The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins

I started reading The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins, while ensconced in an overstuffed armchair at the mall bookstore, killing time before the next showing of Mission Impossible IV. I rarely read popular literature of that kind. I picked it up on a whim, and I fully expected to dislike it. By the time I finally had to set the book down, I was about a hundred pages into the story–yes, there was a lot of time to kill before the next movie showing–and, to my surprise, I was hooked. I had to get a hold of a copy and finish it.

The setting of The Hunger Games is a dystopian future in the country of Panem which is divided into twelve districts ruled by a central, and dictatorial, Capitol. In former days, the twelve districts staged a failed rebellion against the Capitol, and in punishment for this crime, the Capitol now demands a yearly tribute from each of the districts: one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18. The tributes, chosen by lottery at the annual “reaping”, are brought to the Capitol where they must compete in a televised contest known as The Hunger Games. There the 24 teenagers must use their wits, their strength, and their survival skills to eliminate all competitors and fight to the death while the whole country watches. Only one of the tributes will survive, and in this way the Capitol will inspire fear and obedience amongst its subjects.

Katniss Everdeen, a resourceful sixteen-year-old from the poverty-ridden District 12, is the sole breadwinner for her widowed mother and younger sister Primrose. Nearly every day she sneaks into the woods to hunt food for her family, a forbidden activity, and earns money for necessities by surreptitiously selling game to others in the district. Her best friend Gale, an eighteen-year-old boy, supports his family in the same way, and the two often hunt together. When the reaping for The Hunger Games comes around, Katniss’ chief fear is that she or Gale will be chosen–and who will provide for their families then? But when the lottery winners are announced, something even worse occurs: Primrose Everdeen, her sweet and simple little sister, has been chosen as the female tribute. Katniss immediately volunteers to go in Primrose’s stead, an uncommon gesture but acceptable according to the rules. Before she knows it, she–along with the baker’s son, Peeta Mellark–are being transported to the Capitol to prepare for the most gruesome contest of their lives….

It is difficult to analyze The Hunger Games without spoiling the story for those who haven’t read it. I will say that author Suzanne Collins is especially adept at world building and creating believable characters. From the very first pages, the first person narration allows you to visualize Katniss’ home and empathize with her struggles. The plot is well paced and without a dull moment, although I did find the end of the book to be less compelling than the rest of it. Some have compared the grim, dystopian setting of the book to Orwell’s 1984, but I was reminded more of similarities to ancient world stories: Theseus and his companions being sent as tribute to Crete to face the Minotaur, Rome’s captives forced to fight each other as gladiators in the arena.

The storyline is laced with a familiar ethical dilemma: should Katniss kill the other contestants if it is the only way for her to survive, or should she choose the role of martyr over murderer? But although the dilemma is presented, Suzanne Collins does not press it too far. Katniss is protected from ever really making that decision by the circumstances of the plot, and even at the ending of the contest I did not feel that the question had been given an honest answer.

The final chapter of The Hunger Games gives some closure to the story, but the way is definitely left open for the further adventures of Katniss Everdeen in Catching Fire and Mockingjay. I’m looking forward to reading the sequels and can only hope that they are as well-told the first volume of Suzanne Collins’ trilogy.

Tags: Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games, Trilogy

2011 – The Year in Review

Janus, the two-headed Roman god, looked both backwards and forwards, and as we approach the month of January, it is a good opportunity to look back over the past year and plan ahead for the year to come.

How fared my reading in 2011? Looking back over my posts, I see that I reviewed thirty-three books in total. Thirty qualified for the Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011 hosted by Historical Tapestry, and out of those thirty, twenty were from Lindsey Davis’ Marcus Didius Falco series, mystery stories set in ancient Rome. I have stuck very close to the historical fiction genre this year, and even closer to a particular author whom I have come to know and love.

The three non-HF books I reviewed this year were: My Cousin Rachel, by Daphne Du Maurier; Georgette Heyer’s Regency World, by Jennifer Kloester, and Defending Constantine, by Peter J. Leithart. As you can see, my forays into the realm of nonfiction have been few and far between.

What are my reading plans for 2012? As much as I enjoyed my narrow focus on HF this year, I am determined to be a bit more eclectic in the year to come. I would like to read more nonfiction and perhaps some more contemporary or fantasy novels. (As of yesterday, I have The Hunger Games on hold at the library with 202 people ahead of me on the list.) I have not decided yet whether I will join any reading challenges, but if I do, I will be sure to post links to them. I have four new books on my bedside dresser right now–gifts from birthday and Christmas–and once I recover from the holidays and the holiday head cold I have, I can’t wait to dive right in….

