Welcome, all people and things Gaelic

Florida Gael — A new page turner

A month ago, I was pleased to be interviewed by correspondent Brittany Ó Ruacháinn for the cover story on Florida Gael — a new publication focusing on all things Gaelic, and me being Florida-based author focused on Irish history. 

Brittany Ó Ruacháinn

Brittany’s husband, Oisín Ó Ruacháinn, is founder and publisher of the monthly online newspaper which can include Welsh, Scottish and Irish groups, social clubs, sports, businesses, reviews, and more. It’s where you’ll find stories about Irish clubs making a difference in their communities, Scottish dancers offering an event, pub reviews from across Florida, and of course – books, like When Starlings Fly as One!

The first edition was published January 15, 2021, on Issuu, an online media platform that features magazines, newspapers, and portfolios, but now Florida Gael has its own website, and you can also find it on Facebook.

To learn more about this exciting new venture, Florida Gael, I’ve asked Oisin (pronounced oh-SHEEN) a few questions:

Oisin Ó Ruacháinn

1. What inspired you to create Florida Gael? What urged you forward on the idea, and what was your first step?

As with many Americans, I have Irish ancestry; that ancestry inspired me to pursue Irish history. Being an historian, I often (before the pandemic) gave talks and lectures about Irish history to the general public, and was always inspired by just how popular the topic of Irish history, and certainly genealogy, was.

In the summer of 2020, I had just left a career as a journalist and moved into development. I had grown to thoroughly enjoy journalism, and I was looking to create a publication in my off-hours — of course, Irish affairs immediately sprang to my mind, so I decided to create Florida Gael: a publication not only for those people I had met as an historian giving talks on Irish history, but also for all those who descend from Gaeldom, i.e., Ireland, Scotland, and also Wales (not that I wouldn’t cover news from Cornwall, Brittany and the Isle of Man!).

My first step into making Florida Gael a reality was to start feverishly networking, interviewing, and formulating a paper that I felt was interesting and  pleasant to read — and I’ve been doing the same thing ever since.

2. What goals did you set for it? What do you hope to accomplish over the next few years?

To be quite honest, my initial goal for Florida Gael was just to have a small outlet for me to discuss Irish affairs in Florida — this quickly grew into something much more, and I’m delighted that it did. At first, my goal was just to have something out there, whether that be one article or a write-up on something interesting I found online. Today, I’m very proud to say that we have a full newspaper spread, and my future goals are more concrete: I intend, le cúnamh Dé, to eventually bring Florida Gael into press and have hard copies available statewide. This will undoubtedly take time, money, and a few other things I might not have at the moment, but with a little hope we’ll get there.

3. You’ve successfully launched a new publication in the middle of a pandemic, when it can be difficult to get people’s attention. How have you managed it?

There’s no doubt we’ve struggled with getting the word out about us. It seems like the whole world is caught up in one frightening current affair after another, and people have little time to devote to reading a small publication — but that isn’t quite right. There has been wonderful support for us between a small group of people, and I think Florida Gael represents a kind of break from the chaos that we all need, with the twist that it’s for a special-interest group: Florida Gael brings together those communities around Florida, which have always been present but scattered, and gathers them into once place to celebrate their culture. I like to think of us as a ‘hearth and home’ for Gaeldom in Florida.

4. Tell us about your background and personal interest in Gaelic culture and Irish history. Are you native Florida, native Irish? And if so, what part of Ireland?

I’m a Floridian! I was raised on the Manatee River, on the eastern border of Bradenton. My mother’s side is Irish on both sides, although there are no paper trails, unfortunately. My interest in Irish history came from some deep-rooted attraction; I have always been interested in Irish culture (and my family’s small customs on St. Patrick’s Day were probably the original inspiration). 

When I entered college, I knew I wanted to pursue something in either archaeology or history, and I happened upon a book by historian/antiquitarian P.W. Joyce, The Social History of Ancient Ireland Vol. I. I was immediately hooked. I absolutely knew, at once, that I wanted to become an historian of Irish history. Since then, I earned a B.A. from the Univ. of South Florida in History (European), an M.A. in Early Medieval Irish history from University College Cork in Ireland, and I am currently attending the University of the Highlands and Islands in Scotland (online, although it is not an online university– I had to get special permissions for that one, ha!) for my Ph.D. within the field of Early Medieval Irish history. 

5. What do you find the most fun and exciting as publisher of Florida Gael?

The most exciting part about Florida Gael is definitely meeting and interviewing people, and learning about all the different groups and events here in Florida. Sometimes these events are really quite hidden, so it’s exciting when I can happen upon something incredibly interesting and meet equally incredibly interesting people!

6. What can readers do to help support Florida Gael?

Share, share, share. The best thing that readers can do is share out Florida Gael, to anyone that’s ever shown even an inkling of interest. If your grandmother once said, “I sure do love me some corned beef and cabbage,” share it. If your great-uncle (twice removed) mentioned, “you know, we’re descended from that guy in Braveheart,” share it. If you know anyone that’s ever searched for a four-leafed clover, send ’em our link.

Besides sharing it out, reviews on Florida Gael really do help! It not only lets me know that people read and enjoy the content (something which is always wonderful to hear), but it also helps tell Google and Facebook that Florida Gael is something that people are interested in.

Informing the Spirit

PART 3 OF BUILDING THE BELOVED CHARACTER

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In my previous posts on this topic, I talked about the portrait that inspired the character, Merel de Vries, protagonist of When Starlings Fly as One, and the time and place that defined her experience. In this third and last part of the series, I go inside the character to her feelings and reactions.

After discovering the portrait, the main structure of the character—situation, personal connections, physical features—came quickly into focus. But what of the fires that burn inside her? What makes up her inner spirit? What drives her? What obstructs? What causes her to stumble? And what could I give her from my own heart and experience?

At first, I thought Merel and I had little in common. She is quite small while I am tall. She is an only child and an orphan, while I come from an average family with two sisters. And I tend to be an introvert while she inserts herself quite boldly into conversations beyond her status. 

I stumbled about, writing along the historical timeline and weaving Merel into it. I began to feel her more than hear her, especially her frustration around her size when taller and older people received more respect and recognition, and the benefits that accompanied those. This drew me to a memory: the “first green chair.”

