Your Humble Blogger read I, CLAVDIVS at an earlyish age, not having been allowed to watch it on television (I vaguely remember) and later finding it on my parent’s shelves. I have read it half-a-dozen times, altogether, and I expect it has not only colored my understanding of Roman history but my expectations of the historical novel more generally (together with Mary Renault, of course, and The Ides of March). Somehow, though, I never sought out any of Rupert Graves’sses’ other historical novels. Then, later, when I was aware of Rupert Graves as a poet and essayist who happened to write a popular historical novel, the lasting popularity of which was due to that television series I didn’t get to watch, it didn’t occur to me that he had written any other historical novels to seek out. But I work (as I may have mentioned) in an academic library, and if there is one good thing about working in an academic library at this moment in history, it is the profusion of leftover novels from the middle of last century. Which means that Count Belisarius was sitting on the shelf when I walked past.
Reading it had some of the experience of re-reading; the battle scenes seemed particularly familiar, with the dry references to thousands or tens of thousands of people slaughtered in this engagement or that, which led to such-and-such an advantage or disadvantage in the campaign, which was wasted through the mismanagement of the other, resulting in the further slaughter of tens or hundreds of thousands in another engagement. There is no attempt to convey what war is like, in an emotional sense. But then there isn’t much attempt to provoke strong emotions at all—Mr. Graves is telling a story, and there is much to interest the reader, and perhaps raise a chuckle or a tsk, but not much to cause uproar. Which, after all, is why I liked Claudius so much at such a young age, or rather, what gave me an opportunity to like it rather than being frightened off by the nightmarish stuff that was actually being described.
Despite that comforting feeling, I do have to relate that the book isn’t very good. There’s a reason why CLAVDIVS is a popular book and Belisarius is not. The character of Claudius is a fascinating character, full of contradictions and quirks, and who faces real danger and real problems, and worms his way through them in an entertaining way. The character of Belisarius is not. Part of that is that where Claudius is his own narrator, our narrator here is someone else, also not a very interesting character, which doesn’t help, but splitting the focus here emphasizes the problem, and to no good purpose. Belisarius is noble, bighearted, clever (at military stuff), and pious. The piety is viewed a trifle askance by the scribe/narrator, but we are on Belisarius’s’s side on that, so it doesn’t matter. Also, the Emperor, Justinian, is a weak character, and largely reacts to things instead of acting on them—he is no Livia, and neither is Theodora.
Speaking of Theodora, another odd and somewhat comforting thing in the book is the way Mr. Graves makes it clear that some pretty salacious stuff is going on, without actually revealing what it is. It’s all out of Procopius, only without the details. It’s one of those things about the thirties and this kind of writing, that you can’t actually mention a dildo, which would make the book trash and pr0n, even if it’s in the original Latin you are spicing up.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.
This account intrigues me–I doubt I would like the book, but I am tempted to read it, simply to see the spin it puts on this collection of historical figures. I have just been reading around again in _The Sarantine Mosaic_ by Guy Gavriel Kay (2 volumes, _Sailing to Sarantium_ and _Lord of Emperors_), which is a lightly fantastical, alternate history version of a small portion of the reign of Justinian and Theodora, from the perspective of a mosaicist who works briefly in their court. That is a deliberately dry and vague account of the book, as I don’t want to drop spoilers, but I will drop one: *spoiler alert* one of the most satisfying moments in the books comes when the mosaicist punches the Procopius character in the nose and knocks him flat *end spoiler alert*. So if Graves is following Procopius, I imagine it makes for a very different view of the situation from the one offered by Kay . . .
Procopius doesn’t come off well as a character in Mr. Graves’ book, either. It’s hard to imagine a really sympathetic portrayal of a historian who writes one book for the Emperor and the glory of the Empire and keeps another secret book where he traduces them all. I mean, if he thinks they are all disgusting beasts and fiends, he shouldn’t be sucking up to them in public, and if he doesn’t, then there’s no excuse for the viciousness of the manuscript. Which really is vicious; I’ve looked through it, tho’ I can’t say that I’ve read it, precisely (just the dirty bits, of course).
I keep meaning to read some Guy Gavriel Kay; I should do something about that at some point…
Thanks,
-V.
My goal of eventually luring you in to reading some Kay was one motive for my comment . . . It is very likely that you can find Tigana in a good academic library near you. That is the book I would start with for Kay. Then, if you like it, proceed chronologically through his canon, backtracking to pick up the Fionavar Tapestry (his first work) when you like him sufficiently well not to be put off by the flaws of a first novel. Knowing The Fionavar Tapestry can deepen appreciation and understanding of Kay’s other books, although it is certainly not necessary, except perhaps for his, at the moment, most recent novel, _Ysabel_ (his next work is due out in the spring).
Apologies for high-jacking the thread, as they say, but I figured at this point that the chances of disrupting a wide-ranging conversation of Count Belisarius had become remote. . .
We do not have Tigana; we have Ysobel, which I am disinclined to start with (per your comment) and we have Sailing to Sarantium which is the Byzantine one you mentioned. Shall I give that a shot? Or should I wait until the opportunity to get Tigana arrives (my next visit to the local public library, at a guess)?
Thanks,
-V.
Well, it’s unfortunate that they don’t have Tigana. Sarantium is not a bad place to start for Kay–it’s his most ambitious work, and it’s representative of his mature style. Because it is his largest mature work, however, it is also the most diffuse and the least oriented toward plot of his mature works. Knowing that you are a fiend for plot, I would steer you more in the direction of Tigana, which is more intensely plot-driven. If your academic library has either The Lions of Al-Rassan or A Song for Arbonne, I think they would also be good starting points, having a similar balance between plot and character to Tigana. I think Tigana is the best of those three, but opinions on that vary.
Another factor you might want to consider is setting. With The Sarantine Mosaic, you have Byzantium during the reign of Justinian; with Tigana, you have Renaissance Italy with a dash of Risorgimento revolutionary politics; with Arbonne, you have Languedoc during the era of the troubadours and the Albigensian Crusade; and with Lions, you have medieval Spain during the Reconquista. So if historical flavor is what will pique your interest at the moment–i.e. you want to compare Kay’s vision of Justinian to Graves’ or suchlike–that might outweigh the plot-character balance as a basis for choice.
I agree with Chris: given a lack of Tigana, try for Lions or failing that, Arbonne. (My personal preference there.)