Defending Constantine, by Peter J. Leithart

The Emperor Constantine is one of those people who could very ably defend himself while alive, but now, having the misfortune of being dead, has become a whipping boy for church historians and theologians alike. In his book Defending Constantine: The Twilight of an Empire and the Dawn of Christendom, Peter Leithart attempts to wipe the rotten vegetables off Constantine’s face and scour the reputation that the centuries have sullied.

A common version of Constantine’s story, one that Leithart sets out to refute, is that Constantine (who may or may not have truly converted) took control of the Church and absorbed it into the empire in such a way that its distinctives became diluted and its witness ineffectual. He freed the Church from persecution but then neutered the Church and created an atmosphere where “real” Christians and “pretend” Christians could not be told one from the other.

Leithart’s first method of refutation is to provide a biographical study of Constantine, firmly seating the man in the context of late Roman antiquity, judging his actions as they would have been understood by his contemporaries instead of holding them up against a perfectionistic standard. Yes, Constantine often referred to God in ambiguous terms like “Providence” instead of with explicitly Christian ones, but the fact that he paid no sacrifice or acknowledgment to Jupiter was enough to make Romans sit up and take notice. Yes, Constantine meddled in Church affairs, but the Church had some serious problems that needed to be meddled with. Yes, Constantine “called” the Council of Nicea, but he did not “preside” over it or dictate its verdict. Yes, contemporary ecclesiastics like Eusebius flattered Constantine unduly and thought he was the greatest thing since pita bread, but wouldn’t you too if you had suffered the horrendous persecutions of Diocletian and Galerian?

In a section titled “The Emperor and the Queen,” Leithart explains how Constantine had the right motivations but sometimes went overboard in his execution:

“Kiss the Son,” Psalm 2 exhorts, addressing itself to kings of the earth. Constantine kissed the Son, publicly acknowledging the Christian God as the true God and confessing Jesus as “our Savior.”

For Constantine and the emperors who followed him, after kissing the Son and Lord, it made sense to do homage to Jesus by supporting his Queen, the church–building and adorning cathedrals, distributing funds for poor relief and hospitals, assisting the bishops to resolve their differences by calling and providing for councils. Constantine did not always show restraint. Sometimes he took over business that belonged to the King and Queen alone. But if we want to judge Constantine fairly, we have to recognize that the Queen often had issues. A queen’s bodyguard ought to keep his hands off the queen, but what does he do when she turns harpy and starts scratching the face of her lady-in-waiting?

In the latter half of the book, Leithart waxes theological and deals with complaints by the theologian John Howard Yoder about the “heresy” of Constantinianism. Yoder claims that during Constantine’s reign, the Church was knocked off its Biblical trajectory and “fell” in such a way that it has never recovered. His three main issues with Constantinianism are: (1) it identified the nation/empire with the purposes of God (instead of the Church) and thus distorted the mission of the Church; (2) it destroyed the non-imperialist stance that the early Church had adhered to; and (3) it destroyed the early Church’s commitment to pacifism.

Leithart decimates these arguments in reverse order, showing that the history underpinning Yoder’s arguments is shaky at best. A shift in emphasis did occur during Constantine’s rule, but it was not the open break with the past that Yoder postulates, and much of the change can be seen as the difference between the Church in exile and the Church come into the promise land.

To me, the most interesting section was where Leithart refuted the claim that the pre-Constantine Church was unreservedly pacifist:

[T]he church was never united in an absolute opposition to Christian participation in war; the opposition that existed was in some measure circumstantial, based on the fact that the Roman army demanded sharing in religious liturgies that Christians refused; and once military service could be pursued without participating in idolatry, many Christians found military service a legitimate life for a Christian disciple.

Constantine did not seduce Christians into the military; he allowed them to become part of it by removing the ritual of pagan oaths and sacrifice that earlier emperors had demanded of their soldiers.

Leithart concludes his book by applying the analogy of infant baptism to what happened to Rome under the rule of Constantine:

In the end it all comes round to baptism, specifically to infant baptism. Rome was baptized in the fourth century. Eusebian hopes notwithstanding, it was not instantly transformed into the kingdom of heaven. It did not immediately become the city of God on earth. Baptism never does that. It is not meant to. Baptism sets a new trajectory, initiates a new beginning, but every beginning is the beginning of something. Through Constantine, Rome was baptized into a world without animal sacrifice and officially recognized the true sacrificial city, the one community that does offer a foretaste of the final kingdom. Christian Rome was in its infancy, but that was hardly surprising….