You may laugh, but my experience came back to me that as the youngest of three sisters, I was generally at the end of the receiving line, offered the last pick, and dressed in hand-me-downs. When it was time to watch TV after school, one of my two sisters always called it: “First green chair!” She who called it first got to sit in the green swivel rocking chair closest to the screen. Second place got to sit in the second green chair, a little further away—still good but not prime. I had to sit several feet away on the couch, or on the floor. Even if I called it first, I wasn’t heard and could never win. My sisters could just go do something else and leave me with an empty victory. 

So, it’s not event, size or circumstance that I can relate to in Merel’s life, but the feelings. No one wants to listen to her. She’s treated as a child when she is a woman. Her value and ideas are discounted. 

Merel’s way of coping and surviving is by using her size to advantage. She can hide behind things like tall chairs; she can go places others can’t, and she can secret herself in places to overhear valuable conversation. Here, I was reminded about the gold wingback chair.

One night when our parents were out for dinner together, my best friend and I invited a boy to my house so that he and my friend might get more acquainted. We were 12 or 13 years old, so I’m talking about a kiss here, nothing more. Naturally the parents came home early for drinks in our living room. While I diverted attention, my friend hid behind the tall wingback chair upholstered in gold brocade until the moment came when she could sneak the boy out again. I remember how that felt, too. Sheer terror and then relief and elation.

I suppose it emboldened us. Sleepovers became a time to fake-sleep until we could hear the parents snoring, then sneak out the bedroom window, romp through the dark, empty streets of our neighborhood and meet friends (boys) in open houses under construction. We never were caught. I think it gave us confidence that we were clever and could get away with things. That experience informed Merel’s boldness and boasting that she could do things, go places, and handle situations she’d not yet tried, as well as her joyful friendship with Jayne O’Keeffe. 

In the 17^th century, religion was a huge part of people’s lives. The Dutch tended to lean toward Calvinism—a more independent faith in which people could find their own answers and interpretations of God by reading scripture directly. Merel has only a passing interest in religion, though she attends chapel as all were expected to do. She prefers her own place of worship in the trees among the birds. Perhaps my own experience informs this also. Religion was always a choice in my family, and I loved to climb trees where I studied the heavens from the holly and avocado trees in my own back yard.

These and other memories from my life have shaped Merel’s character in many ways I did not expect, and that’s part of what makes the writing process interesting, fun, and self-explorative. 

Thank you for reading this series. I hope you’re interested in Merel’s story, When Starlings Fly as One.

Available now from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Shepherd

and other booksellers: books2read

The Imprint of Place and Time

BUILDING THE BELOVED CHARACTER, PART 2

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One’s surroundings can have as much to do with a person’s development as his or her parentage. Most of the time but not always it determines heritage, language, social mores, learning levels, and the nature of formative experiences. 

Somewhere along my lifeline a formative experience sparked my fascination with castles, and particularly Irish castles. Thus, I’m always writing about them. But, what kind of person actually lived or worked in an Irish castle? How did it affect what they knew, saw, did, or how they felt about their lives? 

A view to an Irish landscape

In the 17^th century, Ireland was surely wilder and even more lushly green than it is now, but its neighbor England, one of the world’s most powerful nations at the time, saw Ireland as both a dangerous threat and a precious emerald jewel. The threat was that Ireland was mostly Catholic, and should the Spanish choose to attack England they might use Ireland as a back door for entry. At the same time, land seemed abundant for the taking, to reward nobles and military leaders, for harvesting timber, wool, and flax, and for soaking up the lucrative fish oil industry—a very ripe plum to be plucked.

From the time of King Henry VIII, the English had envisioned plantations across Ireland—settlements of pious and hard-working English families—intending that eventually Ireland would be predominantly English-Protestant, living strictly and peacefully under English rule. This, as one might imagine, created a fiery tension between English and Irish—and my description is at best a gross simplification of a very complex and heated situation.

My novel, When Starlings Fly as One, takes place when King Charles I is in bitter conflict with the English Parliament and headed for civil war. The Irish Parliament supports him and even sends money in hopes of maintaining his lenience toward Catholics and resolving a long list of Irish grievances that he agreed to but hasn’t yet addressed.

By 1641, as the English are so distracted, Irish clans are uniting for a chance to take back their island. The rebellion spreads through unity of purpose, but it suffers under disorganization and the divisive goals of individual clan leaders—including one who insists on capturing the defensive castles along Ireland’s southern coast—and especially Rathbarry Castle in County Cork.

My protagonist, Merel, began life as the only child of a painter’s apprentice and his wife. in a port city called Harlingen in the Dutch province of Friesland. She would have lived with her parents in a small wood-framed house with a thatched roof. Upon arriving in Ireland, she is orphaned and goes to live in a large castle fortress on the windy southern coast. She must quickly adapt to life as a lady’s companion within the high walls of a bustling castle that soon comes under siege. She finds herself amid this conflict, an innocent who must eventually choose a side. 

She, like many servants at that time, is at the mercy of her employers, her status bordering on slavery, trapped within stone walls and expected to do what she’s told. Castle life is not as luxurious as it might seem from a distance. There is drudgery, filth, discomfort, fear, lack of control over one’s own destiny, and growing tensions the longer the people are confined together within the castle walls. 

And ever-present is Ireland’s landscape, ever-changeable, at times vast and empty, still as a painting and yet undulating, crowded and bloody, or cool, wet, and windswept—adding to the disturbed atmosphere of the time. 

I didn’t plan so much trouble and bewilderment for Merel when I first saw the portrait by a Dutch painter that inspired her character (see Part 1). Clearly, she was clever, secretive, perhaps loved, and perhaps exploited in some way. 

As I researched the story, certain events had to occur as it developed, and certain things existed in her surroundings such that, rather than imagining what happened to her, I realized them. She had to be Dutch, I realized, because it was the only way she could come into the conflict without bias. Also, she had to have a certain status that would give her access to every part of the castle. And she lied, I realized. She lied to get her way, to stay out of trouble, and to gain the respect she desired. So much about Merel’s character became clear to me as she lived the events, explored the location, and adapted to the structure of her new surroundings. 

