The Wars of the Roses were a series of dynastic wars fought between supporters of two rival branches of the royal House of Plantagenet: the houses of Lancaster and York (whose heraldic symbols were the “red” and the “white” rose, respectively) for the throne of England. They were fought in several sporadic episodes between 1455 and 1485, although there was related fighting both before and after this period. The final victory went to a relatively remote Lancastrian claimant, Henry Tudor, who defeated the last Yorkist king Richard III and married Edaward IV’s daughter Elizabeth of York to unite the two houses. The House of Tudor subsequently ruled England and Wales for 117 years.
With their heavy casualties among the nobility, the wars are thought to have continued the changes in feudal English society caused by the effects of the Black Death, including a weakening of the feudal power of the nobles and a corresponding strengthening of the merchant classes, and the growth of a strong, centralised monarchy under the Tudors. It heralded the end of the medieval period in England and the movement towards the Renaissance.
Pictured: Painting by Henry Payne in 1908 of the Temple Garden scene in Shakespeare’s Henry VI, Part One.
♔ TODAY IN HISTORY ♔ - 25 August 1482: Margaret of Anjou, formerly Queen of England, dies aged 52 in Anjou as a poor relative of King Louis XI of France. She had outlived her husband Henry VI, as well her only son Edward of Westminster, Prince of Wales, and her death came almost a year before that of her nemesis, Edward IV. The former queen was buried in Angers Cathedral beside her parents, but sadly her tomb was desecrated during the French Revolution.
The Riding of Lancelot is Sydney Fowler Wright’s take on a scene from Arthurian mythology. But before we look into the book itself let’s look at the source material. King Arthur’s as old as Britain, his story stretches back fifteen centuries and has never perhaps been as vibrant as in the last century. Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae [The History of the Kings of Britain] introduced him to the English via Latin from the Welsh in the first half of the 12th Century. Now don’t assume that a grand title such as this book has would suggest a good place to look into early English Arthurian sources, because Monmouth’s book was one of the original works of alternative history wherein he peppered his history with elements of credible fantasy. Geoffrey introduced to the canon Merlin, Excalibur and Guinevere - that’s not to say they were his creation, but the written word being what it was, his was the first detailed recording in this form (with early fantasy literature it’s better to think of a web than a timeline, each author adding his own spin). Chretien de Troyes, a French writer from around the same time, plugged in Lancelot and the holy grail. But it wasn’t until the 15th century that the mythology found an expansive story in Thomas Malory.
In a similar way to how Tolkien gathered together northern European mythology in Lord of the Rings, Thomas Malory gathered Arthurian legend.The book was originally intended to be titled The Whole Book of King Arthur and of His Noble Knights of the Round Table, but was retitled Le Morte D'Arthur [The Death of Arthur] and was one of the first books printed in England (by William Caxton), an ode to its importance if ever there were one. The earliest obtainable copies of the book come from 1634, which was at least the sixth edition of the book and nearly 150 years more recent than Caxton’s printing from 1485. None of the intervening editions are likely to come to market (an early 16th century fragment came to the market in the early 1970s). The British Library own a manuscript from a few years before Caxton’s printing. I mention this printing history largely because the books go through new translations, have material added to them and get edited and even rewritten. Each iteration of the story alters the cultural landscape a little, adds a new gem, or omits something that offers food for thought.
It’s important to consider the conditions under which a book is written and published, the writer’s education, first language, social standing etc. because all these things affect the writer’s bias and interpretation of the folklore they’re they’re trying stabilise. For Malory this is particularly important. He could quite easily have been from Westeros, his claims included being a knight of the shire, a member of parliament, being fluent in both French and English, reasonably well educated and somewhat wealthy. But toward the end of his life he took a violent turn and his claims included extortionist, horse thief, general thief and rapist. He even broke out of prison and was involved in subterfuge in the Wars of the Roses. He was ultimately jailed though, and it was in jail that he wrote Le Morte. Like I say, Westeros would suit him well. Now if you take a person like that and get them to write a book, particularly a book on something they have first hand knowledge from both the moral and amoral sides, then you end up with something that lasts five hundred years.
