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208 pages, Hardcover
First published March 26, 2019
Every life is its own story-
not without a share of glory,
and not without a share of grief.
I lived like a hero at seventeen.
At nineteen, I die like a thief.
...Above her head
I scream a terrifying prayer. Above her head,
a warning from the newly dead to not resist for who
would dare to fight the angels singing there above her head?
...though she was a maid,
she was like me and so we were one
when we were the wind, untamed, unafraid.
Many a knight had been cowed and outdone
by my spirit, left broke, unseated, unmade.
But she understood.


”My name is Joan, but I am called the Maid. MyThere is a stark difference between this book and his previous novel in verse. In Bull, the narrative was filled with hilarious, sarcastic wit, with Poseidon taking the role of the main narrator with his freewheeling, tell it like it is attitude. There were moments of hilarity mixed with moments of brutality and madness.
hands are bound behind me. The fire
beneath me laid.”
”While my brothersElliott’s Joan has a fire burning inside her that threatens to consume her. She chafes against the gender roles that were commonplace at the time and wishes she could do more. That time comes when the saints speak to her, telling her what she must do. And with a simple, direct, blunt manner she does what they ask. She is not boastful in her victories or narcissistic in her beliefs; she is simply doing what she feels God and the saints she hears want her to do.
went to war, I sewed and burned with
rage. My dress was a red silence,
a hemmed and homespun cage.”
”I reminded myselfI think Elliott has done a good job bringing Joan’s legacy and memory to justice. He describes in the book how he wanted to write her story using a specific writing style, but the character of Joan in his head wouldn’t let him.
that I, the daughter of a lowly
farmer, had brought this holy day about.
I still can hear the people shout…
Or is that the throng of people in front of
me calling me a slut and witch,
their faces warped in anger, their
din a frenzied pitch?”
”They laughed and called me a whore. I was just
a girl. No more than sixteen with
no experience of war and
no military training. They
must have thought me very entertaining.
That was their mistake.”
What did the girl hear? What did she see? / The product of a septic mind and its deceitful / chatter? / Or did I actually appear? Is there actually a me?Joan's faith was the primary motivation. She died a martyr and later became a saint. It baffles me how a book retelling her life could barely mention her religion. Overall, I am giving this book 1 star.