(NEXT WEEK, part 3 of this blog series, Informing the Spirit)

Building the Beloved Character

Part 1: INSPIRATION

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Character-driven fiction is by far the most compelling to a reader. A well-portrayed character captures the reader’s imagination, or connects with him or her on such a personal level that the reader feels he/she knows the character and even has a direct relationship with that character. 

Some characters are so beloved, readers discuss them on social media, compare knowledge of a character’s activities, comments, features, and argue over what he/she did, didn’t do, might do, or should do. 

However, when I’m speaking about a beloved character, I mean first and foremost that the character must be loved by the author. A writer can’t possibly make a reader care about one of their characters unless they themselves first care very deeply about them and know them extremely well.

As it does with any real person, my understanding of a character develops and reveals over time. When I began to develop Merel de Vries, the protagonist of my latest novel When Starlings Fly as One, I wasn’t even thinking about the book or the story. I was in bed, browsing dreamily through my Pinterest feed. And there she was. 

She stared at me from a small portrait, a headshot as we say, and not even head and shoulders. The painting was quite old and badly scratched, but the scratches looked like teardrops. Something about her dark eyes hooked me and I couldn’t sleep until I had found something about who she was. The post said only, “Head of a young woman, c. 17^thcentury by an unknown Dutch artist.” 

The word ‘ashmolean’ appeared in the caption. Living in the U.S., I was barely familiar with this magnificent Oxford museum. I contacted them. They had the painting, but no further information about the subject or painter. In that case, I had a blank slate on which to build. I purchased the usage rights for my book cover, even before I had really started the manucript. 

From this portrait alone, I knew Merel was young, smart, petite, and a bit sad. The bow in her hair made her look younger than she probably was, but the grand pearl necklace and fine yellow gown said she lived as a person of wealth. I may never know who she really was, but hope in some way I’ve reflected her truth. 

That the woman was Dutch seemed at first to be an obstacle, but then I realized it was in fact an unexpected but perfect solution. I was writing about the Irish Rebellion against the English in 1641. My intention was to come at it as much as possible with an unbiased viewpoint, though my tendencies are rooted in the Irish. The English side was well documented i.e. histories are written by the victors. But in recent years, historians have been digging out the Irish perspective. My protagonist being neutral and fairly young could discover the story from both sides, and yet have her own conflict within. 

From there I did what I typically do for a character: I gave her a birthday, parentage, relationships, desires, flaws. Some of what I set up in the beginning changed as I progressed in the story, and learned more about her and how she would react in specific situations. I got to know her, and well before the end of the book I loved her. 

She is, as we all are, constrained by her life situations, loving the people who are important in her life, and yet longing for respect, purpose, and freedom — those things which can seem ever elusive. 

(See part 2 of this blog series, The Imprint of Place)

Nancy Blanton is author of four historical novels set in 17th century Ireland. To learn more, visit www.nancyblanton.com

My Father, the Fortress

HOW PERSONAL MEMORY INFORMS STORY

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My fourth novel, When Starlings Fly as One, was completed, edited, and in production before I realized what personal experience had bubbled up to inform the story, and why I needed to tell it. The experience is not unique by any means, and so I wonder if it might stir the ashes among readers as well.

My father’s ashes were scattered in 1997 along a winding, tree-lined creek in Ireland’s County Clare. I’ll never know the exact location, having been about 7,200 miles away at the time, living in Seattle. His second wife and my niece made the long, sad journey and carried out those final wishes. After that, life carried on, and nothing was ever the same.

With Dad on my wedding day

Like many children of the Depression Era, my father, the eldest son, had to grow up faster than he should have. Abandoned by his own father who couldn’t support a wife and four children, he had to step up to an adult role and look after his siblings while my grandmother did everything she could to succeed where her husband had failed. She ran a boarding house, raised chickens, grew a garden, cooked and cleaned, and held a job as clerk at the county courthouse. 

My father drew on his mother’s strength and formed his work ethic according to her relentless standard. If he’d been a sensitive boy, as a young man he toughened, building his walls of solid material, meant to withstand the fiercest assault, the worst deprivation, the deepest insult. In time, when faced with troubling situations, he made sure that if someone had to suffer, it would always be the other guy. He was a fortress.

Me and Dad: I was only 13

One day he was impressed by a wealthy man who worked as an accountant, managing other people’s money. He determined then and there his future career. All he had to do was figure out how to get it. In the navy, he learned if he performed well on a particular test, he’d be sent to college instead of to sea. He made sure he’d be among the top three scores. He went to the University of Pennsylvania and Wharton.

In similar style, when he saw a beautiful woman walking to work along a sunny street in Miami, Florida, he decided she would be his wife. He found someone who could introduce him and then he pursued her. She became my mother. 

Why wouldn’t he then, build his fortress with the firm belief that he could control things and make life unfold as he planned it? But life is life, after all. Perhaps the first fracture came when his wife delivered three girls instead of the three boys he’d intended. But princesses have their value, too, and he would never abandon his children as his father had done.

Typical night at the dinner table

For we three daughters, it wasn’t easy living within those fortress walls. We lived comfortably, but demands for performance were sometimes unreasonable. Expectations were high, matched only by harsh criticism and humiliation. Winning his approval was supreme, but it was the smack across the side of the head that I remember most, and being invisible became the best course of action. But we also knew that inside the fortress we had a place. We would always eat. We were protected. And even if we ventured far beyond the fortress walls, if things went wrong we could return and the gates would open. 

No one could have foretold what effects the new era—of sex, drugs and rock-and-roll—would have against that fortress, finding cracks in its outer walls, and seeping into the safest chambers to change thinking, shift desires, alter the paths of lives. There was rebellion inside and out. The great fortress walls began to crumble, the towers to shift. The gate didn’t lock anymore. Some unexpected things came in. Other things that had once been good went out. 

All of these experiences colored in some way my telling the story of Ireland’s longest siege at Rathbarry Castle. No one expected the siege. Good things are lost, there are unexpected arrivals, there are many kinds of rebellion, along with moments of brilliance and foolishness. Transformation.

Grad school graduation

My father became like the tall, standing tower that remains amid a castle ruin: still majestic and proud, but with nothing left to guard or protect except himself. He softened, not quite returning to the sensitive boy, but taking his enjoyments quietly, his disappointments with a shrug, no longer firing from the battlements. At night he would go to an Irish pub and sing Danny Boy, a song of a parent wishing for return of a son from war; a song that, in the words of journalist Maddy Shaw Roberts, “deeply cries for home.”

