Historical Fiction's Finest: THE CONJUROR'S BIRD

THE CONJUROR’S BIRD
Martin Davies, Hodder & Stoughton, 2005, £12.99, hb, 309pp, 0340896167/ £10.99, pb, 0340896175
Pub. in the US as The Conjurer’s Bird, Shaye Areheart, 2006, $24.00, hb, 1400097339


Like A.S. Byatt’s novel Possession, Martin Davies’ The Conjuror’s Bird is a literary thriller. The book weaves together past and present in a spellbinding double narrative of contemporary conservationists and thwarted 18th century lovers. Fitz, once on the verge of breakthrough in the scientific world, is summoned by his ex-wife to track down the long lost Bird of Ulieta, which was sighted on Cook’s 1774 expedition to the South Seas. A single specimen of the bird was brought back to England. Then both the bird species and the specimen vanished.

Fitz immerses himself in the life of Sir Joseph Banks, famous 18th century naturalist and one-time owner of the bird specimen. Soon Fitz finds himself enchanted by the figure of Banks’ elusive mistress, who disappeared out of history without so much as leaving her name behind. It becomes clear that this woman is the key to finding out what happened to the specimen. Meanwhile the stakes are raised when Fitz’s ex-wife reveals the true and murky purpose behind the search. Fitz encounters fierce competition and fights foul play. In the end, he must become a conjuror and trickster to ward off unscrupulous competitors hot on the trail of the bird.

Davies’ writing is elegant and lyrical. He paints an arresting portrait of Banks’ shadowy mistress, a woman whose ambitions and yearnings place her centuries ahead of her time. A haunting story, highly recommended. --Mary Sharratt

This review appeared in the February 2006 issue of The Historical Novels Review.

Guest Blog: Endless Research by Susanne Dunlap

If there's one thing I dread, it's that question people like to ask about writing historical novels, "Do readers contact you telling you that some fact is wrong in your books?"

When asked, I tend to dismiss it by saying, "Readers understand that we're writing fiction. But obvious anachronisms are irritating, and a scrupulous writer of historical fiction does her utmost to avoid them."

All well and good. But when you're writing about the way life was for women-- especially when they're not famous women about whom lots has been written-- being even in the ballpark of truthful and factual can be especially challenging. As Mary said in her introduction to this forum, women are not well documented in history. Sure, there are guidelines about costume, and the wonderful series A History of Private Life which sheds much-needed light on the domestic world, the primary province of women. There is also the wonderful series A History of Women, edited by Duby and Perrot.

Yet historians have really only scratched the surface of women's history. The farther back you go in time, the harder it is. In recent years, feminist history has taken a new look at much of this area of the past that has been deemed by the historical canon to be of little account. The "Great Men" approach to history didn't leave room for much besides the odd anecdote about family life.

That historical everyday, that milieu that I wonder about, trying to put myself back in time to feel what it must have been like to be a woman then, is utterly beguiling to me. The great men-- even the great women-- don't interest me nearly as much. So I'm always on the lookout for new sources on the periods in which I work that might flesh out that hazy view.

Unfortunately, I live in fear that only after a book is published I'll discover some perfect source that would have given me valuable material for my setting, and that exposes what I've done as largely patched together from hints and inferences. Something like that happened to me with my first book. A huge, encyclopedic tome about the world of Marc-Antoine Charpentier was self-published by a scholar whose Web site I knew of and had visited. It would have been useful to have that source when I could still do some rewriting.

But, but. I read on, and hope that even if I don't get it completely right, I'll create a convincing enough picture of female life to elucidate it for my readers. And there's always the next book. . .

Susanne Dunlap
www.emiliesvoice.com

The Sphinx

The Sphinx is a mythic and fabulous creature with the head of a woman, the body of a lion, and the wings of a bird. She is a figure of wisdom and mystery and sets riddles for the querent to answer. She knows all the secrets lost in the dust of history. The time has come to reawaken the Sphinx, listen to her riddles, and use her gifts to untangle the web of mystery and misconceptions about women in history.

To a large extent, women have been written out of history. Their lives and deeds have become lost to us, as irrevocably as the ancient library of Alexandria, lost in flames and gone forever. To uncover buried lore, we must act as detectives. Study the sparse clues handed down to us. Learn to read between the lines, fill in the gaps.

My fascination with women's history and with trying to recapture the lives that went undocumented led me to become a historical novelist. I wanted to tell the tales and celebrate the women that history books forgot. My heroines are often working class women. Hired girls and immigrant millworkers. Or frontier women and indentured servants. I have been inspired by authors such as Clare Dudman, whose beautiful novel, 98 Reasons for Being, illuminates the experience of a young Jewish girl in a 19th century Frankfurt mental hospital. A dry case study becomes alive, the subject given a voice.

Other historical novelists give us a fresh and empowered view of well known historical figures. Sandra Gulland's meticulously researched Josephine Bonaparte Trilogy captures the soul of her subject in the way few history books ever could. Philippa Gregory resurrects Anne and Mary Boleyn to stunning effect in The Other Boleyn Girl. Paul Anderson paints an unforgettable portrait of Juana Ines de la Cruz, 17th century Mexican poet, in his epic novel Hunger's Brides.

The Sphinx is rising. She will speak if we listen. Let us begin.