Anyway, we’re getting into too deep a history, so let’s get back to Fowler Wright’s book. It’s sufficient to know at this point that Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur is kind of the first version of the Arthurian legend that we’re all familiar with and for the 500 years or so that it’s been in print it’s been an invaluable source for many, if not most, of the subsequent interpretations.
S. Fowler Wright was a fairly prolific writer, particularly of science fiction and was one of a handful of British writers to fill that gap of gestation between Verne and Wells and the forthcoming wave of golden age science fiction from the US. He’s largely forgotten today, but there are readers out there still. His first published work was another Arthurian work, published ten years before the present work. Reading through various biographies it would appear that Fowler Wright was a strongly moral man. Now a comparison between himself and Malory isn’t really applicable, but one can assume that the vantage points were quite different, and thus their rendering of the myth would be quite different.
The book itself is a joy to read, within the first five pages there’s action involving knights, a chase scene between knights, a fight between knights, a castle containing a knight and a forest with a knight (bloody Lancelot sleeps through the whole thing). I think that’s more than Robert Jordan put in entire books. As the book is a poem you take the pace of reading somewhat more carefully, parsing each sentence slowly and deliberately within the structure, but the image that is created is very similar. The flow and rhythm of the book brings you very much into the scene. The story itself is quite faithful to its source, Wright has even used iambic pentameter as did Malory. it is drawn from book six of Le Morte with a few minor characters replaced with more familiar ones. Wright also rounds the story off a little at the end by adding a kiss with Guenevere. On top of this, there’s something quite special about reading a book that’s this old and quite well presented. It undoubtedly adds to the reading experience to think you’re reading the story as it was first read a hundred years ago.
It’s difficult to say how this book in particular contributed to the current snapshot of fantasy literature; it is absent from many bibliographies, present in only a handful of academic institutions, scarce and out of print. And since the book is out of print and has been since Wright self-published this with a print run of 500 copies in 1929 it’s tricky to find. I’m aware that I’m building the book up just to say that you can’t read it, this isn’t my intention. Rather, I would hope you might take away the impression that next time you’re in a bookshop and you see an old leather bound tome with a somewhat intriguing title then buy it (obviously only if they’re not overly expensive for the gamble), you might be surprised. I have attached the first few pages, which I urge you all to read, just so you can get an impression of the landscape.
So, why am I writing about a virtually unobtainable book, something by virtue of the fact that it’s written by a forgotten author and is out of print is evidently unimportant? Well, because it should be remembered. This interpretation is a good one, and by studying it we are keeping it fresh in the collective mind of fantasy. It is an important work in the Arthurian oeuvre and deserves a bit of attention. But I don’t bring it here to tell you just how important it is or its history, I bring it here to illustrate the point that to find good fantasy doesn’t always mean sitting and waiting for the publishers to show you a pre-publication trailer of a new book, or even believing the hype. No, there are stories out there, good stories that have survived millennia, stories that take a bit of hunting to find and a bit of time to read, but stories that are rewarding. We talk about the changing landscape of fantasy, but we can’t truly appreciate this without looking at the history of it.
Stain glass windows at York Minster depicting Richard III and his royal arms, the white boar, with his motto “Loyalty me lie”.
Richard died on this day on the 22nd of August 1485. He was the last of the Plantagenet and Yorkist dynasty, and the last English King to die in battle.
@verecunda kindly tagged me in the following meme (thanks dear! <3):
1. Best book you have read in 2021 so far? It has to be Dominion by Tom Holland; it’s about how Latin Christianity and the West have shaped each other over two thousand years, to the point where our values and our understanding are inescapably Christian at the root, no matter how secular you are.
I don’t think any work of Tom Holland’s will ever top Rubicon (that book’s verve! its pizzazz! how much it taught me! I owe it such a debt); but I have to bow down to the sheer amount of research involved in condensing over 2,000 years of Western history into 600 pages, and to how revelatory and transformative an argument it is. Once you’ve heard it, you’ll see it everywhere, not least in how strange, fascinating and terrible the classical world now seems to us, following such a radical shift in morals.
2. Best sequel you have read in 2021 so far? I’ve only read two sequels in 2021 so far! I am as ever astonishingly bad at continuing series.
