Shadow of night

Review by Booklist Review

Harkness' latest may be bit slow, but epic fantasy readers won't be deterred, and the author's fans will be thrilled to get the second installment of the All Souls Trilogy, which picks up right after the cliff-hanger ending of A Discovery of Witches (2011). Diana and Matthew journey back to 1590 England, intent on finding Diana a magic teacher and locating the enchanted manuscript, Ashmole 782. But, in an era of witch hunts, it's no easy trick to find a witch willing to teach the wife of a famously antiwitch vampire. Both teacher and pupil may well risk their lives in the process, especially after King James starts persecuting witches in Scotland. Still, there is a good side to visiting an era in which Matthew's father, Phillipe, is still alive; in which witches know about weavers like Diana; and in which alchemy is an accepted research area. Those who enjoy a well-developed world, lots of historical detail, and plenty of character development will find much to like here. Make sure to point Harkness out to Diana Gabaldon fans looking for a new historical fantasy epic. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: A Discovery of Witches debuted at number two on the New York Times bestseller list and is being adapted into a movie by David Auburn. Buzz suggests that Warner Brothers sees the trilogy as the filling the gap left by Harry Potter.--Moyer, Jessica Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Propelled by her successful fiction debut, A Discovery of Witches, historian Harkness concocts an energetic if chaotic sequel filled with witches, daemons, vampires, wearhs, weavers, and warm-bloods (aka humans) racing to retrieve a lost manuscript that details the origins of supernatural species, which, in the wrong hands, could hasten their extinction. The first novel culminated in the mixed marriage of vampire/scientist Matthew de Clermont to historian/untrained witch Diana Bishop. This novel opens with the newlyweds time-traveling to Elizabethan England so Diana can study witchcraft; never mind they're burning witches in Scotland or that in London an educated American woman doesn't exactly blend in. There, they hope to retrieve magical manuscript Ashmole 782, last seen in Oxford's 21st-century Bodleian library. Diana gets in touch with her inner firedrake, Matthew with his father, but they can't find a tutor for ages, and they can't rescue the manuscript without a trip to Prague. Supporting Diana and Matthew in their quest is a secret society that includes dashing Walter Raleigh and dangerous daemon Christopher Marlowe. Harkness delights in lining up the living dead and modern academic history, as in her explanation of how a forger named Shakespeare, with supernatural prompting, takes up playwriting. This tale of a feminist Yankee in Queen Elizabeth's court charms amid the tumult, as the gifted heroine and her groom fight for generations and another sequel to come in order to protect the magical world that's all around us. Agent: Sam Stoloff. (July 10) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

Picking up where last summer's best-selling A Discovery of Witches left off, geneticist and vampire Matthew Clairmont and Oxford scholar and witch Diana Bishop travel back in time to Elizabethan England to hunt for the enchanted Ashmole 782 manuscript and to seek magic lessons for Diana. VERDICT Readers who enjoyed the first book's striking detail and complex world-building will be equally as thrilled with this second book in the trilogy, as Harkness, a scholar herself (history, Univ. of Southern California), focuses her lens on the denizens, culture, and geography of late 16th-century Europe. (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

