HAREM Winner!

We have a winner of Colin Falconer's HAREM. The lucky winner is: 


Shawn Robertson!


Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

History's Mysteries: The Mystery of the 'Black Box'

By Anita Davison

Lucy Walter, a dark-haired, blue-eyed Celtic beauty referred to as 'a browne, beautiful, bold, but insipid creature,' by John Evelyn, was one of the earliest loves of King Charles II while the eighteen-year-old Prince of Wales lived in exile on the Continent after his father King Charles I was beheaded in 1649.

Already the mistress of Colonel Robert Sidney at The Hague, she met Charles in September 1648, they soon became lovers and bore Charles a son  in April 1649. Despite being short on funds, Charles provided money which enabled Lucy to live in “great splendor.”  The child was named James "Crofts" (after his guardian Lord Crofts).

In June 1649, Lucy accompanied Charles to Paris where he resided for three months, leaving Lucy behind when he returned to The Hague. During the summer of 1650, Lucy is said to have become the mistress of either Colonel Bennet, or Theobald, second Viscount Taafe and in May of 1651, Lucy’s daughter, Mary was born, though speculation was rife as to which man was the child’s father. Both men were living at the Louvre, much to Queen Henrietta Marie’s indignation but she could not afford to pay Lucy to leave when Taafe was keeping her and her children. Charles’ behavior was characteristic, in that he had done with Lucy, but was willing for her and Taafe to remain under the same roof as himself, as long as he didn’t have to support her and could keep in touch with his son.

In the summer of 1651, Lucy went to London with her brother, Justus, to recover an inheritance from their mother. Taken for a Royalist spy, she was arrested on Cromwell’s orders and sent to the Tower of London, where she called herself the wife of King Charles II. She was deported to Flanders, from where she proceeded to Paris to find that she had “lost all favor with Charles II.” While publicly denouncing her, he still sent her messages promising her money and support, ostensibly to prevent her from publishing “certain papers which Charles was anxious to obtain, possibly the contents of the mysterious ‘black box’.”

By 1655, Lucy came under the protection of the married Colonel Thomas Howard, brother of Earl of Suffolk and master of the house to Mary of Orange. Lucy neglected James’ education, and threatened Charles with creating public scandals while he was still dependent upon the goodwill of foreign royalty. Lucy lived with Henrietta Maria, the queen mother, and Princess Mary, Charles's sister, on and off for five years. These Royal ladies’ affectionate letters to Lucy Walter show a close relationship and deep family feeling which many believe would have not existed toward a mistress.

However by this time, Charles’ sister Mary regarded Lucy as an obstacle to the hoped-for restoration of the monarchy, which looked increasingly possible. Oliver Cromwell was dead and the Commonwealth became increasingly unpopular.

Unfortunately for Charles, Lucy had in her hands both his beloved son and a number of letters and papers apparently of critical importance to him, papers she threatened to make public.  When Lucy went to live in Brussels, the King, arranged for her to be lodged with his agent and Lord Bristol’s secretary, Sir Arthur Slingsby.

Slingby tried to have Lucy arrested, at which she ran into the street weeping and crying, clutching her son, James. When passersby came to her aid, Slingsby made matters worse by declaring that he was acting on behalf of the English King. This provoked such an uproar, the Governor of Brussels was forced to intervene. Charles could do nothing but find Lucy alternative housing, and explain to the Governor that Lucy’s “wild and disgraceful course” had exasperated all those concerned.


Charles sent his agent Edward Prodgers to Brussels to remove young James from his mother’s care, during which Lucy made another public scene. However, this proved too much for her and, exhausted and ill, she  surrendered James to his father.

In December 1657, James was delivered to the Queen Mother, Henrietta Maria, who put him in school at Port-Royal near Paris. Lucy’s objections were finally subdued by the threat that Charles would disown the boy if she tried to get him back and she was then driven from Brussels and moved to Paris, presumably to be close to her son in his nearby school.

Lucy died in late1658 in abject poverty according to John Evelyn, while others claim she became a penitent of Dean Cosin, later Bishop of Durham, who, while pretending to be converted from her loose manner in life, Lucy continued her vicious ways. James II unkindly said that she died of a “disease incident to her profession.”

Charles II brought the young James Crofts to London, and at fourteen, married him to Anna Scott, Duchess of Buccleuch one of the richest heiresses in the country. James took her name, and was made the Duke of Monmouth.

By the late 1670s, it was clear that Charles’ Portuguese queen, Catherine of Braganza, was unable to provide a legitimate heir, and with the prospect of the Catholic James, Duke of York as the next king, panic set in among certain Whig courtiers, such as Anthony Ashley Cooper, 1st Earl Shaftesbury.

The Parliamentarians were pushing hard to legitimize Monmouth by supporting Lucy's claim that she and Charles had been married, the Duke of Monmouth declared legitimate, and the Duke of York excluded from the line of succession due to his Catholic proclivities. James, Duke of York and his supporters were equally eager to prove Monmouth’s illegitimacy, so the long-dead Lucy’s name had to be blackened, and she was labelled unjustly a ‘whore’.

