When I first reviewed this book, I was brief:
“Bernard Cornwell is THE master of personalizing British history. His main characters are always interesting and he shows the depth of his research in each novel. This one takes place in the reign of Edward the Confessor, a perilous time for the island kingdom. Cornwell deftly sketches the political and cultural clashes and has (as usual) his protagonist work his way into the midst of it. A great read for those who enjoy burrowing beyond the pure historical.”
I agree with my GR friend, Marita:
“A thrilling story with a good dash of irony and humour, as well as wonderful descriptions and interesting characters!”
Partially because of my friends reviews and partially because I wanted to see after 8 years and 10 novels whether my view of this first novel in The Saxon Tales had changed in any respect, I began the process again. And here is what I found:
The Last Kingdom sets up everything that follows. It is a brilliant start to the arc of Uhtred’s life. As in so many other series by Cornwell, he selects an “ordinary” man who becomes capable of extraordinary achievements. Through this individual he retells the history of Britain. What I particularly enjoy is:
1. His meticulous research into so many elements of a particular era; and,
2. His great talent at making even the most ordinary activities interesting.
Through his brilliant writing, history comes alive in a way that the pure historian cannot deliver. Five (*****) stars seem altogether appropriate now that I understand all that Cornwell had in mind when he started his Saxon Stories.
If you would like to taste a bit of that special gift, I offer the following two examples:
“There were two sorts of iron, he told me, the soft and the hard. The hard made the best cutting edge, but it was brittle and a sword made of such iron would snap at the first brutal stroke, while a sword made of the softer metal would bend as my short sword had done. ‘So what we do is use both,’ he told me, and I watched as he made seven iron rods. Three were of the hard iron, and he was not really sure how he made the iron hard, only that the glowing metal had to laid in the burning charcoal, and if he got it just right then the cooled metal would be hard and unbending. The other four rods were longer, much longer, and they were not exposed to the charcoal for the same time, and those four he twisted until each had been turned into a spiral. They were straight rods, but tightly twisted until each was the same length as the hard iron rods...Three were of the hard metal, which Ragnar called steel...one of the hard rods was longer and slightly thicker than the others, and that one was the sword’s spine and the extra length was the tank onto which the hilt would eventually be riveted…(specific description of the entire process)…this was when the real work began, the work of heating and hammering, metal glowing red, the black dross twisting as it burned away from the iron, the hammer swinging, sparks flying in the dark forge, the hiss of metal plunged into water, the patience as the emerging blade was cooled in a trough of ash shavings. It took days….In some light you could not see the patterns, but in the dusk, or when, in winter, you breathed on the blade, they showed. Serpent-Breath, Brida called the patterns, and I decided to give the sword that name…The boss of the hilt was of iron, as was the heavy crosspiece, and both were simple, undecorated, and big…I wanted the sword decorated with silver or gilt bronze, but Ealdwulf refused. ‘It’s a tool, lord,’ he said, ‘just a tool. Something to make your work easier, and no better than my hammer…and one day,’ he went on leaning toward me, ‘you will kill Danes with her.’
…” The ash handles have been replaced, the edges have been nicked by enemy blades, and she is slimmer now because she has been sharpened so often, but she is still beautiful…And there is magic in Serpent-Breath. Ealdwulf had his own spells that he would not tell me, the spells of the smith, and Brida took the blade into the woods for a whole night and never told me what she did with it, and those were the spells of a woman, and we made the sacrifice of the pit slaughter, and killed a man, a horse, a ram, a bull, and a drake. I asked Ragnar to use Serpent-Breath on the doomed man so that Odin would know she existed and would look well on her. Those are the spells of a pagan and a warrior.”
“I thought Eoferwic was a city, but Eoferwic was a village compared to Lundene. It was a vast place, thick with smoke from cooking fires, and built where Mercia, East Anglia, and Wessex met…I came to love that place, Not as I love Bebbanburg, but there was a life to Lundene that I found nowhere else, because the city was like nowhere else. Alfred once told me that every wickedness under the sun was practiced there, and I am glad to say he was right. He prayed for the place, I reveled in it, and I can still remember gawking at the city’s two hills as Ragnar’s ship ghosted against the current to come close to the bridge. It was a gray day and a spiteful rain was pitting the river, yet to me the city seems to glow with sorcerous light.
“It was really two cities built on two hills. The first, to the east, was the old city that the Romans had made, and it was there that the bridge began its span across the wide river and over the marshes on the southern bank. That first city was a place of stone buildings and had a stone wall, a real wall, not earth and wood, but masonry, high and wide, skirted by a ditch. The ditch had filled with rubbish and the wall was broken in places and had been patched with timber, but so had the city itself where huge Roman buildings were buttressed by thatched wooden shacks in which a few Mercians lived, though most were reluctant to make their homes in the old city. One of their kings had built himself a palace within the stone wall and a great church, its lower half of masonry and upper parts of wood, had been mad atop the hill, but most of the folk, as if fearing the Roman ghost, lived outside the walls, in a new city of wood and thatch that stretched out to the west.
“…the new city, like the old, was on the river’s northern bank, but was built on a low hill to the west, a half mile upstream from the old, and had a shingle beach sloping up to the houses that ran along the riverside road. I have never seen a beach so foul, so stinking of carcasses and shit, so covered in rubbish, so stark with the slimy ribs of abandoned ships, and loud with squalling gulls, but that was where our boats had to go and that meant we first had to negotiate the bridge.
“The gods alone know how the Romans had built such a thing. A man could walk from one side of Eoferwic to the other and he would still not have walked the length of Lundene’s bridge….”
To some these examples may seem frustrating digressions from the action, from the plot. To me, they are what make this saga so very special. On re-read, I am astounded by Cornwell’s vision and how well the themes and characters are fully realized in the succeeding books.
While in the midst of the final(?) book in this series, War Lord, I have re-read this book to check on how much of what I am experiencing was in Cornwell's mind 15 years ago. It is amazing how well the series is constructed - how consistent he is, and how much of the arc of this saga (covering over 50 years of English history) was present in this first volume!