And what about John Howard Yoder and those other theologians that our long-dead Constantine needs defending against?

For Yoder, Rome was not radically Christian, Rome’s adherence to the faith was infantile, and because of that, he reasons, it was not Christian at all but apostate. He failed, as Augustine said against Pelagius, to give due weight to “the interim, the interval between the remission of sins which takes place in baptism, and the permanently established sinless state in the kingdom that is to come, this middle time of prayer, while [we] must pray, ‘Forgive us our sins.’” He failed to acknowledge that all–Constantine, Rome, ourselves–stand in medial time, and yet are no less Christian for that.

Tags: Biography, Christianity, Constantine, Pacifism, Peter Leithart, Rome

The Course of Honor, by Lindsey Davis

After finishing all twenty of Lindsey Davis’ Falco novels, I’ve moved on to some of her other historical fiction. Yesterday’s rainy afternoon brought me to the end of The Course of Honor, an early novel by Davis. Vespasian, the miserly and curmudgeonly emperor who was in love with assigning Marcus Didius Falco thankless tasks, is in love with something else entirely in this book. That something, or someone, is Antonia Caenis, an imperial freedwoman and Vespasian’s longtime mistress. The novel picks up at their first meeting and traces their tumultuous relationship all the way until Vespasian’s accession to the imperial throne. The cover bills it as a novel of “romantic suspense.” It is definitely romantic, though if you take the word “suspense” to mean “thriller,” you would be sorely misled. I suppose the suspense is mostly over whether this star-crossed couple can achieve a happily ever after or if circumstances will inevitably force them apart.

Lindsey Davis masterfully depicts the reigns of half a dozen emperors, beginning with Tiberius, showing it all through the eyes of Caenis. As a skilled scribe in the household of one of Caesar’s relatives, Caenis is privy to many revolutionary plots and imperial secrets. She first meets Titus Flavius Vespasianus when he is just an impoverished young nobleman from the countryside, looking to ascend the ranks of office (the course of honor) in Rome. Vespasian notes her intelligence and wit. His first thought upon meeting her–a thought that continues with him throughout his life–is: “What an interesting girl!”

Caenis eventually agrees to become Vespasian’s mistress. She knows that the happiness of being with him cannot last forever since the laws of the time forbade Roman senators (or emperors) from marrying former slaves. The best Vespasian and Caenis can hope for is to grow old together outside lawful wedlock and, since this is an unlikely prospect, Caenis tries to conceal the fact that she is desperately in love with him–perhaps that will make things easier when they are forced to part. The Roman ranks of government were weighted heavily against bachelors, and when Vespasian’s family finds a suitable bride for him, both of the lovers accept the inevitable separation.

The years go by as debauched emperor after debauched emperor ascends the throne. Caenis and Vespasian catch only brief glimpses of each other, but as long as his wife is still alive, they honorably keep their distance from one another. When that obstacle disappears, happiness once again seems in reach. But when a tumultuous empire, ruled by four different men in just one year, acclaims Vespasian as the new emperor, the new obstacle of his imperial status threatens to pull them apart once more….

Usually, I am annoyed by novels where the hero/heroine settle for a lifelong commitment outside of marriage. But in the case of this book, I was rooting for them all the way. Lindsey Davis shows very pointedly that Vespasian would have married Caenis if he could–but the laws of Rome stood in the way. I suppose he could have given up his senatorial status and voluntarily become a commoner (if matrimony was that important to him), but somehow that never really seemed an option in the novel. Caenis was beautifully portrayed as a clever, careful woman, hard to draw out of her shell, scrupulous, loyal, and slightly embittered by her fate. Vespasian also came to life as her perfect partner, jovial and martial, with a tender, romantic side. Although the novel lacked much of the witty banter that I adore about Lindsey Davis’ Falco series, it was an excellent read and one that I highly recommend for Roman history aficionados.

Tags: Historical Fiction, Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, Lindsey Davis, Romance, Rome, The Course of Honor

The Scarlet Lion, by Elizabeth Chadwick

Elizabeth Chadwick is considered by most historical fiction readers to be IT. She’s the top of the field. She’s the cream of the crop. And this is one instance where I agree with the popular voice. Chadwick’s novels are beautiful in their historical accuracy, their characterizations, and their storytelling ability.