I didn’t expect that after more than two decades since my father’s death, grief still rises. And what better way should it come than in story? I, like the protagonist, return to the fortress even though I know it can never be what it once was. I can’t fix it. But I can take the stone and rubble that remains, dust off a few bits to see what they can tell me, sweep out the darkest corners, and craft something of my own. I think my sisters and I have each in our own way made our father proud. 

www.nancyblanton.com

Save the Horse

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Blake Snyder was right when he wrote Save the Cat—his well-known book on screenwriting—saying the best way to make a protagonist likable and memorable, is to have him/her do something heroic that touches the emotions. Have your character rescue something innocent and helpless, like a kitty stuck up a tree or about to be run over by a car, and you’ve demonstrated lovable personality traits like compassion, trustworthiness, and selflessness. You’re in.

I’m thinking of this because—and this will surprise no one—in movies, books, recordings, or whatever storytelling medium you use, you can kill people in horrific ways all day long, but you cannot kill an animal without potentially losing your audience.

I’m at a point in my current novel where a number of people are under siege without access to food. The story is based on actual events. What happened in real life is that, for survival, they killed a number of their horses for meat. It is one thing to kill cows or sheep, who are bred for the purpose and are considered relatively ‘dumb’ animals. But horses are pets, companions, often well trained and at great expense. To eat horsemeat has been offensive for centuries. Because human lives (for most people) have greater value than animal lives, one could be forgiven if he/she killed horses when they were desperate for food, but only if there were no other choice. 

I had imagined some touching and dramatic scenes. Not for a graphic slaughter, but focusing on human emotions. To be forced to make such a decision could be agonizing, and therefore stirring for the reader. But even with the most heart wrenching scene of love—a Sophie’s Choice kind of scene—I knew members of my own family, and particularly my book-loving cousin, would refuse to read them. We are all animal lovers.

So I decided to do an informal survey of other authors’ thoughts on this, by scanning Facebook and blog posts. Some (a few) said they would go ahead and write it, because it is true and real. A very Ernest Hemingway approach. This is what I’d been thinking also. But the overwhelming majority said, “Don’t do it! You’ll lose your audience!” One established author said, when reading one of her favorite writers, she came across a scene where an animal was killed, threw the book across the room, and never read that person’s work again. And then, my neighbor said, “No, you can’t kill horses! Bring in some flying rabbits instead.” A very L. Frank Baum (Wizard of Oz) approach.

So all of these reactions got me thinking.

I can recall two recent instances in which a human killing really turned me off. I watched the first episode of Game of Thrones. When the kid was shoved off the castle tower because he’d seen something he shouldn’t have, I was done. When I found out the kid survived, I tried to watch it again, but I just couldn’t find the love. I hate gratuitous meanness and cruelty. Don’t we have enough cruelty in the world without manufacturing it for ‘entertainment’? (Yeah, I’m in the minority on this idea.)

Anyway, I soon realized my reaction wasn’t just about the cruelty. I watched Kate Winslet in The Dressmaker, a strange and quirky story that I found quite interesting. But then, just as she finds love with Teddy—a strong and magnetic character—he drowns in a silo full of sorghum. Dark humor? Maybe. But I’m done. I just don’t need crap like that in my life. Yes, tragedies happen, but it seems this one was done for shock value, rather than good storytelling. I’m not alone in this response.

So then, back to the horses. What to do? Stick to reality, or make killing an animal palatable? 

Kevin Costner got away with killing a horse in the opening scene of Yellowstone, but the horse was fatally injured in a truck accident. Obviously, it was a mercy killing. At the same time, it made the character look cold and brutal, which must have been exactly what the director wanted.

Another mercy killing, unforgettable at least for those of us who grew up in the South, was in Old Yeller, a novel by Fred Gipson (and a movie by Disney) in which a beloved family dog gets bit by a rabid wolf and has to be shot. For me, it brings to mind the Gordon Lightfoot lyrics from If You Could Read My Mind— “and you won’t read that book again because the ending’s just too hard to take.”

In Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg got away with killing a cute monkey not only by making it a spy against our hero Indiana Jones, thereby making it ‘bad’, but also giving the monkey its own hero quality. It dies after eating poisoned fruit, thereby sacrificing its own life to warn and save the lives of the good guys.  

As a writer, I’m first a storyteller, second a historian. I make decisions based on what feels right for the story. After much consideration I see no logical reason to heroize a horse and then kill it, but I think the threat of having to kill horses can be far more compelling than the actual act. It is similar for sex scenes. As Outlander Author Diana Gabaldon has said, what happens before the sex act—the build-up, the conversation, the foreplay—is more arousing than the act itself. 

So I’ll ‘save the horse’, use the threat of impending doom to advantage, and then reveal the awful truth in the author’s note at the end. I’ll just have to warn my cousin to skip that part.

Nancy Blanton is the author of three historical novels set in 17th century Ireland, with the 4th book coming out in 2021. Visit her website at nancyblanton.com, follow her on Facebook, or find her author’s page on amazon.

Enemies and Kings

Audio Version

Having recently finished reading Hilary Mantel’s latest historical novel, The Mirror and the Light, the last book in her famous Wolf Hall trilogy, I am thinking of the comparison to a similar situation that took place in England a century later—and how history does repeat.

Thomas Cromwell, 1^st Earl of Essex (1485 – 1540) is the protagonist in Mantel’s novel, written entirely from Cromwell’s perspective. This Cromwell (not to be confused with Oliver Cromwell who came along much later) is best remembered as the lawyer who engineered King Henry VIII’s position as head of the Church of England. This allowed the king to annul his first marriage to Katherine of Aragon, and to then marry Anne Boleyn. From there, Cromwell ascended to higher posts and became chief advisor to the king, who later signed the order for Boleyn’s execution, and would sign the same for Cromwell just a few years after.

Cromwell’s ascent and fall are similar to that of Thomas Wentworth, 1^st Earl of Strafford (1593 – 1641), best remembered as the “scourge of Ireland” by some, and by others as chief advisor to King Charles I prior to the Civil Wars. Charles signed Wentworth’s execution order as well, and both kings ultimately regretted their decisions.