During the ‘Black Box Inquiry’ in 1680, where witnesses claimed Lucy kept her marriage records. She was reputed to have given the box to the late Anglican Bishop John Cosin, who was by then unable to testify that a contract of marriage existed and was signed at a ceremony performed by Dr. Fuller, Bishop of Lincoln. 

Sir Gilbert Gerard, Bishop Cosin’s son-in-law, denied any knowledge of the Black Box despite his earlier allegations that his father-in-law had left the object to him and that he had found the marriage contract inside.
Bishop Paterson allegedly knew the names of the witnesses at the marriage ceremony, and that Oliver Cromwell’s officers had confiscated the certificate from Lucy while she was under arrest. Coincidence or not, but all records of births and weddings filed in Lucy’s home county of Pembrokeshire in the year of Monmouth’s birth had been destroyed at the Restoration. 

During this inquiry, Charles was reportedly ill at ease, possibly due to a guilty conscience? In January 1678, he published a declaration made the previous year that he and Lucy Walter were not married. A reply was published in the form of a pamphlet entitled, “A Letter to a Person of Honour Concerning the King’s Disavowing Having been Married to the Duke of Monmouth’s mother.” Attributed to Robert Ferguson (“the plotter” who took part in the Monmouth Rebellion) he inferred that Charles had married Lucy Walter with his mother’s permission when his life was despaired of through the combination of an attack of smallpox and his frustration at being denied marriage to Lucy.

Charles allegedly told Bishop Burnet, that he would rather see Monmouth hanged than legitimize him.

In the early 1680’s, encouraged by Shaftesbury, Monmouth travelled on a quasi-royal progress throughout the West Country, drumming up popularity for the Protestant son of Charles II. The king, in retaliation, deprived Monmouth of his general's commission and forbade him to appear at court.

When Charles II died in February 1685, Monmouth was living in exile in Holland, banished for his part in The Popish Plot. In May, Monmouth arrived in England with a small army, but his ill-fated rebellion ended in his execution by his Uncle, James II in July 1685. Prior to his execution, Monmouth signed a paper stating that the late King told him he never married Lucy Walter. However, this was probably written to spare his descendants persecution following his death.

Monmouth’s ten-year-old daughter died of illness in the Tower soon after her father’s execution. His two sons became Scottish earls, and one grandson and a great-great grandson became Dukes of Buccleugh. The title passed to him from his mother, Anna  [The title Duke of Monmouth became extant after his death and has never been revived]

The conspiracy of the ‘black box’ might have ended there, however a descendant of Monmouth’s, the third Duke of Buccleuch, Henry Scott, reportedly found a marriage certificate between Charles II and Lucy Walter in the muniment room at Dalkeith. Having announced that ‘No loyal Englishman should keep such a bombshell in his possession,’ and, in front of the Duke of Abercorn, burned the document. One other story, was the Duke took the document to Queen Victoria, who, after one horrified glance set it on fire herself.

The 400 year old question remains - did Prince Charles fall in love and, feeling he had no hope of regaining his destiny, marry a young girl in a secret ceremony? Did the ‘Black Box’ ever exist, and if so, did it contain the marriage certificate of Charles Prince of Wales and Lucy Walter?

Resources:

Leigh family Website

The Personal Rule of Charles II, 1681-1685 by Grant Tapsell

Anita Davison is an historical fiction author with a love of 17th century England. DUKING DAYS: REBELLION was released in 2007 and the sequel, DUKING DAYS: REVOLUTION in 2008. TRENCARROW SECRET, a Victorian Gothic romance, is available from MuseItUp Publishing.

History's Mysteries: Anneliese and Exorcism

 By Jennifer Linforth


Her ordeal happened all in my lifetime, though I was a child and barely aware. Still, it has always fascinated me. Medical mysteries combined with a healthy imagination can cause any number of theories to pop into someone's head regarding Anneliese Michel. You know, the exorcised girl?


She was born in 1952 in Bavaria to a devote Catholic family. Their religion would be challenged come 1968/69 when at age 16 or 17 Anneliese started having seizures attributed to epilepsy. It was managed with medication but over time she complained of seeing visions, disturbing ones, while saying her daily prayers. Eventually it escalated to evil voices giving her commands and then to an aversion to religious iconography.


Come 1975 Anneliese's parent forewent medical advice and turned to a Roman exorcism. Believing she was truly possessed, for even Anneliese herself said that Judas, Nero, Cain, Lucifer and even Hitler were inside of her, she underwent 67 exorcisms. She had to repeat genuflections that, toward the end, were difficult for her to do on her own. During all this torment she stopped eating claiming the demons forbid her to do so. It is documented that she would drink her urine, eat spiders, bite, and self-mutilate. Claims exist that she also began speaking several different languages during the rituals and there are over 40 recordings of them saved for historic detail.

