Set in twelfth-century France, The Devil’s Door by Sharan Newman is the second installment in the historical mystery series featuring Catherine LeVendeur, one-time novice at the Paraclete, the monastery founded by Peter Abelard and now ruled over by the learned Abbess Heloise. While the plot is hobbled by somnolent pacing and convoluted by artificial twists and turns that draw out the mystery far longer than its simplicity warrants, the mindset of the characters and the intellectual and religious moorings of the setting are strongly enriched by the author’s doctoral background in mediaeval studies. Another feature which makes this series particularly noteworthy is that mediaeval Jewish society is brought out of the shadows it usually is relegated to in mainstream historical fiction: the perspective is fresh, multi-layered, and inclusive.
A missing noblewoman is found fatally beaten and brought to the Paraclete for succour. But when she takes the veil before she dies, donating a piece of forest land to the convent, her outraged relatives accuse Abbess Heloise and her fellow nuns of conspiracy. Grief is in short supply as the seemingly worthless plot of land suddenly attracts interest from near and far.
Only convent boarder Catherine LeVendeur, daughter of a Parisian wine merchant, questions the general assumption that the assailant was a jealous neighbouring landowner, now fled. Her determination to ferret out the truth meets with resistance on all sides and conflicts with the promise of marriage made between her and Edgar of Wedderlie, the young Scottish nobleman for whose love she has decided to refrain from taking monastic vows.
Edgar is not about to have Catherine cantering alone across Champagne in her quest to aid Abbess Heloise and discover the real killer. But even he does not foresee quite how prone Catherine is to ending up in the midst of murderous trouble.
Series adherents sometimes wonder why someone would pick any other book than the first in familiarising themselves with a new series. In my case, the closure standalone stories bring contributes to a satisfaction I seldom find in novels with plot threads that develop over several books. Since I am not fond of being bound to a series for its own sake, I select as my introductory sample the installment with a storyline, setting, and characters that intrigue most in order to use the book as an indicator of whether the series will carry enough appeal to justify a bigger investment. Cliffhanger endings, unresolved major plotlines, and character relationships that can only be deciphered by reading previous entries cause quick rejection even when the rest pleases.
The Devil’s Door displays none of these disadvantages, yet when I pulled it out of some rearranged bookshelves earlier this month I was astounded at the pencilled notes which recorded that I had read the book in 1996 (my edition: Forge mass market paperback, 1995). I had not the slightest recollection of the story, nor any inkling of why, with my partiality for things mediaeval and French, I had abandoned or forgotten about the series (10 books now). A week of struggling between admiration and frustration and another to convert the ambivalent experience into a coherent post gave me the answer.
I have striven to avoid spoilers that might ruin the first book, Death Comes As Epiphany, for those who would prefer to start there.
The good first, and there is plenty of it to entertain mystery lovers, historical enthusiasts, and romantics alike. Multiple plot strands combine into a complex tale that transcends genre expectations. The Devil’s Door can of course be read as a straight mystery, but through events both fictional and historical and a multitude of vigorously-drawn characters from every layer of society a simultaneous (and in my opinion more rewarding) examination emerges of mediaeval family, marriage, love, religion, power, and powerlessness.
Newman’s mediaeval France has texture and substance. It is also free of fictional sanitation. Lice is seen in the hair of one character, smiles reveal rotting teeth , and rats scurry in unchanged bed straw. Everyday people regard prejudice and discrimination as their Christian duty, while educated characters scoff at the superstitions of the ignorant even as they themselves harbour beliefs that we smile at today. The precarious existence of those who live on or outside the margins of acceptability is not exploited to showcase the admirable virtues of protagonists with modern values. Although I would have preferred less vague visual descriptions of places such as Paris (map of the town c. 1200), Troyes (map of the twelfth century town) and its palace, where much of the drama takes place, the atmosphere of all locations, including the forest of Othe and the monastic community of the Paraclete, does come adequately alive through the characters that inhabit them.