I spent a great deal of time studying Wentworth as I wrote my third historical novel, The Earl in Black Armor. The comparison of the two men became quite clear, along with a recognition of the changes that would one day alter this recurring path.

ORIGINS & MENTORS

Cromwell was born a commoner, the son of a blacksmith. He literally fought his way up from poverty and the brutal streets of London to become a lawyer. Conversely, Wentworth came from one of England’s wealthiest merchant families, learned the law and served in Parliament. However, neither of the two men descended from noble blood, which meant that both would know discrimination, jealousy, hatred and betrayal from English nobleman who resented their hard-earned royal favor and resulting power and influence.

The Earl in Black Armor, winner of four literary awards in 2020

Both men were mentored by and had close relationships with clerics, particularly those closest to the kings. Cromwell was a disciple of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey—another famous historical figure—who had advised the king in all matters of state, but fell from grace when he failed to obtain the king’s marriage annulment from the Pope. Wolsey was accused of treason but died from natural causes before he could be officially charged.

Wentworth aligned with William Laud, the Archbishop of Canterbury, through a shared belief in the uniformity of religion and concerns over the dangers of Puritanism. Under a Puritan-controlled Parliament, Laud was accused and imprisoned for treason which could not be proved, and was then executed anyway under the Bill of Attainder.

GREAT AMBITIONS

Both Cromwell and Wentworth obtained high offices and garnered considerable wealth under the kings’ favor. Cromwell had more power than any other servant to the crown in England’s history at that time, from domestic administration to international diplomacy. Thomas Wentworth went from Lord Deputy of Ireland to become the first Earl of Strafford (obtaining his long-sought nobility), and was the king’s leading advisor in the Bishops wars. Both Cromwell and Wentworth were made Knights of the Order of the Garter, the realm’s highest honor, for chivalry.

Both men, for a time, had the ear and the trust of their sovereign to the exclusion of most if not all others. Both also, were known for their arrogance and rigid mindsets, that alienated many potential supporters.

ENEMIES

In turn, the ascendance and behavior of these men created for both the cadres of powerful enemies who opposed them. These were the people who begrudged the wealth, influence, and policies that conflicted with their own interests—often the ancient noble families who made their fortunes by means of royal favor and corruption.

For example, Cromwell oversaw the dissolution of the Catholic monasteries, in the process enriching the king and himself, but taking from others valuable lands and sources of income. Wentworth oversaw the surrender and regrant operation in Ireland, and the Commission of Defective Titles, which provided rather stealthy means to take land away from hereditary owners and give it to English plantation settlers.

These enemies eventually secured the downfall of both men.

Cromwell lost favor with Henry VIII when he arranged the king’s disliked marriage with Anne of Cleves. With his position weakened, Cromwell was betrayed by his own protégés and crushed by angry nobles. He was executed under the Bill of Attainder and the king’s consent.

Wentworth was attacked by a strong Puritan-led Parliament who saw him as the only barrier to complete control over the king. Unable to prove treason against him by law, he also was executed under the Bill of Attainder, and the signature of King Charles I.

THREATS

In Henry VIII’s time, there were two main threats to the English crown. First, the foreign countries, i.e. France and Spain, who sought to restore the Catholic faith on English soil. And second, the ancient noble families who still believed a Plantagenet descendent belonged on England’s throne, rather than a Tudor.

However, by the 17^th century, the Stuart Dynasty faced far greater threats that were more difficult to fight, such as philosophy, science, literacy, and church reformation—all that managed to change the way people saw their lives and experienced their world.

The 17^th century was in fact a time of great discovery, and people did change—from believing the sun revolved around the earth to vice versa, for instance, and from believing the heart’s purpose was only to heat the blood, to understanding its central function for the circulation system.

The greatest threat to King Charles’s throne was not the freedom of religion, which he fought against and lost in the Bishops Wars. It was the dwindling belief in the Divine Right of Kings—the concept long-held throughout Britain and Europe that kings are chosen by and directly instructed by God.

CHANGE OF MIND

Scholars say what truly distinguishes man from beast is the ability to think, learn, and change our beliefs over time. Two specific changes would alter the path of history taken by Cromwell and Wentworth. First, a new belief was now dawning that kings are as fallible as any other human being, and that every person has access to God through prayer. This change undermined the power of the monarchy, and opened the doors to rebellion, revolution, and collective, represented decision-making.

The second change has taken a good while longer. That is, the demise of the Bill of Attainder, which allowed authorities to legally arrest and punish a person for a crime without any real proof or trial. The bill was last used officially in 1798 to arrest Lord Edward Fitzgerald for leading the Irish rebellion of that year. He died not from execution but from wounds obtained in resisting his arrest. Sources say the bill was abolished in Britain by the Forfeiture Act of 1870. But another source says Winston Churchill had intended to use it against Nazi war criminals, and only backed down under political pressure.

Today, England and the U.S. each have a constitution and bill of rights that protect citizens from such unfair and inhumane practices. But we do still have political conflicts, and though they generally don’t result in executions, those who rise high and then fall from favor have experienced what we call character assassination, and then those people tend to disappear from the public eye. So perhaps in its own way, history does, in fact, repeat.

THE EARL IN BLACK ARMOR

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What IS this thing about history?

[podcast version]

Recently when I opened my Facebook account, an unexpected memory awaited. It was this picture, taken in 2001 to promote a new book that was a long time in coming, and a source of pride for these three co-authors, Terry Nosho, David G. Gordon, and yeah, that’s me in the middle.

Time has altered our faces, but not the joy and passion for that book…that book…

One day, about a year and a half before this picture was taken, a young man in jeans, mud boots and a rumpled shirt came into my office. He plopped down on our worktable a most magnificent thing: a scrapbook of enormous proportions, with a kelly-green cover nearly the size of my refrigerator door, and spiral-bound pages stacking three inches high.

“My grandfather’s an oyster grower. He’s been keeping this thing for years, sticking this and that in it,” the man said. “Newspaper articles, pictures, restaurant menus, napkins, all sorts of things. He wants to know if you can do something with it. Anyway, it’s yours now.”