Annaliese eventually died of dehydration and malnutrition and her death was labeled as neglect homicide. The medical care she needed ended up secondary to the religious path of treatment chosen for her, but medical care could have played a factor in all her symptoms. Some evidence supports that she suffered from dissociative personality disorder (DPD) and schizophrenia combined with her epilepsy. She was subjected to powerful psychotropic drugs and anticonvulsants. One drug was known to deplete the brain of sodium which could cause mental lapses and forgetfulness as well as altering the thyroid function which controls metabolism. All these drugs are known now to also have side-effects of hallucinations both visual and auditory.


I tend to side with the idea that Annaliese had DPD and the drugs contributed greatly to her condition. If not regulated properly these powerful medications can have horrifying and frightening side-effects. That being said, they can also work brilliantly for the treatment of mental disorders I speak from experience having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.


What do you think? Medical mystery perhaps not treated properly or religious possession treated too aggressively?

Jennifer Linforth expands the classics by continuing The Phantom of the Opera. and her books are available now. Look for future books based on the classics, in addition to her unique historical romances. "Ms. Linforth's prose is phenomenally beautiful and hauntingly breathtaking." ~ Coffee Time Romance 

OLEANNA Winner!

We have a winner of Julie K. Rose's OLEANNA. The lucky winner is: 


Maureen!


Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

Guest Blog: Colin Falconer

This week, we're welcoming renowned historical fiction author Colin Falconer. His best-selling novel, HAREM, is set in the Ottoman Empire during the reign of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, who is left spellbound by his newest slave girl, Hurrem.  Colin is here to talk about this fascinating book and give away a copy. Want to win it? Please leave your comment for Colin. Here's the blurb: 


He had everything a man might dream of; wealth, power and the choice of hundreds of the most beautiful women in his Empire. Why then did he forsake his harem for the love of just one woman, and marry her in defiance of the centuries-old code of the Osmanlis? 


This is the astonishing story of Suleiman, the one they called the Magnificent, and the woman he loved. 


Suleiman controlled an empire of thirty million people, encompassing twenty different languages. As a man, he was an enigma; he conquered all who stood against him with one of the world's first full time professional armies - yet he liked to write poetry; he ravaged half of Europe but he rebuilt Istanbul in marble; he had teams of torturers and assassins ready to unleash at a whim - yet history remembers him as a great lawmaker.

''Harem' literally means 'Forbidden': Forbidden to men. Once the Sultan was the only man - the only complete man - who could pass through its iron-studded doors. But what was that world really like?

For a woman living in the Harem the only way out was to somehow find her way into the Sultan's bed and bear him a son. But the young Sultan was often away at war and when he did return he neglected his harem for just one favourite wife. But one young Russian concubine inside his seraglio was not content to allow fate decide the course of her life. She was clever and she was ruthless. And she had a plan.

Into this world are drawn two unforgettable characters; a beautiful young Italian noblewoman, captured by corsairs and brought to the Harem as a concubine; and the eunuch who loved her once, long ago, in Venice.

Loved her? He never stopped loving her.

From medieval Venice to the slave markets of Algiers, from the mountains of Persia to the forbidden seraglio of the Ottoman's greatest sultan, this is a tale of passion and intrigue in a world where nothing is really as it seems. 

Q&A with Colin Falconer

How did the story of Harem come about?
Back in another incarnation, when I was working as a magazine freelancer, I got a commission from Playboy magazine to write about harems. You know, the racy stuff. But as I did my research I discovered that harems weren't anything like the male fantasy most Playboy readers would have liked. So I held back a lot of the research when I finally came to write the piece.

In particular, I discovered the story of Hurrem Haseki, the slave girl that Suleiman the Magnificent married and eventually made his queen. He even resigned his entire harem for her! There were so many intriguing gaps in the story. Was it a love story - or was it something else?

How much research was involved?

My initial research came from my local library. The head librarian would order in the books from all over the country and I would go in and collect them. But she never mentioned this to her staff. The girl behind the desk would go pale when I walked in and announced that I was there to pick up 'Unusual Sexual Practices in Ottoman Turkey' in three volumes or 'The Handy Guide to Castration.'

After I had the groundwork down, I spent a month in Turkey. My girls were only little then and I didn't want to be away from them that long so the whole family came! The best part for me was seeing the tombs of Suleiman and Hurrem side by side in the garden of the Suleimaniye mosque. Considering their history, it's very poignant and quite ironic. It felt like visiting the grave of someone I knew. The guide tried to tell me their history and it was completely wrong. Well either that or every book in the British Library was way off the mark. I'm betting it was him.

How did you come up with the story?
Historians know what happened but they can't rationally explain it. Why did Suleiman retire his harem? Why did he then later murder his son and his best friend? Scholars can't say because it would be pure conjecture: what happened in the harem stayed in the harem. No records were kept. So it all came down to reading between the lines - and that's what novelists are born to do.

