The Women of Troy – Pat Barker

The war is won. Troy has fallen, been sacked and burnt. Every man, boy, and foetus (just to be on the safe side) killed. The women, grieving wives, mothers, and orphans, are divvied up among the victors.

Helen is taken back by Menelaus, a surprise to many of the Greeks who blame her for all the death and destruction, but there again, she remains a stunner and able to charm her way through life (and death). Andromache, widow of Trojan hero Hector, is taken by Pyrrhus, teenage son of dead Achilles, and incompetent slayer of old King Priam. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, virgin priestess raped in the temple during the battle, is picked by Agamemnon – a choice that is just asking for trouble.

These women of Troy join long-term captive Briseis who, carrying Achilles’ child, has been married off to Alcimus. This acquired respectability gives Briseis privileges in the camp which she uses to keep up morale and mitigate the treatment of the captive women.

Though the war is over, the Greeks remain camped between the ruined city and the sea, which has become impassable due to persistent adverse winds. The Gods are clearly displeased, but who is to blame? Pyrrhus who won’t allow Priam to be buried? Menelaus for taking back Helen? Or Agamemnon for marrying Cassandra despite having a wife back home?

Pat Barker relates the fate of the Trojan women with candour. They may be in the same boat but that doesn’t mean they have to like each other. Rivalries and jealousies have to be managed to survive, and Briseis needs her wits about her as the wind blows, tempers shorten, and a sacrifice has to be made.

Though this second book of the trilogy lacks the bloody intensity of the first, it bubbles along compulsively enough with subplots emerging, some resolved, other left to play out in volume three, which is nestling on the bookshelf ready to go.

Precipice – Robert Harris

In the summer of 1914 as Europe stands on the precipice of war, Herbert Henry Asquith, the last (as it turns out) Liberal Prime Minister, wrestles with the international situation that faces the United Kingdom. Only one thing helps him to clear his mind, think things through, and determine a way forward: or rather one person. Not his political aides and allies, nor his long-standing wife and family, but his twenty-six-year-old ‘special friend’ Miss Venetia Stanley.

They write to each other daily, sometimes two or three times a day (that’s what you call a postal service!). He takes her on chauffeur-driven rides enabling secluded talks in the back of his official limousine, and on romantic walks in parks and country lanes. And during the walking and the talking he discusses the confidential affairs of state on his mind. And in the letters, he shares classified information and top-secret telegrams.

Now the Stanleys are establishment, well connected, and though the ‘special friendship’ is noted in their close circles, the extent and exact nature ae veiled in discretion. Until, that is, some discarded documents come to the attention of MI5, and Sergeant Paul Deemer is tasked with investigating their source.

Crafted from the scarcely believable actual letters from Asquith to Venetia (the replies are imagined by Harris) the spellbinding narrative moves through a year of personal and political drama. It is not thrill-a-minute, more like watching a slow-motion train crash. You know it won’t end well but don’t know exactly when and how it will come off the rails.

Full of period detail, with bit parts for the likes of Winston Churchill, David Lloyd George, and Lord Kitchener, it retains interest throughout. Harris is a good storyteller and balances the threads of the narrative – the Asquith & Venetia affair, the Paul Deemer investigation, and the outbreak of the First World War – in masterful fashion.

Unsheltered – Barbara Kingsolver

Willa’s rambling house on Plum Street is falling down, slowly but inexorably. It is not her fault. The property, inherited from an aunt and pressed into service at a time of her family’s financial stress, seemed to offer an opportunity. Now it seems to be more of a threat.

The family likewise is a hotchpotch of unused potential. The magazine that Willa edited has gone bust; her academic husband, has had to take a low paid lecturer post locally; her wayward daughter works a few hours at a community café; and her invalid father-in-law needs full time care but is contemptuous of the state welfare that could help the family cope. And now her son, emerging from a promising but unremunerated internship in the city, has been left with sole responsibility for his months-old baby.

One hundred and fifty years previous, the same plot on Plum Street is occupied by Thatcher Greenwood, a science teacher recently married to a young wife who came with dependents – widowed mother and young sister – and this house put up by her father. It has only been built a few years, part of the Vineland community developed (and now run as a fiefdom) by a Captain Landis, but already there are issues with the structure for Thatcher to deal with. A more pressing concern is job security. His contract renewal is in the hands of the headteacher, who is a Darwin-denier. Thatcher’s scientific integrity is under pressure but is bolstered when he discovers his next-door neighbour is a respected amateur biologist and regular correspondent of the Origin of Species author.

Lots happen in the two, time sundered households. Characters and relationships develop with a pleasing richness. Both settings exude authenticity and Kingsolver seamlessly slips in some persuasive, liberal-leaning socio-political points of view. Overarchingly, do the crumbling houses serve as a metaphor for the materialism of their times? Is the effort to shore up the edifice worth the candle, or is it better to let it fall and move on?

Can Willa and Thatcher come to embrace the concept that unsheltered at least you can see the sky, you can let the daylight in?

An interesting, engaging and thought-provoking read, highly recommended.