Stephen R. Lawhead

In this series, fantasy author Stephen R. Lawhead tackles the retelling of one of England’s most famous legends, the legend of Robin Hood, and does not disappoint with his lively take on the story. Most fascinatingly (at least to me) is how he attempts to historicize the story and, in what appears to me to be a very bold move, argues that the “original” folk hero was actually Welsh rather than English. (I am only very superficially acquainted with the fraught history of Welsh-English show more relations to which Lawhead alludes.)
Lawhead provides at the end of the introductory book an extended (and fascinating) explanation of his reasons for recontextualizing it as a Briton tale set in the days following the Norman Conquest (1066). He notes: “Within two months of the Battle of Hastings (1066), William the Conqueror…had subdued 80 percent of England. Within two years, they had it all under their rule. However…it took them over two hundred years of almost continual conflict to make any lasting impression on Wales.”
This story of “Rhi Bran y Hud” (King Bran the Enchanter) and his fight for the right to his ancestral throne in the cantref of Elfael, was, then, an icon of the Welsh resistance to French (Ffreinc in the book) conquest and control.
The key to this move is brilliant in its simplicity: in all the tellings of the Robin Hood legend, he’s imagined as adept with the longbow. And, in one of history’s more important oversights, the longbow was actually a Welsh invention, adopted by the English. From there, it’s not too great a leap to see the outlaw of Sherwood Forest as originally a fiercely independent Welsh prince, determined to keep his people free.
It would not be too much of stretch to say that, in Lawhead’s retelling, the longbow, like the primeval forest of the March that separated Wales from England, achieves the status of an independent character in the story (insofar as any inanimate object could achieve such status). It is the advantage provided by the longbow that “carries the day” for Welsh freedom. Again, Lawhead graciously provides an historical example to back this claim, the disastrous Battle of Agincourt (1415), where a small and vastly inferior British force (at best, 6,000 men) bested a French army of roughly 20,000 men, mostly knights. The result can only be termed, as Lawhead puts it, a “massacre.” Conservative estimates of French losses include 2,000 counts, barons, and dukes; over 3,000 knights and men-at-arms, and an additional 1,000 common soldiers.
The agreed cause of the rout is this: It is estimated that, within the first minute of the battle, the English longbowmen unleashed a flight of 72,000-plus arrows, shot with such force that they could pierce a knight’s armor. (In another place, Lawhead describes an arrow shot from a longbow with such force that it buries itself in an oaken door to half the length of its shaft.) In many ways, this battle established the longbow as the “superweapon” of the day and initiated a revolution in military tactics and strategy.
I suppose I enjoyed this book precisely because of the balance that Lawhead achieved between “legend” and “history.” He does keep the fantastical element alive, especially with the presence of Rhi Bran’s aged advisor, Angharad the banfáith (a wise woman or prophetess), who nurses a mortally-wounded Bran back to health and provides crucial and uncanny insights at key points in the narrative. But neither element overwhelms or displaces the other.
I also appreciated the pacing, a sometimes fault of fantasy fiction that either gets too caught up in description (destroying any sense of momentum) or too involved in the action (making for a work indistinguishable from a contemporary “thriller”). The story moves well, evokes the magic and mystery of the woodlands of the March, the stout character of the Welsh people, and the complexities of medieval systems of loyalty and honor that governed these actions.
I suppose those more familiar with the actual history of the period and/or the literary roots of the Robin Hood story would no doubt have a number of quibbles to list at this point, whereas I, in my broad ignorance, have only a couple nagging questions (less “problems” with the story than things I now wish to investigate a bit further). As I mentioned above, the presence of the banfáith Angharad, a key figure for Bran’s transformation from entitled royal outlaw to lawful king, in many ways represents Lawhead’s nod to the pervasive Celtic mysticism that undergirds these legends. Yet, it appears to me that Lawhead attempts, sometimes unconvincingly, to almost “Christianize” Angharad and her ancient ways learned from the ancestors. Especially in her interactions with Friar Tuck (Aethelfrith), I could easily imagine him expressing more animosity to her “ancient wisdom” than Lawhead chooses to allow. To be fair, I would have to say his characterization of Angharad rang a little false on this point.
The last point is even less significant to the overall success of the story. Lawhead hangs the resolution of the story (e.g., King William II’s decision to allow Bran to occupy the throne of Elfael with only an oath of fealty) on William the Red’s concern with his responsibility for the souls of those he killed. It doesn’t figure prominently in the story, but in his epilogue to the third book, Lawhead notes the serious extent of the monastic business of “cash for prayers.” While this was certainly a factor that would influence any king’s decision to sue for peace, I’m not sure it is as convincing as Lawhead would like it to be…at least, not very consistent with the devious character of King William in the rest of the story.
But these are all minor quibbles and questions that, in the end, did not detract from my simple enjoyment of a good book. For me, the book scored high marks in all the relevant categories: the plot was intriguing, the characters were well-drawn, the setting is beautifully evoked, and the telling avoided any heavy-handed moralism that has become the bane of modern fiction. True, I would not put on Lawhead the unfair burden of England’s “next Tolkien,” but I would say that he is definitely a unique voice in the realm of fantasy fiction…and a voice worthy of a wider hearing. show less