Well, not mine, exactly, but the grant program for which I worked, housed with the School of Fisheries and Oceanography at the University of Washington. Our offices were repurposed student housing, a stone’s throw from Montlake cut between Lake Washington and Lake Union where the University’s famed rowing team practiced.

Our program’s educational and research support for the oyster industry, led by Terry Nosho, was well regarded as perhaps the only positive attention paid by anyone to the health and survival of oyster farming.

The whump of the scrapbook on the table was enough to draw my team from their desks: David first, being most curious; then Robyn, the graphic designer; then Susan, the webmaster. We turned the first page. I can’t speak for the rest of them but I was immediately spellbound. Those pages contained a world: not just the history of Washington state’s oyster resource, but of the farming and consumption of oysters, of their culture, and the culture of the families that made a living from them, can labels, matchbook covers, cartoons, and so much more. What could we do with such treasure?

And to me it truly was treasure, as I considered the thoughts and hands and eyes of the person who had compiled this book faithfully and consistently over the decades, the stories this book told and the stories that were never told.

On David’s thoughtful lead —he was already a published author several times over— we perused that scrapbook for different threads that we could weave into a historical look at the world of Washington oysters, complete with recipes and gorgeous photography of Washington’s iconic coast. The result was Heaven on the Half Shell, the Story of the Pacific Northwest’s Love Affair with the Oyster.

It was a powerful experience. It became an opportunity to capture its essence in an idea, grow the idea into a viable project, and then produce a book that not only encapsulates time, but also stands the test of it.

A new door had opened. The love of history and adventure ran in my veins—my favorite book as a child was Robinson Crusoe—and now I learned how to research things, what to look for, how to turn history and discovery into story, and turn story into a touchable, colorful, ink-scented book for anyone to enjoy.

It wouldn’t be long before my own history came knocking; before passion, experience and heritage merged, and I had to find out. I had to know. What happened in the lives of my ancestors? Did they actually live in…castles?  Did they suffer? Did they fight? Did they rise? The truth eludes me. The facts are veiled or nonexistent. There is conjecture. Mystery. Hearsay and propaganda.

I search through the documents, books and biographies available, and fill in the blanks as I best I can. It’s a little like prying open an oyster shell, but not as sharp. And four books later I begin again, wondering still why I love it so, this thing with history?

Last month at the Amelia Island Book Festival in Florida, I received another gift: the opportunity to chat with New York Times best-selling author Margo Lee Shetterly. If you do not recognize the name, you’ll recognize her book: Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race.

Not historical fiction, but classified as narrative non-fiction, her book required a great deal of research, and when I told her that the former journalist in me greatly admired the work she had done to create that book, we connected on the love of research.

She lamented that several of the people she’d hoped to interview for her next book had already passed away. The same was true when we were researching the oyster book. People had either passed away or were too distrusting of “government” to speak with us. I replied that, writing about the 17^th century meant all my people had passed away, but fortunately in those days they wrote letters. What will happen, we wondered, when such detailed written documentation of emotion and experience is lost?

I believe we will find it still, in blog posts and videos, in personal journals, in the work of historians, archaeologists and anthropologists who will always dig for the truth.

If history infiltrates your other thoughts, usurps other interests, occupies every bookshelf, makes you the geek at parties, and so on—then it is both gift and responsibility. The study of history becomes a joyful treasure hunt that not everyone seeks or understands, but the responsibility is to give attention and meaning to a particular time and people who lived it.

With the help of inspiration, you get to share these discoveries in a way that engages other people so they get those same messages. One of my favorite responses when someone reads one of my novels is, “My God, I had no idea!”

Happy after my first novel won gold at Florida Writers Association

Nancy Blanton is author of three 17th century historical novels, a fourth in process, and one historical non-fiction book. Visit her at www.nancyblanton.com or purchase her books on Amazon or your favorite online bookseller.

How a storm churned up a writer’s solution

Last August I was struggling with an inner dilemma that not-too-surprisingly corresponded with the arrival of an outer storm, Hurricane Dorian, that we had to deal with here in Florida.

While Dorian dallied, confused the forecasters, and battered the Bahamas, my husband and I struggled with indecision. Should we hunker down at home, or should we evacuate? We live on a barrier island that is susceptible to flooding, loss of electricity and significant wind damage in high storm conditions. Evacuation might seem like an obvious choice.

But the forecasters tend to over-state, and it takes a great deal of effort to evacuate a home even for a few days. The to-do list is three pages long: pack valuables, clothing, food and pets, money; store outside furniture and secure the house; find a decent dog-friendly hotel, inform relatives, etc. My reluctance to leave was high, but for safety’s sake we headed west. Thankfully, Dorian passed causing very little damage to our island.

Likewise, my inner storm—after much twisting and turning—resolved without too much injury.

Years ago, I set a goal for myself to complete a series of novels that illuminate the history of 17th century Ireland. I’m three books into that goal, covering the years 1634 to 1658. But there’s a gap in there that haunts me, starting with a great Irish rebellion of 1641—a brave stand against the English that started as a bloodless coup and ended in brutality, execution and massacre.

This was a complex and bloody era, without a doubt. It falls in the middle of the early modern period in history, 1534 – 1691—a time known for five major wars between the Irish and English, allegedly resulting in atrocities—rapes, murders, infant killings, massacres, starvation, genocide, and more—terrible acts of cruelty I have no wish to envision or describe. I’ve studied much about the rebellion, including the depositions taken afterward describing crimes so cold and horrendous one must question the existence of God.

 

 

Remembering first and foremost that the victors write the history, I know what was recorded as fact during that time was quite often inflated to make more useful propaganda. The English wanted to invade Ireland, and the rebellion simply gave the English Parliament—gorged with power after executing the king’s top advisor—a means by which they might justify and ignite hatred of the Irish and recruit men and support for the military invasion.

Somewhere within or perhaps between those same histories and depositions lies the truth. Modern historians are digging deeper for an honest evaluation of these incidents. Through their work I’ll find a vein of accuracy and follow it with some trepidation, knowing it could verify much of the atrocity. While some authors revel in the opportunity to shock and alarm readers with this dark realm of human history, it’s not my thing. The story, passion and purpose must always come first. I may be in the minority on this, but I still believe the author’s job is to get the reader to feel and care, not to give them deranged nightmares.