The cast of characters in The Devil's Door is a dynamic mix of historical and fictional. The former group includes luminaries such as Heloise (Héloïse d’Argenteuil), Peter Abelard, and Bernard of Clairvaux. The one-time lovers, Abelard and Heloise, are described as having matured into commitment to their separate roles in life while continuing to share an unbroken affection for each other. I enjoyed the author’s take on them both: Abbess Heloise as humbly and penitently striving to fulfill God’s will but secretly doubting He listens to her prayers; and Abelard, the aging scholar too harassed by charges of heresy – the developments surrounding the Council of Sens forms one of the subplots – to dwell on their past history but unhesitatingly turning to Heloise for spiritual comfort. Less is known about their son, Astrolabe, but the author turns available material into a sympathetic characterisation of a man caught between the fame of his parents yet tenderly supportive of both. (Even Eleanor of Aquitaine puts in an appearance at Sens – as King Louis’s queen – but the mention is so fleeting that I bring it up only as a piece of trivia for readers who enjoy fictional encounters with her.)
The relationship between Catherine and her teacher, Heloise, derives poignancy from the similarities and differences between their lives and choices. Protective and proud of her charge, Heloise has become a mother figure for the younger woman who, while intensely caring and determined, is impetuous and has not yet fully mastered the discipline to respond rationally. The troubled marriage of her parents, her mother’s illness, and newly revealed family secrets have seared self-doubts into Catherine that are not shaken off by the love she shares with Edgar. Her mind and heart tend to analyse and question everything; she calls these contrary thoughts “her voices”, and they sometimes lead her to fearing that she will one day succumb to the insanity that runs in her family. Although the silliness of her actions toward the end cross deeply into TSTL territory (with the help of equally idiotic decisions made by those who should possess a more mature judgment), I found Catherine an engaging and very appealing character with her physical clumsiness, kind heart, intellectual hunger, and devotion to ensure justice for the wronged.
Despite hints that neither the reader nor Catherine knows everything about Edgar’s Scottish family, his subservient role in the dominant mystery prevents him from developing into something more interesting than an occasionally frustrated companion and eager love interest. But he is a nice foil for Catherine, and together they make a sweet couple.
With so much to praise about this novel, it is time to look at why my reading experience was not more enjoyable. Accuracy in historical fiction is sacrosanct to some readers, and to others, merely an interesting bonus. When the historical record is silent about a person or event, writers, like readers, take different paths in deciding how the missing information should be dealt with. Sharan Newman’s philosophy differs from my preferences, and so, when she takes genuine historical characters about whom virtually nothing is known and invents histories for them that serve her plot purposes, it poses a problem for me. In more than one case I felt the treatment of these characters seriously overstepped reasonable artistic license. It made me crabby, distracting me from the story and steaming me up about the ease with which some authors abuse historical record for the purpose of masking up entirely fictional creations in borrowed authenticity. As Newman’s erudition ensures that judicious portrayals of major historical characters and events intensify an already realistic setting, I cannot acknowledge any need for pretend-historicity. This author possesses all the knowledge and skill required to create believable fictional characters that blend seamlessly into her historical tapestry. History in historical fiction does not become more more legitimate through distortion, however clever.
I wish the prose and pacing in The Devil’s Door had been as competent as the characterisations. Smooth passages are suddenly punctuated by awkward paragraphs and confusing sentence constructions that I sometimes had to re-read until my eyes glazed over, muddled about who exactly was saying or doing what. Moreover, at the beginning of the story quite a few names and pedigrees are tossed about in a manner that repeatedly required me to leaf back and search for some information about who these people were and what their connection was to the subject under discussion.