The Scarlet Lion follows The Greatest Knight as the second book in Elizabeth Chadwick’s William Marshal series. It took me a few chapters to get into the story, but once I did, I was hooked. In the previous book, William married Isabella de Clare and discovered that she was the perfect companion, his safe haven in the storms. In The Scarlet Knight, both William and Isabella find many storms to weather.

King Richard dies soon after the story opens, and William supports John in taking the kingship (despite the complaints of John’s nephew Arthur). John is as mean, nasty, and debauched as any devotee of Robin Hood movies would have expected, and even though he is indebted to William Marshal, he will not prove grateful. John wrangles with Philip II of France, losing nearly all the English lands across the water. William, who owns substantial holdings in Normandy, can only keep them by swearing fealty to Philip for them. John gives him permission to do this, but later retracts his consent and accuses William of treachery.

To punish William for treating with Philip, John uses his justiciar in Ireland to harass the de Clare lands there. When William and Isabella wish to visit their Irish lands, he demands two of their sons as hostages. William displays an inhuman patience throughout these trials, refusing to rebel in any way against his sovereign. Isabella is not so restrained. She bitterly resents it when William agrees to turn their sons over to John, and the Marshals’ perfect marriage is sorely tested during these times.

I was rather surprised to discover towards the end of the book that my favorite character was actually King John. As loathsome as he was, he lent a lot of interest to the story. After his death, William is forced to take the reins of government as regent for John’s young son Henry III. The story winds to a close with the greatest knight of England on his deathbed, having served four English kings faithfully and preserved his honor through good times and bad.

As I mentioned at the beginning, the historical detail of Chadwick’s books is much to be praised. I have always been impressed by the milieu she creates. Today, I read an interesting guest post by Elizabeth Chadwick on Passages to the Past. In it she explains the use of “Akashic Records” in her research in addition to the usual primary and secondary sources.

My friend Alison King has the ability to access the past by tuning into the energy patterns of people and places that have gone before. She refers to her skill as being able to read the Akashic Records. I guess my handle on it would be psychic time travel…. I don’t expect everyone to believe in this, your mileage may vary, but I what I doing here, is telling you how it works for me and how I use it in my historical novels.

Chadwick explains how she uses this “psychic time travel” and gives detailed examples from her latest book, Lady of the English.

I find the Akashic Records very useful for finding out the things that history doesn’t tell us and also for examining people’s thoughts, feelings and emotions about a given set of circumstances. Because Alison can tune in to each individual, I can get a fully rounded view of an incident and not just one side. In that way it is even better than primary source. It skips the bias of the chroniclers. Even if the winners write the history as is so often said, I can also listen in to the losers and the bystanders. For example, when working on Lady of the English I had to write about how Empress Matilda felt about her adolescent husband Geoffrey of Anjou. I was able to look at Matilda’s thoughts and feelings on the matter, and then at Geoffrey’s. I was also able to look at what those around them thought and felt about it. When the child, the future Henry II arrived on the scene, I was able to explore his childhood through his own thoughts and feelings and through the observances and emotions of his parents and a wider audience.

Chadwick assures skeptical readers that she is careful to compare the Akashic Records with the primary sources from the period (where available)  to “test them for veracity.” Apparently, they always matched up. Chadwick has been using this resource since the later stages of writing The Greatest Knight. I am curious to see how a reliance on these Akashic Records will continue to influence her future work.

Tags: Chivalrous Deeds Historical Fiction Challenge, Elizabeth Chadwick, England, Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, King John, The Scarlet Lion, William Marshal

Georgette Heyer’s Regency World, by Jennifer Kloester

When reading Georgette Heyer’s books, you can sometimes find the story so enjoyable and full of levity that it seems like you’re reading “fluff”, not serious historical fiction. But Heyer was a meticulous researcher using actual places, persons, foods, furnishings, and turns-of-phrase from the Regency period. I didn’t realize just how detailed Heyer’s books are until I read Georgette Heyer’s Regency World: the definitive guide for all fans of Georgette Heyer, Jane Austen, and the glittering Regency period.

In this book, Jennifer Kloester explains all the different aspects of the Regency period in either narrative or encyclopedia fashion, using examples from Georgette Heyer’s novels to add piquancy to her prose. She talks about the different levels of society, the floor plans of houses, the roles of men and women, styles of clothing, and a host of other topics. The book conveys a vast amount of historical information–and astounds you with how much information Georgette Heyer managed to convey–but hardly ever falls into the trap of tediousness.