People do not act rationally, no matter how important or royal or powerful they are, they're still human beings. The English royal family are a classic case. I had my own theories of why Suleiman and Hurrem did what they did, and I tested them out against what we know. It fitted perfectly, without changing a single historical fact. I don't know if I'm right - no one will ever know what really happened behind those walls - but if I am then she was one of the most extraordinary women in European history. Ruthless, intelligent, charming and brilliant. Love her or hate her, she was the most powerful woman you never heard of.

What was the most surprising thing to you?

I read some accounts written by actual eunuchs from the last century. The sad thing is, they never lost their psychological desire for women. They may have the lost the physical imperative but they said they still longed. I can't imagine how hellish that must have been. I also read accounts of former concubines who likened it to imprisonment - that was less surprising. The harem, as depicted in gauzy Victorian art and imagined in male fantasy, may seem like heaven - but it was actually hell.

Why did you republish?

I was so unhappy about the way the book was traditionally published here in the US in the first place. It was a massive best seller in Europe, translated into over a dozen languages - the only place it didn't do well was in the US. I just didn't think I was that bad a writer. I felt the publishers let me down badly. It was a boring cover, they changed the title and they gave it no marketing support. Hey, you must have heard this story a hundred times! So I re-jacketed and re-edited. I guess I'm out to prove a point. I think it's a great book. I think it deserved more. Much, much more. 

Thank you, Colin, and best of luck with HAREM. Visitors, please leave your comment to win a copy of this story.

Follow Colin’s Blog, Looking for Mr. Goodstory

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Excerpt Thursday: Harem by Colin Falconer

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming renowned historical fiction author Colin Falconer. His best-selling novel, HAREM, is set in the Ottoman Empire during the reign of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent, who is left spellbound by his newest slave girl, Hurrem.  Join us Sunday, when Colin will be here to talk about this fascinating book and give away a copy. Here's the blurb:


He had everything a man might dream of; wealth, power and the choice of hundreds of the most beautiful women in his Empire. Why then did he forsake his harem for the love of just one woman, and marry her in defiance of the centuries-old code of the Osmanlis? 

This is the astonishing story of Suleiman, the one they called the Magnificent, and the woman he loved. 

Suleiman controlled an empire of thirty million people, encompassing twenty different languages. As a man, he was an enigma; he conquered all who stood against him with one of the world's first full time professional armies - yet he liked to write poetry; he ravaged half of Europe but he rebuilt Istanbul in marble; he had teams of torturers and assassins ready to unleash at a whim - yet history remembers him as a great lawmaker.

''Harem' literally means 'Forbidden': Forbidden to men. Once the Sultan was the only man - the only complete man - who could pass through its iron-studded doors. But what was that world really like?

For a woman living in the Harem the only way out was to somehow find her way into the Sultan's bed and bear him a son. But the young Sultan was often away at war and when he did return he neglected his harem for just one favourite wife. But one young Russian concubine inside his seraglio was not content to allow fate decide the course of her life. She was clever and she was ruthless. And she had a plan.

Into this world are drawn two unforgettable characters; a beautiful young Italian noblewoman, captured by corsairs and brought to the Harem as a concubine; and the eunuch who loved her once, long ago, in Venice.

Loved her? He never stopped loving her.

From medieval Venice to the slave markets of Algiers, from the mountains of Persia to the forbidden seraglio of the Ottoman's greatest sultan, this is a tale of passion and intrigue in a world where nothing is really as it seems. 

An Excerpt from HAREM

The courtyard was paved with almond-shaped cobblestones and dominated by an ornate marble fountain. Windows looked down from all sides. Hürrem felt as if the whole Harem was watching her.

This was the courtyard of the Sultan Valide! These were her apartments.

The guards hurried her to the centre of the court and there released her. 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'

'Sing, why? What is happening?'

But the men had done as they had been ordered and they wheeled away without another word, the sickle-bladed yataghans at their waists rattling in their scabbards. Hürrem stared after them.

She waited there for an eternity but no one came. Water murmured in the marble fountain. Perhaps the Kapi Aga had arranged an interview with Hafise Sultan? she thought. But then why had they insisted she bring her needlework? What else was it they had said? 'The Kapi Aga says you are to wait. And be sure to sing.'

The Kapi Aga wanted her to break the sacred silence of the Harem?

She grew tired of waiting, found a cool spot in the shade of the fountain and sat down, crossing her legs beneath her, Osmanli style. She spread the handkerchief on her lap, took out her needle and went back to her embroidery. She chose to hum a love song her mother had taught her, about a boy whose horse had fallen in the snow, trapping him; as he died by inches on the winter steppe he told the wind how much he loved a certain girl and how he had never had the courage to tell her. He asked the wind to carry his words across the plain so that she would remember him. It was a stupid, sentimental song, Hürrem thought, but she had always liked the tune and after a while the words came back to her as well.

She soon forgot her initial anxiety and did not even notice the tall, slender figure in the white turban until his shadow fell across her lap.

'The first law of the Harem is silence.'

She looked up, startled. The man was standing with the sun behind his back and she had to shield her eyes against the glare. He did not speak like a eunuch and he was not black like a Nubian. There was only one other man who might walk freely here.