The best is Lustrum, where all I can say is thank you Robert Harris for my life. I knew late Roman republican politics was wild, but I’d forgotten it was this gloriously entertaining. Harris is clearly such a political and parliamentary geek; someone who delights in the theatricality of public life, the alliances and compromises that lie behind it, and the shifts in power and influence expressed and created by debates and legislation.
But more than that, the book is so good because the people in it feel so real. I love his Lucullus (disdainful, feline, magnificent, I’m), love his hot bullheaded Metellus Celer to absolute bits, and I even really like Harris’s Catilina, for his charisma and ruined nobility—he feels like a tragic figure, someone who should have been using his qualities in service of the state, not trying to destroy it.
The most tragic figure in it, though, is Cicero, whose moment of glory is also the seed of his destruction. (and it never occurred to me before that his harping on about having saved the Republic might be in part displaced guilt over ordering executions without trial.) Tiro’s portrait of him is clearly rooted in long-standing familiarity and tender affection, the sort of love which embraces the whole of the other person, flaws and weaknesses included, and reading it you get the same sense as you do in the letters, of how much Cicero depended on those close to him for support. but more than that, you also get a sense of the kind of person Tiro must have been, to serve Cicero so well - intelligent and observant and sensitive and devoted.
I could wish for a little more depth in the portrayal of the female characters - though it shows the extent of the misogyny they had to fight against - but otherwise this book is an absolute riot. I can’t wait to get on to the next one and yet I can’t bear the thought of Cicero dying. (his going into exile nearly made me cry.)
3. A new release you want to check out? Elodie Harper’s The Wolf Den, a story about the lives of slaves in a brothel in Pompeii. I’ve seen a lupanar in documentaries about Pompeii before, and even through a TV screen and across 2,000 years you can feel the misery and despair. So a character-driven novel which looks unflinchingly at the slaves’ experiences, and also focuses on the ways they find to survive, the friendship and sisterhood between them, sounds like a tough read but a really interesting and worthwhile one.
4. Most anticipated book release of the second half of the year? A lot of the books I was looking forward to this year have already come out, so I’m going to go for Jessie Burton’s Medusa, just because I can never get enough of myth retellings.
5. Biggest surprise? Natalie Haynes is a TREASURE. I went to an online talk about her book Pandora’s Jar, and I wasn’t expecting her to be so funny nor to have so much fangirlish enthusiasm when talking about Greek myths; think of the best Tumblr classics posts you’ve seen, with their mix of erudition and articulacy and affectionate teasing, and it was just like that. I really really recommend her podcast, Natalie Haynes Stands Up For The Classics; I’ve listened to a few episodes and it’s such a gem.
Pandora’s Jar itself is a bit more serious, but also something I would definitely recommend to people on here; it’s about how our common perceptions of Greek myths often marginalise or demean or vilify the women in them, and looks at ancient variants and modern retellings to consider alternative perspectives, ones with more sympathy for the women involved and why they do what they do.
6. Biggest disappointment? Nghi Vo’s The Empress of Salt and Fortune; it was pitched to me as a sharp, incisive novella about historiography and the exercise of female power. But its plotting made no sense, and I didn’t know enough about the characters or their world to care about or support the revolution being incited—swapping one ruler for another makes no difference to me when I haven’t been told much about either. It wasn’t rich and complex, it was shallow and unthinking.
7. Favourite new author (either new to you or debut)? Melissa Scott. A Choice of Destinies is all about what might have happened if Alexander had turned west after conquering Persia, and headed for Rome instead. (she thinks the Romans would have been folded into Alexander’s empire, and I have to say the same, sorry Livy!) What I love about this book is its wealth of immersive detail, and its characters: firstly the Companions (in particular its steady, intelligent Ptolemy, and its sardonic, amused, sandy-haired, lounging Perdiccas—a different characterisation than I’ve seen elsewhere, however I have one (1) favourite Companion and it’s always this guy), but also its Alexander and Hephaistion, and the ever-present, unspoken trust and support and care and affection running between them. The book never makes a big thing of it, but it’s clear how much they love each other.
There’s not much plot per se; instead it’s the kind of book which lets you escape into another world for a while. The quietly sad thing about it is not only that it didn’t happen but that it wouldn’t have happened; the choice the real Alexander made was the one that was truest to himself, no matter how tragically it ended.