As the subtitle of the book proclaims, this book would definitely be of interest to all fans of either Georgette Heyer or Jane Austen. Although Kloester’s book is written in a popular style (e.g. without footnotes), I can see how it would also be a useful handbook for authors doing research in this period. In fact, one historical fiction author told me just the other day that this book is “the Bible” when it comes to writing Regencies.

Tags: Georgette Heyer, Georgette Heyer's Regency World, Jennifer Kloester, Regency Romance

Alexandria & Nemesis, by Lindsey Davis

I’ve been putting off writing this post for quite some time because it marks a monumentally sad occasion. I have finished the Marcus Didius Falco series by Lindsey Davis–all twenty books. There are no more. Ms. Davis recalcitrantly refuses to add any more to the Falco canon–but then I suppose it is the author’s prerogative to tire of a hero, even one as infinitely charming and cheeky as Marcus Didius Falco. At least she doesn’t go so far as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and kill off her dashing detective just to ensure that there can be no more sequels…or does she? You’ll have to read the final book to find out the answer to that question.

Alexandria occurs in the city of that name in Northern Africa renowned for its Lighthouse and its Great Library. When Marcus and family come to visit his odd old uncle Fulvius, they entertain the head librarian for dinner. The next morning the librarian is found dead in his study, and an illegal autopsy confirms that poison is the culprit. As the chief scholars of Alexandria jockey for position to become the next librarian, Marcus begins an investigation that leads him to stolen scrolls, man-eating lions, and power-hungry pedagogues.

In Nemesis, the final book in the Falco series, a family of Imperial freedmen living in swamps to the south of Rome are terrorizing the populace…and have been for years. When Marcus is called in to investigate the deaths of two of their neighbors, he discovers that some powerful official in Rome has been shielding them from punishment. This sets the stage for the final showdown between Falco and his nemesis, the Chief Spy Anacrites. The ending is a little bit shocking to modern sensibilities, but it sorts well with the harsher, less humane age in which Falco lived.

The Falco series is over, but to console myself I’ve picked up two more Lindsey Davis books from the library. The Course of Honor is set during the same time period as her Falco novels and focuses on the life of Vespasian. Rebels and Traitors deals with her “real” period of specialty, the English Civil War and the Commonwealth. Expect reviews from these in the near future after I’ve finished my time of mourning for the books that have passed away.

Tags: Alexandria, Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, Lindsey Davis, Marcus Didius Falco, Murder Mystery, Nemesis, Rome

See Delphi and Die & Saturnalia, by Lindsey Davis

Having fully indulged her hostility toward building contractors, lawyers, and newspapermen in the previous books, Lindsey Davis now takes the opportunity in See Delphi and Die to lampoon the travel industry. While Aulus, Helena Justina’s stuffy younger brother, is traveling to Athens to study law, he runs across a suspicious death in the city of Olympia. A young woman, recently married and on a honeymoon travel tour, is found battered to death outside a gymnasium. Aulus befriends the bereaved groom and, having learned a few detecting skills from his brother-in-law Marcus, takes an interest in the affair. Concerned that Aulus will never commence his education in Athens, Helena’s mother insists on Marcus heading to Olympia to investigate the case. Helena Justina has always wanted to tour Greece and see some of the wonders of the world, so the whole family goes along, complete with two unruly infants, two rapscallion nephews, their teenage foster daughter, and the son of Marcus’ personal trainer.

The Falco entourage joins up with the ill-fated tourists at Olympia where it is an off-year for the Olympic games. Marcus interviews each member of the tour and their smooth-talking guide, trying to uncover the perpetrator of the crime. He is unable to solve the mystery in Olympia, however, and must travel alongside the “Tracks and Temples” tour through more Greek cities–and more murders–until he can catch the killer. Corinth, Delphi, and Athens all enjoy a visit from the Falco family, and Lindsey Davis enlightens us on the shady practices associated with the Greek oracles.

Saturnalia sees the Falco family back in Rome in time for the holidays. Marcus is called in by the emperor’s minions to solve a political debacle  wherein the Germanic priestess Veleda has escaped from custody (after allegedly beheading a man) and is hiding somewhere in the city of Rome. This is the same Veleda that Helena’s brother Justinus took a shine too back in The Iron Hand of Mars when he ascended her tower and convinced her to free Falco and the other Roman soldiers. Marcus must not only apprehend Veleda before the end of the year, but he must do it in such a way that he protects Justinus from becoming an accessory to her escape.