'Perhaps we should cut out the tongues of all the nightingales then. And the bees. We should do something about them also. All this incessant buzzing. Don't they know the rules?' There. It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

For a moment he just stared at her. Hürrem remembered that her first action before speaking should have been to lower her forehead to the ground and make her obeisance. She put down her embroidery and went to her knees. She touched her forehead to the hot stones, a futile gesture, it was already too late. She should beg his forgiveness for breaking the silence. Well, there was no point now, he had spoken and she had answered him.

She was suddenly aware that the old Kislar Aghasi - the Chief Black Eunuch - was standing behind Suleiman, his face beaded with perspiration, fanning himself with a silk handkerchief. He looked as if he were about to faint.

'Do you know who I am?' Suleiman asked her.

'You are the Lord of Life.'

'What were you singing?'

'It was a song I learned from my mother, my Lord. A love song. About a stupid boy who let his horse fall on top of him.'

'He was singing to the horse?'

She giggled, then stifled it. 'I think not. I dare to say the horse had lost much of its charm by then.'

She heard him laugh. 'What is your name?'

'They call me Hürrem, my lord.'

'Hürrem? Laughing one. Who gave you that name?'

'The men who brought me here. They could not pronounce my name. Though I suspect they were not intelligent enough to pronounce their own names either.'

He laughed again. 'Where are you from, Hürrem?'

She squinted up at him. This was the moment for which she had gambled so much and all she could think about was the pain in her knees. How long would he make her squat here on these cobblestones? 'I am a Tatar,' she said. 'A Krim.'

'Do all you Tatars have hair of such amazing colour?'

'No, my Lord. I was the only one in my clan so burdened.'

'Burdened? I think not. It is quite beautiful.' He stroked her hair and held a lock of it in his fingers, as if he were examining a piece of material in the bazaar for quality and strength. 'It is like burnished gold. Is it not, Ali?'

The Kislar Aghasi murmured his agreement. Liar! Hürrem thought. You have only spoken to me once, and on that occasion you called me an undernourished carrot.

'Stand up, Hürrem.'

At last! She did as she was told. She knew she should lower her eyes, as she had been trained to do, but curiosity got the better of her. So this was the Lord of Life, the Possessor of Men's Necks, the Lord of the Seven Worlds! He was handsome, she supposed, but not especially so. There was the shadow of a beard on his face, which lent a certain majesty to his beaked nose. He had grey eyes.

He examined her head to toe, as the spahis had done the day her father had traded her. He did not seem especially displeased with what he saw yet when he had done he gave a long sigh. 'What is that you are embroidering?' he asked her.

'A handkerchief, my lord.'

'Let me see it.' She handed it to him. 'A fine piece of work. You have great skill. May I have it?'

'I have not finished …'

'Have it ready for me tonight,' he said and placed it carefully over her left shoulder. The Kislar Aghasi's eyes widened in shock. Placing a handkerchief on a girl's shoulder signified that she was now gözde, and that the Sultan wished to sleep with her. No girl had been so favoured since he had assumed the throne.

Suleiman walked away without another word. The Kislar Aghasi looked as if he would burst; then he remembered himself and hurried after him.

Hürrem stood there, frozen to the spot, long after they were gone. Her body trembled with triumph and excitement.

Gözde!I am in the eye! Now I just have to stay there.

Follow Colin’s Blog, Looking for Mr. Goodstory

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A STORM HIT VALPARAISO Winner!

We have a winner of David Gaughran's A STORM HIT VALPARAISO. The lucky winner is: 

iainmavrocoggins!

Contact Lisa with your information. The book must be claimed by next Sunday or another winner will be drawn. Please stop back later to let us know what you thought! Congratulations!

Guest Blog: Julie K. Rose

This week, we're welcoming historical fiction author Julie K. Rose, whose sophomore novel, OLEANNA, is set in Norway and America during the early 20th century.  Julie is here to talk about the book and give away a copy. Here's the blurb:

Set during the separation of Norway from Sweden in 1905, this richly detailed novel of love and loss was inspired by the life of the author's great-great-aunts.

Oleanna and her sister Elisabeth are the last of their family working their farm deep in the western fjordland. A new century has begun, and the world outside is changing, but in the Sunnfjord their world is as small and secluded as the verdant banks of a high mountain lake. With their parents dead and their brothers all gone to America, the sisters have resigned themselves to a simple life tied to the land and to the ghosts of those who have departed.

The arrival of Anders, a cotter living just across the farm's border, unsettles Oleanna's peaceful but isolated existence. Sharing a common bond of loneliness and grief, Anders stirs within her the wildness and wanderlust she has worked so hard to tame. When she is confronted with another crippling loss, Oleanna must decide once and for all how to face her past, claim her future, and find her place in a wide new world.

Oleanna was short-listed in the 2011 Faulkner-Wisdom novel competition, and will be available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, and other online retailers in late January.

