is thirty years old, and the scholarship in the area has advanced greatly since then, this is forgiveable, but it is very unfortunate. This series continues to be read, and, if the original prologue remains, continues to reinforce a too sunny view of a time where, in fact, women were very much *not* the equals of men, despite there being ways in which they were less badly off than those on the continent. It was not, as Tremayne/Beresford Ellis says in the prologue, “an almost feminist paradise.” Nor were all people freely accorded medical care, as is suggested in the novel. He is referring to the Brehon Laws there, but whether they were actually enforced is questionable, and that they applied to the lower classes is unlikely. Ireland was a brutal land in the middle ages, which sounds practically utopian at times, here.

It is true that Ellis knows a lot about ancient Ireland and church history, and that makes the book so much richer. But do not take every point he makes as writ. Check his facts, and proceed with caution. It is entertainment, not scholarship.… (more)