In Saturnalia Lindsey Davis sheds light on the ancient practices of medicine and surgery. Four different schools of Roman physicians are represented, all doctors attending the hypochondriacal house where Veleda was being held. Marcus is the prototypical Roman Scrooge during Saturnalia, the “Season of Misrule” in Rome, and cannot wait for the holiday–and his case–to come to an end.

Tags: Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, Lindsey Davis, Marcus Didius Falco, Murder Mystery, Rome, Saturnalia, See Delphi and Die

Venetia, by Georgette Heyer

Venetia Lanyon has never been out in London society, and at twenty-five years of age she is almost on the shelf. After the death of her mother, her reclusive father kept the family tethered to the country estate, and after the death of her father, the role of managing the estate fell upon Venetia–at least, until her brother Conway can come home from his stint in the army and take his place as master of the house. Her scholarly brother Aubrey, a cripple determined to overcome his disability, provides her some company, and the golden-haired beauty has two country beaux besieging her peace day in and day out–but she still longs for the time when she can navigate the mysteries of the ton and see the world for herself.

Lord Damerel, a rake so notorious that even his title fails to make him a good catch, owns an estate nearby the Lanyon home. He rarely visits, and when he does, virtuous maidens like Venetia are careful to stay indoors. But when Damerel enters the neighborhood unannounced, he surprises Venetia out berry-picking alone and–being an unprincipled rake–steals a kiss from the beautiful damsel. Although Venetia is enraged by his audacity (and perhaps, slightly intrigued) circumstances conspire to throw the two together again. Aubrey is thrown from his horse on Damerel’s land, and Venetia rushes to Damerel’s home to tend her injured brother without any thought for her reputation.

Damerel, however, does take thought for it, and with Aubrey’s nurse to safely chaperone them, Venetia and the ineligible lord spend hours in rapt conversation, finding each other kindred spirits and becoming fast friends. Although Damerel has darker intentions in mind at first, he soon discovers that he has fallen desperately in love with Venetia. But when his checkered past keeps him from proposing to such an innocent, it is up to Venetia to convince him that she could do far worse than marry a reformed rake.

As always, Georgette Heyer’s regency romances provide an evening’s entertainment that rivals the best chick flicks. This is my second time reading Venetia, and although it still does not rank in the my top three Heyer faves, I must say that I enjoyed it even more than the first time I read it.

Tags: Georgette Heyer, Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, Regency Romance, Venetia

The Accusers & Scandal Takes a Holiday, by Lindsey Davis

I rarely give a book five stars. According to Goodreads terminology:

• one star – “didn’t like it”
• two stars – “it was ok”
• three stars – “liked it”
• four stars – “really liked it”
• five stars – “it was amazing”

Frankly, there just aren’t that many books where you think, “That was amazing!” when you finish it. I usually give Lindsey Davis books a four star rating on Goodreads, but today I’m going to have to make an exception for The Accusers.

This book was fabulous! Well-paced and well-plotted, it had me on the edge of seat till almost the very end as I waited for Marcus Didius Falco to solve the senator’s suicide/murder and discover what nefarious secret the family is trying to cover up. The name of the book comes from the role played by the two lawyers, former “accusers” during Nero’s reign. In order to stand up to their legal machinations, Falco is forced to become a lawyer himself. As well as providing an enthralling mystery, this book also gives a thorough picture of the Roman legal system and inheritance laws. Since these novels are best understood when read sequentially, you would be well advised to read the fourteen previous Falco novels, just so you can have the pleasure of reading this one.

Scandal Takes a Holiday, the next book in the Falco series, follows our intrepid hero to the port of Ostia where he is trying to ascertain the whereabouts of a missing scribe. This is not just any scribe, however–it is Infamia, the celebrated writer of the scandal column in Rome’s official newspaper. In the process, Falco discovers a corrupt builders’ guild, a kidnapping racket, and the unsettling information that Cilician pirates (the ones that Pompey wiped out a hundred years ago) might be plying their trade once again. I “really liked” this one, but it wasn’t “amazing.” Four stars! I’m going to be so sad when I finish reading this series….

Tags: Historical Fiction Reading Challenge 2011, Lindsey Davis, Marcus Didius Falco, Murder Mystery, Rome, Scandal Takes a Holiday, The Accusers