The truth must be told, I agree, often and honestly and in terms vivid enough that it will be remembered. As with the holocaust, such inhumanity must be imprinted at a global level. Memory, such that it is, provides the only insurance we have against such things happening again.

But explicit blood and gore of an incident isn’t necessary to understand unacceptable violence. Morbid detail elevates the violence to a spectacle that usurps the reader’s attention and separates him or her from the emotion driving the act. What are the causes? What’s the effect? How does it propel the story?

And there’s my inner dilemma: how do I write the truth honorably and effectively but not too graphically? The answer comes in the form of scale, the camera-lens ability to zoom in and out at will. Cruelties of man against man can be woven as truthfully as possible into a tapestry backdrop for a profound experience on an individual level.

Now then, what’s the individual experience that will serve, and whose eyes will reveal it?

As the storm raged, my research became both documentation and treasure hunt. I stumbled upon a singular event that has now become the foundation for the novel’s structure: a castle siege involving all the right bits of conflict to tell the full story in microcosm.

Within the castle are the English Protestants, holding out against those wild and savage Irish. Outside the castle walls are the Catholic native Irish, whose castle and lands were stolen by the greedy, invading English. Within that setup lies a love story: forbidden love in war time, the struggle to maintain tradition and lifestyle amid a sea of hatred, the spirit to restore and renew what was lost, and the eternal fight to survive.

There is quite a bit of violence involved, too, but observing it through the limited perspective of the characters makes it more manageable.

In this period, siege was a fairly common warfare strategy, and economical for those who lacked cannons and other artillery and could live off the enemy’s captured livestock. Some famous sieges in Ireland include the Siege of Smerwick, 1580; Siege of Kinsale, 1601; Siege of Drogheda, 1649; Siege of Derry, 1689; Siege of Athlone, 1690; and the Siege of Limerick, 1691.

 

SEIGE & BATTLE OF KINSALE, 1601 (PACATA HIBERNIA 1633)

A siege has similarities to a hurricane. Sometimes you must board up the windows against the enemy, and hope you have enough food, water and candles to see you through until the storm does its damage or passes by.

In a 17th century siege, there might not have been time to secure supplies. The external forces might make a surprise attack. If repelled by the castle forces, they wouldn’t necessarily try to break down the walls—especially not if their goal was to preserve and hold the castle. Instead they would take the sheep and cattle, corn, hay, and other stores they could find outside the castle, so that those within the castle could not feed themselves or their livestock within the castle. From the outside they might easily contaminate the castle’s water supply as well.

The siege could last much longer than a few days. The inhabitants could hold out for weeks or months, hoping for help to arrive. The longest siege in world history lasted 21 years! But in most cases, without military relief, the only choice was to surrender the castle to the siege force, or die by starvation and disease. Things tended to end badly. One inescapable atrocity of the time was that even those who peacefully surrendered were sometimes, as they say, put to the sword.

A Five-Question Interview

Today I’m reblogging an interview with Jathan and Heather that was part of a virtual tour designed by Amy Bruno. The questions were thoughtful and probing, and I hope you’ll find the results interesting.

 

Although author Nancy Blanton may not be a household name yet, after reading her intriguing novel The Earl in Black Armor we think that may very well change in the near future. As we said in our review, reading the novel “is like sitting in the best history class in college.” So of course, like any apt pupil, we had a few questions to ask. We hope you enjoy this insightful Q&A into her work. —J&H

Jathan & Heather: Thomas Wentworth wears high quality black armor to resemble the king’s own suit. As formidable as the armor is, however, it is also painful for him to wear because of his gout. (Page 44) Why was it important for him to keep it on and what treatments might he have sought for his malady back in 1635?

Charles I 

Nancy Blanton: In the court of King Charles I—and well before it—dress was a means of identity, a statement of wealth, power, and nobility. Wentworth’s family had great wealth, but his deepest desire was to achieve the noble title. In the absence of it, to dress like the king made him appear to be in the king’s favor, hopefully bringing greater status. In Dublin, Wentworth wanted to present himself to his troops as a man of tremendous power, commanding obedience and respect. Wentworth’s suit of armor, along with his plumed helmet, likely weighed more than 100 pounds, requiring twice the normal energy to move about and putting much greater strain on his feet and ankles. To fully impress his troops, he was willing to bear the temporary pain. He didn’t realize that in Ireland, where the troops had little more than the shirts on their backs, he succeeded in generating resentment instead. 

In his day, physicians still believed in the theory passed down from Hippocrates in the fifth century, that the body was ruled by the four humours—blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. (They also still believed the sun revolved around the earth.) Gout was caused, they determined, by a settling of phlegm in the joints as the result of overindulgence in food, wine and sex. The treatments varied. A century earlier, Wentworth might have been served roasted goose stuffed with “chopped kittens, lard, incense, wax and flour of rye” while the drippings were applied directly to his swollen joints. Instead, his doctors would have bled and purged him as a means to restore his humoral balance. They might have wrapped his affected areas with poultices of horseradish and ground elder. Some of Wentworth’s contemporaries preferred to take no treatment, believing gout was incompatible with other diseases and thereby kept them away, and also that it gave them greater sexual prowess because it preserved the energies they might otherwise have used in exercise.

J&H: Wentworth is heavily reliant on Denisa to manage both his household and business, in Ireland and in London. (Page 112) Was this level of responsibility typical for women of her day? If not, what made her equipped to do so? And what was it about Denisa that you found most compelling?

NB: In most cases, women of the 17 th century had only the traditional women’s jobs such as cooking,sewing, washing, spinning, butter and cheese making, child care, nursing and helping on the farms by milking cows, weeding, binding sheaves and feeding poultry and pigs. In Ireland, women contributed significantly to the economy by spinning wool and linen yarn for export. But clearly these were not jobs for a woman like Denisa. She’d had enough of a peasant’s life after she saw the village of her childhood burned gleefully by soldiers. She became a woman who would do anything to survive and to protect her child, and deal with the consequences later. She is smart and beguiling, and uses both traits to find paying positions by pretending to be what she is not.