Q&A with Julie K. Rose

Why did you choose Norway as a setting for your book?

Norway has always been a subject of fascination to me. It is a place of incredible natural beauty: it is both wild and serene, majestic and bucolic. It has a (popular) history of wildness and adventure, and a present of social justice and peace.

As far back as I can remember, my mother instilled in me a great pride in our Norwegian heritage. Three of my four grandparents were Norwegian, two of them first-generation Americans. I was raised with syttende mai and Norwegian flags on the Christmas tree, stories of my mom's visit to Norway in the 1960s, Viking ships on the mantelpiece, plates decorated with rosemaling, Elisabeth and Oleanna's weavings on my dresser, and  my great-grandmother's bunad in my closet.

In 2004, I was lucky enough to visit Norway. The place, the people, and the history were incredibly inspiring, and in 2006 I began writing Oleanna, not only as a love letter to the country, but to fill a gap. Beyond Sigrid Undset*, there haven't been very many historical authors who have tackled Norway, which is a crying shame. It's an incredible country with a rich history.

*If you love historical fiction, get your hands on the Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy right away. Set in 13^th century Norway, Undset received the Nobel Prize in Literature for the books in 1928.

What was the significance of this timeframe?

It was an interesting time for Norway.  The glory days of Harald Fairhair and St. Olaf had been buried (but not forgotten) while they spent 500 years under the thumb of first Denmark, and then Sweden (to whom the country had been given as a spoil of war in 1814). While the country enjoyed some freedoms, by 1905 the Norwegian parliament (the Storthing) and the people decided they wanted full freedom. In a complicated series of laws and proclamations, Norway declared itself independent on June 7, which was confirmed by a popular referendum in August, in which 99.95% of voters agreed to become fully independent once again.

You mention that the story was inspired by your great-great-aunts. Was there a specific event that inspired the book?

I'd always wondered what precipitated my great-grandfather's emigration to America, and what happened to the sisters he left behind.

Elisabeth and Oleanna were my great-great-aunts who lived at Myklebost on the banks of lake Jølster. They were both weavers of some acclaim and significant skill, and the family story is that a number of their weavings are on display in the Folk Museum in Oslo. As far as I have been able to tell, neither one married, or if they did, those tales were lost by the time my mother visited them in the early 1960s.

I've always wondered about these women, who carried on living on the farm after everyone had died or left for America. What were their stories? What were their lives like? Who did they love? The genealogical record does not indicate much, but not everything is revealed by a countrywide census or a parish's records. I tried to imagine what life would have been like in an isolated place like western Norway, when everyone they loved had left, and the world outside was changing. What kinds of choices would they have made?

Elisabeth and Oleanna's brother John is based on my great-grandfather, Johann Tollefson Myklebust, who emigrated to the United States in 1902 and was one of the first homesteaders of Ramsay County, North Dakota. He married Ingeborg Briesnes of Aurland (Sogn, Norway) and lived in Starkweather, ND until his death at the age of 97 in 1978.

This book seems to be a departure from your previous novel, The Pilgrim Glass.

Yes, in a sense. The Pilgrim Glass was a contemporary novel which included large doses  of 12^th century French history. Oleanna is an historical novel focusing on early 20^th century Norway. There are a lot of similarities, however. Both books explore the role of place in shaping history, and in shaping culture, and consider location an integral character in the story.

Where can I learn more about Norway and this historical period?

Some of my favorite resources focus on the every day life of Norwegians, including

Norwegian Folk Art: The Migration of a Tradition, Abbeville Press (1995); The Woven Coverlets of Norway, by Katherine Larson (U of Washington Press) (2001); and Remedies and Rituals: Folk Medicine in Norway and the New Land, by Kathleen Stokker, Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2007.

I'd also recommend A History of Modern Norway, 1814-1972, by TK Derry (Clarendon Press) (1973), the Sogn og Fjordane fylke (county) cultural website (http://sognogfjordane.kulturnett.no), and the Norway Heritage website (http://www.norwayheritage.com/).

Where can I learn more about  Oleanna?
http://oleannanovel.com
http://oleannanovel.tumblr.com
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13254652-oleanna

Thank you, Julie, and best of luck with Oleanna.Visitors, please leave your comment for a chance to win a copy of this novel.

History's Mysteries: The Nebra Sky Disk

By J.S. Dunn

THE FORGED HEAVEN AND AN ENIGMATIC OBJECT OF CA 2000 BCE

The Nebra sky disk

Der geschmiedete Himmel, the forged heaven.

That’s the poetic title of an exhibit that featured a bronze disk about the size of a dinner plate. The exhibit took place in Mannheim, Germany in July 2006, and attendance totaled over 300,000 persons over a few months. Why the buzz?

For starters, this disk is absolutely unique. No prototypes, earlier models, or later knockoffs exist. The Nebra sky disk, as it is called, has been the subject of controversy since it was rescued from looters who dug it up around twelve years ago by a daring archaeologist participating with police in a tense sting operation. Instead of netting one million DM for their troubles, the thieves got jail time. That much of the story would suffice for a good thriller film. The star might well be the disk itself, its upper surface covered in gold foil symbols of a sun (or full moon), a crescent moon, scattered stars, and gold foil strips at precise places on its perimeter.