William Shakespeare, vampire hunter. Well, not exactly. But, thanks to the magic of time travel, Harkness' (A Discovery of Witches, 2011) latest finds witch and Oxford professor Diana Bishop and her lover, scientist and vampire Matthew Clairmont, at the tail end of Elizabethan England, when Shakespeare's career is about to take off. There, by happenstance, they meet Christopher Marlowe, who commands an uncommonly rich amount of data about the ways of the otherworld. Asked why the odd couple should attract attention, he remarks matter-of-factly, "Because witches and wearhs are forbidden to marry," an exchange that affords Diana, and the reader, the chance to learn a new word. Diana and Matthew talk a lot. They argue a lot, too, quibbling about the strangest things: " You are a vampire. You're possessive. It's who you are,' I said flatly, approaching him in spite of his anger. And I am a witch. You promised to accept me as I am--light and dark, woman and witch, my own person as well as your wife.' " But then they get to have extremely hot--indeed, unnaturally hot, given the cold blood of the undead--makeup sex, involving armoires and oak paneling and lifted petticoats and gripped buttocks. Meanwhile, Kit Marlowe gets to do some petticoat lifting of his own, even if his adventures lead him to a Bedlam populated by all kinds of unfortunate souls, from a few ordinary wackaloons of yore to a small army of daemons, witches, vampires and other exemplars of the damned and doomed. Will Shakespeare comes onto the scene late, but there's good reason for that--and maybe a little fodder for the Edward de Vere conspiratorial crowd, too. Clearly Harkness has great fun with all this, and her background as a literature professor gives her plenty of room to work with, and without, an ounce of pedantry. Sure, the premise is altogether improbable. But, that said, there's good fun to be had here, even for those who might wish for a moratorium on books about vampires, zombies, witches and other things that go bump in the night.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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"Why no beard? Have you been ill?" Marlowe's eyes flickered when they spotted me, nudging me with the insistent pressure that marked him unmistakably as a daemon. I suppressed an urge to rush at one of England's greatest playwrights and shake his hand before peppering him with questions. What little information I once knew about him flew from my mind now that he was standing before me. Had any of his plays been performed in 1590? How old was he? Younger than Matthew and I, certainly. Marlowe couldn't yet be thirty. I smiled at him warmly. "Wherever did you find that?" Marlowe pointed, his voice dripping with contempt. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see some hideous work of art. There was nothing but empty space. He meant me. My smile faltered. "Gently, Kit," Matthew said with a scowl. Marlowe shrugged off the rebuke. "It is no matter. Take your fill of her before the others arrive, if you must. George has been here for some time, of course, eating your food and reading your books. He is still without a patron and hasn't a farthing to his name." "George is welcome to whatever I have, Kit." Matthew kept his eyes on the young man, his face expressionless as he drew our intertwined fingers to his mouth. "Diana, this is my dear friend Christopher Marlowe." Matthew's introduction provided Marlowe with an opportunity to inspect me more openly. His attention crawled from my toes to the top of my head. The young man's scorn was evident, his jealousy better hidden. Marlowe was indeed in love with my husband. I had suspected it back in Madison when my fingers had traveled over his inscription in Matthew's copy of Doctor Faustus . "I had no idea there was a brothel in Woodstock that specialized in over-tall women. Most of your whores are more delicate and appealing, Matthew. This one is a positive Amazon," Kit sniffed, looking over his shoulder at the disordered drifts of paper that covered the surface of the table. "According to the Old Fox's latest, it was business rather than lust that took you to the north. Wherever did you find the time to secure her services?" "It is remarkable, Kit, how easily you squander affection," Matthew drawled, though there was a note of warning in his tone. Marlowe, seemingly intent on the correspondence, failed to recognize it and smirked. Matthew's fingers tightened on mine. "Is Diana her real name, or was it adopted to enhance her allure among customers? Perhaps a baring of her right breast, or a bow and arrow, is in order," Marlowe suggested, picking up a sheet of paper. "Remember when Blackfriars Bess demanded we call her Aphrodite before she would let us--" "Diana is my wife." Matthew was gone from my side, his hand no longer wrapped around mine but twisted in Marlowe's collar. "No." Kit's face registered his shock. "Yes. That means she is the mistress of this house, bears my name, and is under my protection. Given all that--and our long-standing friendship, of course--no word of criticism or whisper against her virtue will cross your lips in future." I wiggled my fingers to restore their feeling. The angry pressure from Matthew's grip had driven the ring on the third finger of my left hand into the flesh, leaving a pale red mark. Despite its lack of facets, the diamond in the center captured the warmth of the firelight. The ring had been an unexpected gift from Matthew's mother, Ysabeau. Hours ago--centuries ago? centuries to come?--Matthew had repeated the words of the old marriage ceremony and slid the diamond over my knuckles. With a clatter of dishes, two vampires appeared in the room. One was a slender man with an expressive face, weather-beaten skin the color of a hazelnut, and black hair and eyes. He was holding a flagon of wine and a goblet whose stem was shaped into a dolphin, the bowl balanced on its tail. The other was a rawboned woman bearing a platter of bread and cheese. "You are home, milord ," the man said, obviously confused. Oddly enough, his French accent made him easier to understand. "The messenger on Thursday said--" "My plans changed, Pierre." Matthew turned to the woman. "My wife's possessions were lost on the journey, Françoise, and the clothes she was wearing were so filthy I burned them." He told the lie with bald confidence. Neither the vampires nor Kit looked convinced by it. "Your wife?" Françoise repeated, her accent as French as Pierre's. "But she is a w--" "Warmblood," Matthew finished, plucking the goblet from the tray. "Tell Charles there's another mouth to feed. Diana hasn't been well and must have fresh meat and fish on the advice of her doctor. Someone will need to go to the market, Pierre." Pierre blinked. "Yes, milord ." "And she will need something to wear," Françoise observed, eyeing me appraisingly. When Matthew nodded, she disappeared, Pierre following in her wake. "What's happened to your hair?" Matthew held up a strawberry blond curl. "Oh, no," I murmured. My hands rose. Instead of my usual shoulder-length, straw-colored hair, they found unexpectedly springy reddish-gold locks reaching down to my waist. The last time my hair had developed a mind of its own, I was in college, playing Ophelia in a production of Hamlet . Then and now its unnaturally rapid growth and change of hue were not good signs. The witch within me had awakened during our journey to the past. There was no telling what other magic had been unleashed. Excerpted from Shadow of Night by Deborah Harkness All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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