Review: "Devil Water" by Anya Seton

It seems to be History season for me. After ending 2010 with American history, my first read this year was set in the stormy Jacobite struggles of England, again from a Reader's Digest Condensed Books edition. For all the English authors I have read, my knowledge of Britain’s history is fuzzy at best. The English are to be blamed for that, they have way too much print on their history, you know. Ok, before I wander off as I usually do, let me get to the review part.

Having started off historical fiction with Kalki’s unmatched Ponniyin Selvan, my yardsticks for historical fiction are quite high. And Anya Seton’s Devil Water did live up to the expectations as best as any non-tamil writing could. The comprehension of the story and even my review requires some reading up on the history of the 17^th and 18^th century England.

While I cannot do justice to the review without some introduction to the Stuarts Monarchs of England, the history is highly complicated and difficult to explain. I will endeavor to state only the barest of essentials here. The Stuart Monarchs descended from the Kings of Scotland where they had ruled for over 200 years in the 14^th, 15^th and 16^th centuries. The Stuarts then ruled over the entire island of Britain from 1567 until the staunchly Catholic James II was overthrown in the Glorious Revolution of 1688. The Stuarts did not rule between 1649 and 1660 when monarchy was inoperative as a result of the English Civil War. The novel is set in the Jacobite struggles of late 17^th and early 18^th century, when attempts were made to restore James II, then his son James III and later his grandson Charles to the throne. The word Jacobite derives from Jacobus which means James.

And now for a little bit of geography - Northumbria or Northumberland is the picturesque north corner of England, just south of Scotland.

The narrative of Devil Water unfolds from Charles Radcliffe, brother of the Earl of Derwentwater, James Radcliffe. The Radcliffe brothers were cousins to the Pretender James III and devoted supporters of the Jacobite cause.

The beginning of the book is a romantic read – descriptive and adventurous. The setting is pastoral and political connotations are sparse. The accents take some getting used to. Completely unfamiliar with how the Northumbrian, Highland accents sound, I stumbled over the dialogues quite a bit initially. Thankfully the author did not insist on sticking to accents throughout, that would have made it a bit tiresome.

The initial part of the narrative follows adolescent Charles Radcliffe romancing Meg Snowdon, a Highlands girl. The romance of Charles and Meg comes to an abrupt end when Meg disappears. With the arrival of James Radcliffe into the scene, the story moves between London and Dilston Castle. Charles is all set to marry his cousin Betty Lee, when he is snatched by Meg’s brothers and married to Meg who is pregnant with his child. Meg gives birth to a daughter – Jane, that very night.

Charles loves Jane as soon as he lays his eyes on her. Robert Wilson, Meg’s brother-in-law, a rustic young lad of ten, dotes upon little Jane. The affections these two widely different characters – one aristocratic, the other a simpleton, hold for Jane forms the centre stage of the story.

For a while it looks like the three are set to go their separate ways. While Charles works for the Jacobite cause with his brother James, Rob Wilson tries to make his own way in the world. Jane meanwhile, is sent to Betty Lee’s (who is married to another cousin now) household at the behest of Charles, to be brought up a lady. The Jacobite risings churn the waters and inexorably bring the three together.

Anya Seton writes suspense, romance, narrative and description with equal ease and in splendid style. The story has the right amount of drama, intrigue and the right pace to hold one’s interest. The author takes care to ensure the descriptions do not make the story unrealistic in anyway. The portrayal of Jane and her inner turmoils as she grows up at Betty’s household, is exceptionally well-written. The description of 18^th century London is refreshingly new and far removed from being cliché. 

The author moves to colonial America with ease as Jane follows Rob Wilson into Virginia. Plantation owners and their pride in their plantations and mansions is just so colonial America. Seton doesn't dwell too much on gory details, yet manages to bring out the situation of slaves succinctly.

The themes of the time – Jacobite struggle, contemptuous treatment of colonials, slavery in America are all beautifully captured in their essence. There is not a dull moment in the entire novel. The canvas stretching from Northumbrian Highlands to London to Virginia is vast and the pains the author has taken to carefully research each aspect of the story is self-evident in the flawless narratives.

It is an extremely difficult task to combine thoroughly researched history and intriguing story into one. Anya Seton has done the job well. There is definitely a very good storyline but this book is to be enjoyed equally for its portrayal of the times and the flow. It is a book I thoroughly enjoyed and would strongly recommend to anyone with a little patience to understand the history a bit.

