Anna Tambour and Others
Normally, I’d rather drown myself than approach a story perched on the proposition of “I must avenge my father’s death. I must wrest the kingship from a usurper and rule a people who need me.” Not that these stories scare me. Rather, they make me unkind. I just want to turn the lot of them on the spit of history till their dripping fat causes the flames to leap the fireplace and burn the castle down. Too bolshie to be reliably bolshie, I can’t cry for anyone who’s born to the heights of privilege whose tr
So what of a novel that starts out with that classic injustice of a prince wronged by the murder of his father at the hands of nobles pledged to them both but framing him, the son, for the vile patricide of this (assumed to be loved) king?
No way , I would have said.
Anna Tambour and Others