In Natalie Tereshchenko, Elizabeth Audrey Mills presents us with a likable and engaging heroine-- Natalie is everything that we’d expect from a good protagonist and a good narrator. She’s observant, she’s intelligent, she’s compassionate—and above all, she’s just an ordinary person.
Despite her royal blood (she is the illegitimate daughter of Tsar Nicholas II's brother), Natalie is a servant to the princess Tatiana. The book covers the last days of the Romanovs, opening in March 1917 and ending just after their execution in 1918. Mills takes us from the grandeur of Alexander Palace, with its chandeliers and shining parquet floors to the suffocating squalor of Ipatiev House, where the deposed royal family and their few remaining servants suffer through scarcity and terror.
Mills tells the tale in refreshingly disciplined and precise prose. Presenting the tale from Natalie's point of view specifically was a very good decision. Some of it is sheer narrative, but Mills also throws in Natalie’s diary entries as a device. (Incidentally, as far as I can tell, Natalie is a fictional character—but the fact that this book sent me into research mode, I think, is a very good sign.) Natalie’s voice keeps the story very accessible, but, more importantly, she is in the unique position to give us both sides of the conflict. In every possible sense, she is an outsider, straddling two worlds. She is more educated than most servants, and somewhat sheltered, so the rest of the palace staff distrusts her. Yet her intimate knowledge of the royal family helps Natalie see them for actual people, with personalities and foibles. They are not mere figureheads, and they most certainly are not evil. But as a servant and a virtual orphan, Natalie also identifies with the plight of the common folk in a way that the royal family could never hope to.
Mills’ style fits both Natalie as a character and the story overall. A historical piece should be straightforward and linear—we all know where this is going to end up, so the question becomes, how are we getting there? Are we taking the scenic route?
In this case, the answer is yes and no. Mills gives us some lush historical details, like descriptions of palaces and villages. But then, there are the less appetizing aspects: bleak Russian winters, gunfire, wounded soldiers, piss, rotting meat.
Mills tells the story in present tense, which also serves the story well. It keeps the extraordinary events plausible—not just the grand historical drama (revolution, attempted escapes, a coup d’etat) but everything, from Natalie’s personal dramas to the rather fantastical appearance of Myriam, a spirit who appears, claiming to be Natalie’s guardian angel.
Incidentally, the Myriam subplot worked for me because it is told with the same matter-of-factness as a group of drunks stumbling into an alley to relieve themselves. Ditto the lovemaking scenes, or the scene where Natalie and a fellow servant girl take revenge on a Bolshevik soldier for rape. I felt it illustrates Russian culture so well—a culture that accepts the worldly and the otherworldly with equanimity. Natalie herself is not a particularly spiritual creature—she attended mass every day because the Tsarina insisted. Later, when Natalie finds herself hiding out in a convent, she doesn’t have some sort of religious epiphany but, instead, she feels rather ruefully like a fraud. She accepts the situation, just as she accepts Myriam’s guidance.
As Natalie and her fellow servants go about their daily lives, carrying out their duties, bickering, falling in love, and, ultimately, getting swept up into events greater than themselves, it reminds us that historical drama is really about people—just people, working, eating, talking, making friends, having sex, getting hurt, picking themselves up and dusting themselves off.
Nature and natural urges are a recurring theme: Natalie takes great joy in being out-of-doors (the closest Natalie ever has to religious moments). Even in the dead of winter, she goes outside to feed the birds. Invariably, in a time before indoor plumbing was widespread, and injury and disease run rampant, bodies and bodily functions are a recurring image as well. In the opening pages, in fact, the reader finds themselves plunged into a Sapphic interlude, which made me sit up and say, “Hello!” Hey, when you’re a lady-in-waiting, the dating pool is somewhat limited . . . er, until the Revolution comes and you find sexy wounded soldiers waiting to be tended on the royal doorstep.
The thing is, history and historical fiction is about people getting confronted with impossible decisions. Not just the tsar, but Natalie and people like her—one of the other servants has the option, towards the end, of leaving the royal family. If he had, his life would have been spared. He chose to stay with his masters, who were, after all, the only family he knew. I can’t help but wonder what decision I would have made in his shoes.
My only quibble with this book is the mention that Natalie is keeping her journals in the hopes that she will one day publish her memoirs—again with the writers writing about writers writing. Stop it, people. Seriously, why can’t Natalie just keep a diary for its own sake? But Natalie’s literary ambitions don’t really receive more than a passing mention, given that she has more pressing concerns, like survival.
Ultimately, this book is about self-discovery. From the beginning, when Natalie learns about her birthright, she struggles to find a way to reconcile it to the life she’s been living. I think she succeeded.
This book kept me engaged until the surprise ending. I won’t give it away, except to say it explains why you never heard of Natalie, the last Romanov. But Mills makes you wish that there was such a person, and that you’d heard of her sooner.