The Clerkenwell Tales (2003)

Modeled on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, this collection of closely-related tales, each told from its title character’s point of view, weaves a fictionalized account of the machinations placing Henry Bolingbroke on England’s thrown.

There are times when I see the blurbs on cover of a book I've just finished and wonder if I'd been reading an entirely different book. And so it was with Peter Ackroyd's The Clerkenwell Tales; a book that seemed to have all the elements of a good read but proved to be — if not a dud exactly — a big disappointment.

I chose this novel to represent England in my Reading along the Prime Meridian challenge. It's set in the heart of London in 1399 which was a tumultuous year in English history. King Richard II, a staunch advocate of the divine right of kings to rule, has his throne threatened by a revolutionary army led by Henry Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke is not the only one who wants to overthrow the King. Dominus, a clandestine group of high-powered officials that seems to be in league with an apocalyptic religious sect is similarly intent on causing mayhem. The atmosphere of fear and anxiety is exacerbated by a nun whose prophesies of Richard's demise are unleashed on a superstitious public.

Murder, arson, conspiracy. With a plot like that, how can a book fail especially when written by an author with a tremendous skill with period detail? Ackroyd doesn't disappoint in that respect. His descriptions of daily life, of meals and mystery plays, of footwear and headwear, of tooth sellers and medical potions turn the past into a fascinating though smelly present. Next time I'm feeling ill, I won't bother my local GP, I'll just follow one of the cures from the leech featured in Ackroyd's book:

'he was much discomforted by her heaviness of stomach and suggested she mix the grease of a boar and the grease of a rat, the grease of a horse and the grease of a badger's, souse the concoction in vinegar, add sage and then put it upon her belly."

The problem with this book is the way Ackroyd chooses to tell his story. Each of his chapters is named after a character from Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. Each of these characters has only partial knowledge of the plots and intrigues so what the reader experiences is a gradual revelation of the story. It's a clever idea, almost akin to the way witnesses in a trial contribute to the jury's understanding of the whole picture, but since none of the characters enters the story for more than a few pages it's difficult to get know them in anything more than a superficial way. It's such a shame because some of them have a lot of promise that is just bursting to be fully realised. But it never does. ( )

The very first thing you notice when you pick up Clerkenwell Tales is that the table of contents look a lot like the table of contents from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. This was definitely intentional. In fact, all of the characters are the same as Chaucer's only fleshed out a little differently than Chaucer. We start off with a deranged nun full of prophesy and a group of presumed heretics called the Lollards. The Lollards are a secret society of men who seek to overthrow the church, dethrone the king, wreak havoc across London. As a result, chaos will ensue for sure! ( )

For a writer of Ackroyd's learning and ability, seeking to tell a story through the format of the Canterbury Tales was no doubt an interesting exercise. The author's knowledge of the late 14th century, of the city of London, and the language and habits of those living at that time stand out in this novel. The basic story is of a plot to depose Richard II, told through the experience of a series of participants and observers. But the conspiracy isn't convincing; and the story, unfortunately, just isn't that interesting. ( )

My first encounter with Peter Ackroyd was in Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination (2003), which is quite a tome. In fact, it is so chock full of information that I should have turned right around and read it again. It's hard to absorb so much detail from essentially fifteen hundred years of history. One thing that was clear, though, was the extent of Ackroyd's erudition. This man knows everything about British literary history.

So it was with a bit of a smile that I picked up The Clerkenwell Tales, which I understood to have a sort of oblique relationship with The Canterbury Tales, and I thought it might be kind of a fun read. Again, Ackroyd's knowledge of London history must have needed a place to go, because indirectly this little book gives the reader a painless dose of actual history in the process of weaving a tale of intrigue that occurs in 1399.

Now, it turns out that 1399 was a pivotal year. This was, first of all, the year before Chaucer's death. Second and more important, this was the year Henry Bolingbroke stole the throne from Richard II. The plot of Ackroyd's tale surrounds not one but two conspiracies that were both aimed at achieving an upset in the status quo, although their motivations differed substantially. One was anti-Church and involved the underclass, while the other involved the political class and aristocracy and was avidly pro-Bolingbroke. The plot structure provides room for all of the classes and types represented by the Canterbury pilgrims to shine — for better or worse. Ackroyd has cleverly named each chapter after a character — "The Prioress's Tale," "The Clerk's Tale," etc — coincidentally most of whom were on that famed Canterbury pilgrimage, but here there is no pilgrimage planned, there are no separate "tales," so to speak, and the entire action takes place in the extended London environs.

The final chapter, "The Author's Tale," consists of endnotes which are supposed to lend an air of authority to all the goings on, but it would probably be a good idea to fact- check before accepting the whole story hook, line and sinker.

This was an enjoyable quick read, although I was disappointed that it wasn't more of a reminiscence of The Canterbury Tales, which I read originally at university. But actually, if I really want to reminisce, I guess I could read the real thing again! ( )