What a relief it is to read a good book after a string of bad and mediocre ones. Getting drawn in to Sharon Penman’s latest book, The Land Beyond the Sea, was so easy. It was something I could relax into and let sweep me away on its adventure. That’s the power of a consistently high-quality author. Such authors are rare in my experience, but should you find one, they will reliably deliver to you time and again.
The downside of a consistent author is that as a reviewer you have little new to say, or else worry that you are repeating yourself. As such, this is going to be a more concise review than some others I’ve written for Penman’s previous books. The research is, as ever, meticulous. This is a hallmark of Penman’s writing: she always goes above and beyond in her study of the sources, historians’ interpretations of them, where there are contradictions, she rigorously studies the provenance to determine which version is more likely, and where there are gaps, she fills them plausibly. By contrast, her books tend to avoid fictionalised absurdities, misunderstandings of social mores, and anachronisms. Penman’s author’s notes have become rather infamous in their own right, for the transparent discussion of what was altered and omitted, and the bibliography often provides heavy academic reading for those who are serious about studying the subject in more depth themselves. Very few historical novelists go this far. If you’re a history lover who has no patience for frothy, modernist retellings and think that history alone is thrilling without every execrable rumour thrown in there for ‘drama’, you may want to try out Sharon Penman’s books.
I enjoyed the writing style in this one. ‘Outstanding’ is not the right word, for it never grabbed me by the shoulders, but it has a natural flow and smoothness to it that, as aforementioned, make it oh so easy to sink into and be drawn along the currents of this tale. I want to directly address some points I’ve seen in negative or ambivalent responses to this book as I think it’ll be helpful to offer a different perspective. I didn’t find any turn of phrase in the book to be overly modern to the point that it bothered me. They would have to be a lot more pointed, popular, and specific to a place and moment in time to raise my eyebrow. Neither did I find any of the similes to be risible clichés. To get on my wick they’d have to be used more than once in the book, or else be in such overwhelmingly popular usage that a single glimpse would grate on me. There is an argument to be made that most historical fiction is doing a balancing act when it comes to language. Very few are actually written in the historic form of the language that its characters would have spoken, since that would make reading them far too inaccessible to be worth the purchase. Out of necessity then, modern words are used to describe ancient times, and long dead figures speak with a diction that would have been strange to them. The trick is to make the language accessible to readers but as neutral as possible, avoiding certain terms that are so prominently associated with a modern decade that readers’ suspension of disbelief is broken. That line differs from reader to reader. Personally, any turn of phrase referencing a technology not yet invented is a big red flag for me, any wildly popular slang, or Americanisms coming out of the mouths of Old World characters centuries before that continent was explored. But that’s just me.
As regards the Frankish/Saracen balance in the book, we do spend more time sitting on the shoulders of the European characters, however several Saracens are also point-of-view characters, and Penman is never slow to commend their talents, achievements, and areas of superiority to the crusading Franks. Saladin and his brother, al-Adil, in particular are held up for their intelligence, compassion, and good leadership. There could have been more discussion and self-examination of the fact that the Franks were originally invaders, that would be my only criticism on this point (though to be fair I doubt many of the Franks of the time would've even thought of such a thing), but Penman cannot be faulted for providing a balanced portrayal of both groups in conflict. The Saracens are not villainised, nor are the Franks whitewashed.
With Balian d’Ibelin – who is our main character – I see the problem in a different way. To my eyes, it isn’t that he is too “modern”. I consider it plausible that he speaks some Arabic, takes a practical view of truces with the Saracens, and treats his wife comparatively well – the former is perfectly believable given his upbringing, and the latter simply adheres to variance of attitudes at the time. The book does not shirk from showing us plenty of others who casually and as a matter of course take a different approach to Balian. I do not find Balian to be anachronistic or out of his time. My criticism would be that he was too blandly good. He lacked a dark side or flaws – or, if not that, then at least some compelling quirk or facet that made him stand out. I would have wished for Baldwin to have been a more prominent character as well, as his unique situation had all the ingredients to make him a fascinating and inimitable main character.
If I had one criticism of the book it would be that it was somewhat bloodless. I should explain that in more detail, for I do not mean that the story lacked battles or action. Rather, I’m talking about summarising. Every author does it, forced to choose what scenes to include and what to leave out. Heck, it even varies within the book: the earlier chapters engage in a lot more than the rest of the novel, concerned with setting up Baldwin’s childhood diagnosis and how he came to be the leper king. This is understandable. But there were times in the text where I felt it was being done too much, letting the distant narrator take over where I would have very much liked to have heard what the characters had to say for themselves at the very moment they discovered this plot twist or that unexpected development. I call it bloodless because I feel that inviting the reader to witness those scenes ‘live’ would have added a good deal of immediacy, tension, as well as greater insight into the unique personalities of the characters. I know it’s all history anyway so there’s a temptation to suggest that there can be no surprises in a historical novel such as this, but nevertheless I still feel strongly that allowing us to engage with the main characters so intimately at passionate moments in their lives creates investment regardless of if we know broadly how their story ends. I should note that if that puts you off, it is a criticism I have not levelled at Penman’s books before, so you may still jam with The Sunne in Splendour even if you think The Land Beyond the Sea is not your thing.
8 out of 10