The real controversy and the intellectual kick of this object lies in deciphering when and where it was made, and ultimately why or its purpose. Micron-level analysis of its green patina surface revealed that it is genuine, the corrosion crystals too large to have been faked. The metal composition is northern European rather than Mediterranean, despite its having been found with Mediterranean-styled long knives. 

Other items found with the Nebra sky disk

The overall find has been dated with relative confidence to say that the disk was made between 2100 BCE and 1700 BCE and deposited shortly after the latter date with the associated objects. Its perimeter has pierced holes that were added to it later and indicate a long period of use or change in its function. But physical scientists and archaeologists still debate its function.

Is this the oldest astronomy object in Europe, and older than any Egyptian representation of the stars (the oldest of those from around 1400 BCE)? If so, the implications for northern Europe at this time are sweeping.  Rather than being brutish warriors ruling by the sword, crudely clad, and digging their carrots with a short stick, is it possible those in the northern part of what is now Europe developed an astronomy that rivaled that of later Babylonian, Greeks, Phoenicians?

Naysayers claim the object to have been merely decorative, the riddle of the sun and crescent moon appearing together on a field of “star” shapes signaling nothing in particular. Other experts analyze old stone carvings, clay tablets, and papyrus fragments to find parallels. For those of us who enjoy astronomy, and the history of scientific instruments, the puzzle is delicious.

The Sky Disk has even been said to be the famed shield of Achilles as wrought by Hephaistos that contained the heavens: sun, moon, and Pleiades according to Homer, Book 18, The Iliad. To read more about the Sky Disk, Google Nebra Sky Disk and find abundant articles and discussions debating its origin and purpose.

The sky disc of Nebra was found near Europe's oldest observatory in Goseck

The decorated disk in bronze and gold is truly a beautiful object and the fascination of science and laypersons is unlikely to abate. No other such object has been found to date in northern Europe. However, the wooden observatory-circles of Germany, the Netherlands, and Belgium; and the engineered mounds and megaliths from even earlier dates on Ireland, Wales, and Orkney, stand today in mute testimony to the power of the heavens on early human imagination.

J.S. Dunn is the award-wining author of Bending the Boyne, which took first place in the Next generation Indie Book Awards 2011

Excerpt Thursday: Oleanna by Julie K. Rose

This week on Excerpt Thursday, we're welcoming historical fiction author Julie K. Rose, whose sophomore novel, OLEANNA, is set in Norway and America during the early 20th century.  Join us Sunday, when Julie will be here to talk about the book and give away a digital copy. Here's the blurb:

Set during the separation of Norway from Sweden in 1905, this richly detailed novel of love and loss was inspired by the life of the author's great-great-aunts.

Oleanna and her sister Elisabeth are the last of their family working their farm deep in the western fjordland. A new century has begun, and the world outside is changing, but in the Sunnfjord their world is as small and secluded as the verdant banks of a high mountain lake. With their parents dead and their brothers all gone to America, the sisters have resigned themselves to a simple life tied to the land and to the ghosts of those who have departed.

The arrival of Anders, a cotter living just across the farm's border, unsettles Oleanna's peaceful but isolated existence. Sharing a common bond of loneliness and grief, Anders stirs within her the wildness and wanderlust she has worked so hard to tame. When she is confronted with another crippling loss, Oleanna must decide once and for all how to face her past, claim her future, and find her place in a wide new world.

Oleanna was short-listed in the 2011 Faulkner-Wisdom novel competition, and will be available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, and other online retailers in late January.

An Excerpt from Oleanna

Elisabeth led them deeper into the forest and they settled with their backs against a fallen log. After a few moments, Oleanna took a long drink; the beer wasn't theirs—sharp with too much new grass—but she swallowed nearly half the bottle at one go, and then quickly dispatched the second.

Elisabeth finished off her own bottles and set them on the ground. They sat together quietly, feeling the beer work its magic, listening to the chatter of the crowds just beyond the curtain of trees.

Stretching, content as a cat, Elisabeth leaned into Oleanna. "What did Jakob want?" she whispered.

"What he always wants," she whispered.

"I can't."

"I know."

After a moment, Elisabeth looked up at Oleanna and grinned. "He is beautiful, though, isn't he?"

Oleanna stretched and smiled. "Yes, he is."

"I'll go find him," Elisabeth said, standing up a bit unsteadily, smoothing down the front of her skirt.

"And do what?" Oleanna asked.

"Just say hello," Elisabeth shrugged.

"Don't be cruel. He worships you."

Elisabeth scowled and stumbled down the gentle hillside, then regained her footing, setting her shoulders and walking away. When she reached the edge of the forest she turned around. "I worship him, too," she shrugged. She settled her face into a merry smile and walked back out into the crowds.