8. Favourite new fictional crush? Edmund Ruthven from Strange Practice—a cultured, refined vampire with matinée idol good looks, a commanding presence and a tendency towards ennui. But beyond these typical vampire tropes, he’s also a connoisseur of modern technology as much as silk dressing gowns, someone with a passion for learning, and a serious, thoughtful and caring person who staves off said ennui by acting as guardian and protector in the monster community.
9. Newest favourite character? Red from This Is How You Lose The Time War; it was love from “and our glorious crystal future is looking so bright I gotta wear shades, as the prophets say”. I adore her terrible jokes and her boyish sense of mischief.
10. A book that made you happy? Vivian Shaw’s Strange Practice, an urban fantasy novel about Greta Helsing, who runs a Harley Street clinic where she takes care of London’s monsters, e.g. a mummy who needs a replacement bone in his foot or a ghoul chieftain with depression, and who solves mysterious murders with her vampire/vampyre (they’re different things!) friends.
I expected a light bit of fun; but I wasn’t expecting it to feel so comforting, or to vibe so deeply with its interior landscape—its wry humour and tea and rain and trips to the British Museum and references to Gothic literature. It’s a steadily kind and nurturing book, with a commitment to found family and to finding humanity in unlikely places, and I can’t wait to read the others in the series.
11. A book that made you cry? Nadia Bolz-Weber’s Accidental Saints; she used to be the pastor at House for All Sinners and Saints in Denver, and these are her community’s stories (and some of her own), loosely structured around the liturgical calendar.
Reading it I did feel that there was no way I would ever be cool enough for her, but her catechism places a huge emphasis on redemption and unconditional love and the idea that everyone we see is a child of God, that we are all messy, imperfect sinners who can only keep trying, and all these things are deeply moving to me. (the chapter on the Beatitudes is worth it alone; she, more than other teachers I’ve seen, really really gets it.)
12. Most beautiful book you have bought or received this year? The Puffin reissue of Susan Cooper’s Over Sea Under Stone — the cover artwork is gorgeous and slightly woodcut-esque, and exactly the right blend of folkloric and timeless for this series. (also, I flipped through and stumbled across the lines about how Barney had been longing to go to the West Country, because as someone who loved King Arthur, it would feel strangely like coming home. beginning to see now why so many people have recommended these books to me!)
Rachel Hickman’s One Silver Summer also has a very pretty cover - its dreamy romanticism feels just right for a story about horses and Cornwall and first love.
13. What book do you need to read by the end of the year? Apart from maybe finishing Robert Harris’s Cicero novels, I’d like to read AJ Pollard’s biography of Warwick - he’s one of my favourite historical figures, and it seems a shame to leave an entire book about him just sitting on my shelf!
14. What book do you need to re-read by the end of the year? I’d like to have another go at the Silmarillion; it’s been a really long time since I’ve read it (longer still since I read it completely—the last time I tried, I got bogged down in the long march to Valinor) and everything after Fëanor’s rebellion is incredibly hazy.
Some time ago, @richmond-rex referred an ask to me from @sksksksnd asking about the relationship between Margaret of Anjou and Henry VI and what Margaret thought of him. I wanted to do a bit of research before I answered and I also had a fair amount of stuff to deal with but here I am, finally answering it.
So the short answer is this is: we just don’t know and can’t know. The stereotype of them both is one of a mismatched couple: an assertive, even aggressive, and sexually active Margaret and a retiring and sexually repressed, if not asexual, Henry. But that stereotype is problematic: this image of Margaret, at least, originated in Yorkist propaganda that was repeated largely uncritically by Tudor writers until it became part of her narrative, even after it’s been challenged by historians. To talk about Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou is to shift through layers of propaganda and image-making - Lancastrian, Yorkist, Tudor - as well as hagiography and medieval literary conventions. Even if we do all that, what’s left is elusive and fragmentary. Their “true” selves are always out of reach. It’s easier, too, to talk about Henry VI’s reaction to his marriage because he is generally given an interiority in contemporary accounts that Margaret isn’t, even if that interiority is ultimately a construction of chroniclers, hagiographers and biographers.
one of my favorite scenes in Henry VI pt 1: the first argument between the lancasters and yorks, where they passive-aggressively pick roses at each other! somerset is on the left, and york and warwick on the right.