After two years of picking this book up off of bookstore shelves, declaring that I really, really wanted this, and then unexplainably replacing the book on the shelf, I broke down and ordered it from Amazon. Upon receiving this lovely book, I promptly devoured it in two days.

I almost gave it up in the first eighty pages. I'll speak the truth. It just didn't catch my attention like I'd hoped it would. However, upon hitting page ninety, I forgot to look up until it was nearly midnight and I'd show more turned to page 250. It was that absorbing and wonderful.

It's a lovely book, and much like Lawhead's Albion Trilogy, it gave me lovely visuals of deep, dark woods where much is of the unknown.

The themes are obvious: human greed with enough never being enough. It also puts into question the debacle of history's kings, namely William II of England in this novel, all spouting on Divine Right. How is it Divine Right when there is so much human cruelty and bloodshed that goes with the territory? How does God approve of that when before the notion of Divine Right the people of Wales worked the lands and tithed properly and kept away from much of the trouble in the neighboring country of England?

That in itself is what I got out of the book. You may just see it as a dashing tale full of action and suspense. It's a good book, a wonderful, stupendous, phenomonal book, and I'd suggest it to anyone who wants their love of history and fantasy especially to meld together in one great story. show less

This book was so much more than I expected. It really pulled me into the lands and times which it described, especially ancient Britain. I became very fond of the characters and cared deeply about what happened to them. What more could you ask from a tale? The author's treatment of Christianity and belief was pleasantly surprising to me, he did not preach with it, but told it gently and genuinely as it is. Belief and faith are a large part of the Arthurian tale, but rarely treated so well in show more the stories. I really don't want to read the next books, I know the Arthurian tragedy and there is no getting away from it being sad. As it is, I wept through the last several chapters of this book. However, I enjoyed the writing so much, I may not be able to resist. show less

I am not sure where to start with this review, the story gave me a book hangover, left me wanting more from the story, I want to know what next, it drew my emotional connection to the characters, it did its job as a story and drew me in completely and utterly fallen into this book. I am having difficulty moving onto another story and will relish in the story for several days ahead. I have read several books by this author and have enjoyed most however, this one is my favorite story by thus show more far. I would say it rivals that of Patrick Rothfuss's "The Name of the Wind" but this story was written in 1987 so that would not be a good comparison as Stephen Lawhead wrote his story first. This 486 page paperback is an epic love story and one of the best stories I have ever read around the Arthurian legend. You will have to read it for yourself. Very well written and well paced prose. I am looking forward to reading the next in the Series "Merlin".

Spoiler don't read any further.

I have read a few negative reviews and if I trusted their opinion of the book I would not have read it. One review did not like the book for the timeframe connections of Atlantis and the end of the 5th century did not match up on what people have placed on historic and fictionalized time lines, this same person did not like what appeared to be a quick denouncing of Paganism and acceptance to Christianity but I found that again to be superficial after reading the book and it did not happen as they speculated. The book after all is a Fantasy novel about the parents of Merlin and directly related to the Arthurian legend. show less