Oleanna rested her head against the log and closed her eyes, and dreamt not of the next pile of washing, or shearing the sheep, or making the lefse, but of high mountaintops and rowing, rowing around the lake, close to the shore, towing her mother and Anna behind.

Later she awoke, curled into a ball and covered dirt and twigs, to find it quiet and cool under the trees. If she stayed very still, she could just see a red fox melting into the hillside, hear a marsh tit calling to its mate. She sat up, yawning, and realized that the din of the crowd had lessened and if she concentrated, she could pick out different conversations – a gaggle of matrons next to the church, a couple high on the hillside above her, a group just beyond the trees below.

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

She recognized John's voice and picked her way down the hillside, brushing twigs off of her skirt. She peeked through the trees and saw John talking with Elisabeth and Anders; Elisabeth had her small hand closed on Anders' arm. Oleanna stepped back into the cover of the trees; she could no longer see them.

"You won't let him leave, will you?" Elisabeth asked.

"It's not my place," Anders replied.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" she demanded.

Oleanna smiled, imagining her sister with hands on hips.

"What he means," John said, "is he couldn't stop me, even if he tried." She could hear the laughter in her brother's voice.

"Could I?" Elisabeth said, more quietly.

"Could you what?"

"Could I stop you? If I tried?"

After a moment, John replied. "No. No, I have to go. I can't stay...If you could understand, Lisbet. Lisbet-"

"Let her go," Anders said.

After a few moments, she could hear her brother sigh. "She hates to be left behind," John said quietly.

"So take her with you."

"She would hate to go."

Oleanna closed her eyes. "Don't leave us," she whispered. The long winter, cold and dark despite the constant drifting of white snow, came back to her: the long winter after Anton had left. Only three years ago, she marveled, looking up at the green canopy, which then had been only sharp spikes of dark against the whiteness and ice.

Anton and her mother had quarreled: so soon after father had died. He promised to send money from the farm he hoped to establish, promised to write every week. Her mother sat stone-faced as John waited on the wagon's bench, Anton saying his goodbyes. He'd kissed their mother's cheek as she stared out at the lake. When John had returned from taking Anton to the ferry in Vadheim, their mother extracted a promise from him that he would never leave.

John was the only thing that kept them together, Oleanna thought. The only thing that kept them sane, during the last long dark winter, just after mama and Anna died. Steady and sure, reliable and strong. And now that the spring has finally come, he has thawed, and he'll be gone, too.

"You missed the children's parade."

Oleanna gasped. She opened her eyes and spun around. Anders leaned against a tall birch, hands in the pockets of his trousers.

She gathered herself. "Anders Samuelsson," she said.

He smiled at her formality. "Sleeping it off, were you?"

"Sleeping what off?" she demanded.

"The beer."

"Oh. No. Just tired."

He stepped away from the tree and walked up the hillside to stand next to her. "Why did she do it?"

"Do what?"

"Steal the beer. You've been drinking it since you were a child, why steal it?"

Oleanna blushed, then straightened her back. "Oh, that," she said. "The old men stand there, making all the rules, like they get to decide who drinks and who doesn't, and there we are, having to ask nicely and politely, just for a stupid bottle of beer. I hate it. So we take turns stealing as much as we can every year."

He laughed, that short, strange bark. "Very sensible," he smiled.

She narrowed her eyes, bristling. "You've never had to go begging for beer."

"How do you know?"

Oleanna shrugged. "You're a man. You don't have to beg for anything."

He grew serious. "Men may not have to work for their beer, there are things we do have to work for."

"Name one."

"Freedom."

Oleanna looked sidelong at him. "Was it you that put up the proper flag?"

Anders smiled, a warm blush of excitement spreading across his cheeks. "No, not me. Though I'm glad they did."

Oleanna cocked her head. "Was it the young man? The one who spoke so well earlier?"

"Yes."

"Who is he?"

"He's from across the lake, near Årdal. He's been working in Førde and Bergen, and has contacts in the capital."

"Did you ask him to come?"

"Me? Oh, no," he said, looking down at her. "But I was very happy to make his acquaintance. He seems to think change is coming, and quickly."

She caught his excitement and laughed. "I'm glad to hear it."

They stood in the forest, the sunlight dappled around them, smiling at each other. After a moment, she grabbed his arm. "How did you know we took the beer?"

He smiled broadly, eyes sparkling. "Green suits you," he said.

She paused, taken aback, then raised an eyebrow. "Red suits you," she said, squeezing his jacketed arm.

His eyes widened momentarily, and then his grin softened into a fond smile. "You are a wild thing," he whispered, squeezing her hand gently before removing it from his arm.

"No more than you." She looked him in the eye.

He stared down at her, smiling, then abruptly turned and walked out of the forest.

Oleanna's eyes narrowed. "Oh no," she whispered after a few moments. "I can't do this again." And even so, Oleanna leaned against a birch tree, smiling, her face flushed and heart pounding.

http://oleannanovel.com

http://oleannanovel.tumblr.com

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13254652-oleanna