The acceptance of the mystery and the time it takes for the protagonists to uncover the truth relies heavily on the reader’s willingness to respect, along with the characters, the sanctity of a certain religious practice. I did, but looking back I have to say the premise is an extremely flimsy foundation on which to carry an entire mystery novel. It is perhaps fortunate that the story takes several detours from the mystery. The downside is that although the subplots integrate admirably with the main plotline they inevitably slow down an already gentle pace. I grew impatient with clues and twists that are meted out too infrequently and laboriously to sustain narrative tension, and ended up shrugging at the mystery finale due to its lacklustre handling of what should be a shocking revelation. I also questioned the logic of certain crucial actions and decisions committed by several key characters.
It is obvious that no one can be an expert at everything, although many writers make heroic efforts to eliminate errors and inaccuracies. Even The Devil’s Door is not devoid of one or two cringe-worthy blunders. In one instance, a poor but compassionate hermit is able to casually dispense packets of peppercorns to sufferers who consult him for minor ailments. (Peppercorns were a luxury spice coveted by the wealthy, and worth gold in mediaeval times). More significantly, the central plot point regarding female inheritance gave me considerable pause. I am reluctant to conclude a scholar like Newman got something so basic wrong, but the assumptions the plot makes seem to me to be in conflict with local practice. (See, for example, the Champenois custom of partible inheritance discussed in Theodore Evergates’s The Aristocracy in the County of Champagne, 1100-1300; alternatively see the 1212 statute of Blanche of Navarre, Countess of Champagne, which deals with feudal inheritance by women in Champagne. A translation can be found in Evergates’s Feudal Society In Medieval France: Documents from the County of Champagne.)
Finally, a couple of minor grumbles. The inconsistent naming conventions for French characters irritated me. We have some anglicised names such as Walter and William and Peter, while others follow Old French spellings (Thibault, Mahaut, Jehan, Alys), Latin forms (Gaufridus, Paciana, Johanna), or even, in the case of one noblewoman, something Italianate (Constanza). Similarly, while I enjoyed that the French phrases and epithets occasionally exchanged by the characters are in Old French (“Diex te saut”; “C’est mes acors”; “Avoutre!”), the old lay brother at the Paraclete, a former crusader, rather inconsistently shouts “Montjoie et Saint Denis” instead of “Munioie! Saint-Denys!” (“Montjoie et Saint-Denis” appears to be a modern corruption of the battlecry.)
Although the issues I experienced with The Devil’s Door eventually dampened my enthusiasm (the pacing was the death knell) and I sadly concluded that Sharan Newman’s style is not a stimulating match for me, I do hope other readers are inspired to give the series a try. Reviewing my post I find I have almost persuaded myself to give it a second (third) chance... This is solid historical fiction that belongs on the shelf next to Elizabeth Chadwick and Ellis Peters/Edith Pargeter’s depictions of the twelfth century. I hope I will one day find another mediaeval mystery series that carries its scholarship as gracefully.
Books of related interest: Rabbi Solomon bar Isaac or Rashi, who was one of the most important scholars of the Middle Ages, is closely associated with the Jewish community of Troyes, which plays a part in The Devil’s Door. The stories of his daughters, who were famed for their learning and married students of their father, have been novelised by Maggie Anton in four books: Joheved, Rachel, Miriam, and The Secret Scholar. I have not read them but plan to do so now. Among non-fiction, The Jews of Medieval France: The Community of Champagne by Emily Taitz seems particularly relevant. My 1970s edition of The Letters Of Abelard And Heloise, translated by Betty Radice, includes, among other things, seven letters, the Historia Calamitatum, and a 45-page introduction to their lives, works, and legacies. The revised 2004 edition seems to have been slightly expanded. Heloise’s surviving correspondence is also available online, as are, I believe, many of Abelard’s writings. Michael T. Clanchy’s 1999 biography of the latter, Abelard: A Medieval Life, challenges some of the received truths about Abelard and Heloise, asserting that the latter’s contribution to the former's philosophy is much more significant than previously assumed. And finally, The Aristocracy in the County of Champagne, 1100-1300 by Theodore Evergates, provides an analysis of “one of the more vibrant principalities of medieval France“.
