Dark Age Monarch: The Reign of King Arthur, by Joseph Swope, APR 2022 LTER
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Disclaimer: An electronic copy of this book was provided in exchange for review by publishers Black Rose Writing, via Library Thing.
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This unusual melding of fiction and history looks at the birth of the Arthurian legend, the basis of which seems to go back to histories springing from the late 5th and early 6th century. Vague mentions, language difficulties, multiple translations, and the fact of history being written by the victors make it all rather difficult to pin down, but all the surviving chronicles show a significant halt in the spread of Angle and Saxon occupation of Britain at that time. Did a single warlord manage to unite the warring “kingdoms” and hold the invaders at bay? And if so did that person (those people) become the matrix for Geoffrey of Monmouth’s 12th century History of the Kings of Britain, later embellished by Sir Thomas Malory in his 15th century Le Morte d’Arthur?
Was Arthur an historical figure, or an amalgam of multiple warlords, Celtic mythology, and early Christian usurpation of pagan beliefs? Or was he a zeitgeist arising spontaneously from an embattled culture struggling to remain alive?
Swope has chosen to intermingle historical reference from writers such as the 9th century Nennius with wholly fictional scenes in which the major characters interact in brief vignettes that advance the story, beginning with the notion that Merlin was actually Ambrosius Aurelius, a descendant of a Romanized British family whose existence can be verified in histories of the era. He then takes a turn through the notion that Ambrosius became Merlin, was in fact the father of Uther Pendragon, and arranged for both the conception and the fostering of the child who became Arthur.
Morgan le Fay was certainly my favorite character in the book, and one of the most fully developed. Her slightly cynical, commonsense voice bookends the story, bemoaning the fact that mortal men just never get it right, leaving the mess for women (mortal and otherwise) to clean up, noting “through the ages, I have received … blame for what went wrong. But that history was written by men, and even worse, mostly by monks. They needed a villain, so that is how I was unfairly painted.”
Once he gets going into the heart of Arthur’s reign, Swope emphasizes the part of the legend most often glossed over in fictional treatments of the saga – the military victories that consolidated Arthur’s position as High King. And it is here that Swope leans most heavily on the military history that has come down to us from that era – fragmented, translated, re-translated, adapted, amended, and reconstituted, but surviving in a form that says yes, there was a battle here at this time, followed by one there (or possibly just down the road from there) at that time. About half the book concentrates on the campaigns, and readers eager to get to “the good stuff” – the highly romanticized Round Table, Guinevere, Camelot portions will just have to get through it.
Swope follows up the military history by following several of the major knights on early adventures – Gawain, Lancelot, Tristan, and Lamorak (whom he has styled not as Pellinore’s son but as an escaped African slave who becomes a fierce warrior and important part of Arthur’s cohort). He continues to intersperse the historical search for Arthur while drawing from various versions of the legend.
One of the more curious choices is to make Mordred not Arthur’s son from an incestuous encounter with his half-sister (and King Lot’s wife) Morgause, but rather a child orphaned by Gawain in Gawain’s battle with The Green Knight – and further making Morgause not Mordred’s mother but rather his sister. It’s a curious choice, which removes the classic motivation for Mordred’s hatred of Arthur, replacing it with a weak your-knight-killed-my-daddy-and-I’m-gonna-get-you-back vendetta that has none of the high tragedy of Malory’s version.
The high tragedy is mostly reserved for the doomed romance between Lancelot and Guinevere. As with most of the relationships in the book, this one is simply shown as given, without a lot of delving into the characters of the two lovers or examination of the forces that drew them together. Readers seeking high romance will need to find it in some other rendition of the saga. (May this reviewer recommend The Once and Future King for that?)
Not even Swope’s somewhat arm’s-length treatment of the characters, however, can keep the final battle, Arthur’s death, and the disintegration of so much that he fought for, from being true tragedy in the classic sense.