P.S: I have tried to avoid too many details here so as to not give the story away.

The Revenge of Her Highness

Bangalore this year does seem to have a winter. It does indeed, as opposed to last year when it did not show any sign of the winter’s passing. So bad was the situation that I got laughed at for having advised my friends to get their woolens out of the closet, aired and ready for December. Having been in Bangalore for more than a couple of years now, I have to concede, albeit grudgingly, that it does have a cooler weather than many cities in the South, atleast in the winter. All the legends of “hill-station-ish Bangalore of all seasons” are definitely a myth today. But winters do bring a drop in the temperature, mist and the worst of them all, a breeze that can chill you to your bones.

Oh yes! This year there is a royal cold wave sweeping over parts of the country – global warming, etc, etc. Yes, but there is another side to the story as well.

This is the story of my room(respectfully Her Highness, Lady Room hereon) and her teaming up with Her Coldness, Lady Winter. So frustrated has Her Highness been with my almost-nil care for her throughout the year, that she decided to get her revenge.

Let me explain what angered my Lady Room so much. I am a sunny person - I love open windows, bright natural lighting and get absolutely claustrophobic when there is a lack of ventilation. So throughout the year, I left my windows open, day in and day out. The poor windows got battered by the winds so much that one of them lost the keep-it-open hook-latch. Hinges un-oiled and exposed to the elements for 365 days, the windows got the screeching, wheezing voice of an old lady.

With the windows open all day, I guess neither Her Highness nor her maid of honour, my cot, appreciated being cooked by the sun either.

I am lazy when it comes to adding décor of any sort to my walls. In a fit of creativity I add a brightly crayoned mural to the wall then forget all about it. The chart paper loses its sheen; the colors fade and the cello tape peels, yet I happily ignore it. In a moment of josh, I put up a cartoon I sketched and leave it there till the pencil marks nearly disappear. I put up India maps and Krishna pics and let them be till they are yellowed with age. I guess Her Highness did not appreciate my affront to her dignity this way.

From my forays to bookstores, rendezvous with pavement second-hand-bookwallahs, I added more and more books to my sagging bookshelf till my room literally bulged with books. To top it all, I dump loads of things unwanted-but-cant-throw-them-away onto my tiny loft.

Her Highness decided she had had enough. She called up Lady Winter and propositioned her to bring along a breeze that will teach me a lesson. One of my windows doesn’t shut properly you see, the latch(yes, the closing latch too :() doesn’t work.

“And why doesn’t it work?” asks Her Highness in a haughty voice.

Shivering under my blankets, from the bone-numbing breeze that has slipped in through the crack a few mms wide to do Lady Winter’s bidding, I reply miserably, “Yes, yes, Your Highness, it is my fault indeed. The latch is slightly rusted due to my negligence.”

“Slightly!” exclaims Her Highness in a shrill voice.

Then there is a sudden silence.

“No, no.. Rusted, I meant royally rusted.. “ I whimper.

But the damage is done; she has gone to complain to her friend. There is a gust of wind, I hear Lady Winter’s high laughter and suddenly my latch-less window swings wide open, the curtain flaps madly and the temperature in the room drops a bit more. I pull my blankets tighter around me but to no avail.

I struggle up in my bed, free myself of the tangled blankets and with my teeth chattering I reach out of the window into the cruel cold night and pull the window shut. I can hear Her Coldness laughing softly with her maid, Miss. Breeze and her friend Her Highness.

“Please, Your Coldness, I have always loved your visits every year. I look forward to them. And I love coming to the north or the higher altitudes to meet you,” I plead.

“Yet, you ignore my dear friend. Every time you have fun with me, who takes care of you shielding you from my worst?”

“Her Highness. Her Highness and her friends everywhere,” I answer in a whisper.

“You have fun with me cocooned in your blankets, in the warm cozy arms of Her Highness.”

“Yes, Your Coldness,” comes my shivering reply.

Silence reigns.

After a few minutes, I reach up and pull the curtains closed, tuck it into the crack and snuggle back into my blankets.

Needlessly to say, next day my windows are oiled, the rust in the latch scraped away, my dilapidated décor cleared. The day after that my loft is cleaned out, order is restored to my bookshelf and new décor pondered over.

Her Highness is glowing and Lady Winter is my gentle friend again. Lady Winter whispers jokes in my ears on my evening walks, enjoys hot jalebis with me and at the end of the day, softly closes my eyelids and lulls me to sleep under my warm blankets.