Denisa is purely a fictional character, but quite plausible for the way she enters Wentworth’s sphere. Wentworth liked women, and liked to be seen as the masculine hero. By the time he and Denisa would have met, he had married his third wife and was carrying on a “platonic” love affair with the Countess of Carlisle in London, to whom he played the tender but powerful male protector. He assumes a similar role with Denisa, but also keeps her ‘in her place’ by using her as window dressing and entertainment during his work day, calling on her to serve wine to his guests and assist him with his infirmities, and then toying with her as he allows her to open his mail. I knew what Denisa was going to do in this book before I started the first chapter. I love her because she is fearful, but she is fierce.

J&H: Outside the walls of Dublin, Faolán meets the young boy Henry for the first time. (Page 169) Why was it such a risk for them to meet under such circumstances and what dangers lurked beyond the city walls? Also, what was the age of maturity for children during this period in Irish history and what role did minor children play in society?

NB: The walls of Dublin have existed since the Vikings built earthen and wooden structures to protect their settlement from invaders. Later with the Norman Invasion, the wood was replaced by stone and the walls were fortified and expanded, because the growing settlement still needed such protection against any bad element, including rebellious Irish. Although there was crime within the city walls, you might expect some protection from the guards, from your neighbors, or from the local enforcement of English law. But the English continued to expand into Ireland’s greener pastures, and more Irish were displaced. Outside of the walls you were exposed and more likely to encounter desperate refugees, petty thieves, gangs of highwaymen, or much worse.

john Speed, about 1610

Henry, Denisa’ son, would have been about six years old at this encounter, and likely had just ‘breeched,’ or moved from a child’s gown or robes into a man’s garments in miniature. In normal circumstances, he would begin to spend more time with his working father, instead of being at home at his mother’s skirts. Boys would go to school shortly thereafter, or if they did not, they would be expected to go to work by age 10 or 12. A girl could be wed at age 12, but a boy was expected to learn more, and might wed at age 14. In Henry’s case, he was a gifted child whose peculiar behavior frightened some people. Denisa kept him hidden, fearing someone might insist he be removed to an unsanitary and inhumane mental institution where he might be abused, chained to a wall and/or starved to death.

J&H: Elvy tells her father, Aengus, a fabulous story filled with unicorns and faeries. (Page 246) What role does storytelling have in Irish history, and why is much of it filled with fantastic creatures? What is one of your favorite Irish stories that you encountered while researching your novel?

NB: Ireland is of course famous for its storytelling, particularly through music and poetry, by bards—poets or lyricists who help to preserve tradition through oral histories. Such traditions go back thousands of years, though much of it was forced underground by invading forces and English colonization. The fantastic creatures give the stories their charm. You’ll find them in probably every society’s myths and legends, I suppose because as with any type of literature, storytellers needed to grab their audience’s attention, and because children love outrageous things.

My favorite stories of this sort come from Irish mythology. Having a soft place in my heart for dogs, I love Fionn mac Cumhaill (sometimes called Finn MacCool), the celebrated Irish warrior, and his two dogs Bran and Sceolan. The stories are complex and sometimes full of words hard for an American girl to read, but they are fanciful and delightful, and the dogs are so smart, sensitive and loyal, as all good dogs are.

J&H: You provide us with a wonderfully descriptive introduction to John Pym (Page 322). How did you find such vivid details about him, or about any of your characters in that regard? And what are one or two of the most memorable anecdotes you discovered while writing The Earl in Black Armor?

 

John Pym

NB: In Pym’s case it was mostly handed to me. The research made clear what he had done in Parliament, and his relentless drive against Wentworth. Pairing that to his portrait which is easy enough to find via an Internet search, I simply told the truth as I saw it. His contemporaries did indeed call Pym ‘Ox,’ because after his wife passed away he paid little attention to his cleanliness and appearance. Granted, he was my villain, and by the time I got to describing him my opinion was certainly tainted. Add to that, I was writing from Denisa’s very strong point of view. Now that I read it again, I’m not sure where I got the ‘yellowed overbite and one rather aggressive cutting tooth,’ but I do like it! 

Some striking anecdotes that did not make it into the book were about Wentworth’s friend, Christopher Wandesford, and about King Charles’s father, King James I.

Wandesford had been Wentworth’s childhood friend and accompanied him to his Ireland post in an administrative role. When Wentworth was away in London, Wandesford stepped up as Lord Deputy, but his health was failing and, when he learned Wentworth was imprisoned, it took a turn for the worse. His physicians treated him by cutting a pigeon in half and strapping one half to each foot. Apparently, this treatment failed, for Wandesford died within a few feverish days.

King James I is responsible for instilling in his son Charles his strict demand for a clean, mannerly and orderly court. James, who bathed only once a year, was rather crude having grown up in Scotland where even palace life was more rugged and wild. The story is that, as king of England, James loved to go stag hunting on horseback, but he could not be convinced to stop long enough to relieve himself. Instead he would defecate in the saddle and dismount only after a kill, at which time he would warm his hands and sometimes his feet in the blood of the animal. I’m sure he was quite a sight when he arrived back at the palace.

And so I leave you with these vivid pictures, I hope more entertained than disgusted!

 

Ellys-Daughtrey Books

ABOUT THE BOOK

LOYALTY, BETRAYAL, HONOR AND TYRANNY IN THE REIGN OF KING CHARLES IIRELAND, 1635: When the clan leader sends Faolán Burke to Dublin to spy on Thomas Wentworth, the ruthless Lord Deputy of Ireland, the future of his centuries-old clan rests upon his shoulders.

Wentworth is plotting to acquire clan lands of Connacht for an English Protestant plantation. To stop him, Faolán must discover misdeeds that could force King Charles to recall Wentworth to England. Leaving his young daughter Elvy in the care of his best friend Aengus, Faolán works as a porter in Dublin Castle, and aligns with the alluring Denisa, Wentworth’s personal assistant. She, too, spies on Wentworth, but for very personal reasons.

While Faolán knows he should hate Wentworth, he admires his prosecution of pirates and corrupt nobles who prey on Irish merchants. Supremely arrogant and cruel to his enemies, Wentworth shows loyalty, warmth and compassion for family, friends and a few select others.A common mission takes Faolán and Denisa from Dublin to London and Hampton Court; to York and Scotland; and to the highest levels of court intrigue and power. But secrets, fears, war and betrayal threaten their love—and even their lives. And as Wentworth’s power grows, so grow the deadly plans of his most treacherous and driven enemies.

 

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