Readers interested in the full panoply of the Arthurian saga, will find this an interesting addition, with valuable signposts to historical writings for those inclined to search further for the historical Arthur. Those who want a more emotionally-fulfilling experience might want to continue to browse through the hundreds of treatments that emphasize the humanity of the characters.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This unusual melding of fiction and history looks at the birth of the Arthurian legend, the basis of which seems to go back to histories springing from the late 5th and early 6th century. Vague mentions, language difficulties, multiple translations, and the fact of history being written by the victors make it all rather difficult to pin down, but all the surviving chronicles show a significant halt in the spread of Angle and Saxon occupation of Britain at that time. Did a single warlord manage to unite the warring “kingdoms” and hold the invaders at bay? And if so did that person (those people) become the matrix for Geoffrey of Monmouth’s 12th century History of the Kings of Britain, later embellished by Sir Thomas Malory in his 15th century Le Morte d’Arthur?
Was Arthur an historical figure, or an amalgam of multiple warlords, Celtic mythology, and early Christian usurpation of pagan beliefs? Or was he a zeitgeist arising spontaneously from an embattled culture struggling to remain alive?
Swope has chosen to intermingle historical reference from writers such as the 9th century Nennius with wholly fictional scenes in which the major characters interact in brief vignettes that advance the story, beginning with the notion that Merlin was actually Ambrosius Aurelius, a descendant of a Romanized British family whose existence can be verified in histories of the era. He then takes a turn through the notion that Ambrosius became Merlin, was in fact the father of Uther Pendragon, and arranged for both the conception and the fostering of the child who became Arthur.
Morgan le Fay was certainly my favorite character in the book, and one of the most fully developed. Her slightly cynical, commonsense voice bookends the story, bemoaning the fact that mortal men just never get it right, leaving the mess for women (mortal and otherwise) to clean up, noting “through the ages, I have received … blame for what went wrong. But that history was written by men, and even worse, mostly by monks. They needed a villain, so that is how I was unfairly painted.”
Once he gets going into the heart of Arthur’s reign, Swope emphasizes the part of the legend most often glossed over in fictional treatments of the saga – the military victories that consolidated Arthur’s position as High King. And it is here that Swope leans most heavily on the military history that has come down to us from that era – fragmented, translated, re-translated, adapted, amended, and reconstituted, but surviving in a form that says yes, there was a battle here at this time, followed by one there (or possibly just down the road from there) at that time. About half the book concentrates on the campaigns, and readers eager to get to “the good stuff” – the highly romanticized Round Table, Guinevere, Camelot portions will just have to get through it.
Swope follows up the military history by following several of the major knights on early adventures – Gawain, Lancelot, Tristan, and Lamorak (whom he has styled not as Pellinore’s son but as an escaped African slave who becomes a fierce warrior and important part of Arthur’s cohort). He continues to intersperse the historical search for Arthur while drawing from various versions of the legend.
One of the more curious choices is to make Mordred not Arthur’s son from an incestuous encounter with his half-sister (and King Lot’s wife) Morgause, but rather a child orphaned by Gawain in Gawain’s battle with The Green Knight – and further making Morgause not Mordred’s mother but rather his sister. It’s a curious choice, which removes the classic motivation for Mordred’s hatred of Arthur, replacing it with a weak your-knight-killed-my-daddy-and-I’m-gonna-get-you-back vendetta that has none of the high tragedy of Malory’s version.
The high tragedy is mostly reserved for the doomed romance between Lancelot and Guinevere. As with most of the relationships in the book, this one is simply shown as given, without a lot of delving into the characters of the two lovers or examination of the forces that drew them together. Readers seeking high romance will need to find it in some other rendition of the saga. (May this reviewer recommend The Once and Future King for that?)
Not even Swope’s somewhat arm’s-length treatment of the characters, however, can keep the final battle, Arthur’s death, and the disintegration of so much that he fought for, from being true tragedy in the classic sense.
Readers interested in the full panoply of the Arthurian saga, will find this an interesting addition, with valuable signposts to historical writings for those inclined to search further for the historical Arthur. Those who want a more emotionally-fulfilling experience might want to continue to browse through the hundreds of treatments that emphasize the humanity of the characters.
