Menewood

Griffith follows up Hild with a transportive second volume inspired by the life of St. Hilda of Whitby (614--680), known for advising kings as an abbess and portrayed here as a canny royal leader and fierce warrior in the years before she's recruited by the church. In the first installment, Hild was a precocious child; now, in 632, she's 18 and recently wed to her half brother Cian Boldcloak, with whom she's tasked to protect the highland of Elmet for their king and uncle Edwin, in whose court Hild was raised. Their lives are dictated by the constant threat of war, and by the end of the first act, Cian is killed in battle. Along with descriptions of bloody violence, Griffith colors in the customs and language of early medieval England ("Tide turns as æfen turns to niht," a ship captain tells an impatient Hild while she's on her way to a diplomatic mission in Colud). Though accounts of Hild's vengeful battles drag on a bit too long, there's no shortage of visceral prose (as Hild mounts her mare, Griffith writes: "She felt herself swell, blood coursing rich and thick in her veins, and her heart rose like a great bubble"). Admirers of the first bookwill not be disappointed. Agent: Stephanie Cabot, Susanna Lea Assoc. (Oct.)

Griffith picks up Hild's story where her eponymous 2013 novel left off. When last we saw Hild, she had just been made the Lady of Elmet. She and her new husband (and half brother), Cian Boldcloak, are responsible for holding southern Northumbre for her uncle Edwin, the king. The 7th century was a tumultuous time in Britain. Regional rulers like Edwin clashed as they sought to control the whole island and Christian priests vied with old gods. Hild survived a perilous childhood by making a reputation as a seer and, later, by becoming a fierce warrior. What she wants isn't power; it's a safe home for those she loves and those in her care. She knows that war is coming, and leading her people through it will require foresight, cunning, and terrible sacrifice. As she did in Hild, Griffith offers a richly textured vision of life in early-medieval Britain. She takes incredible care in the language she uses, avoiding modern metaphors and generally choosing words of Germanic or Celtic origin over Latinate words. She also dots her text with terms straight from Old English, which has the wonderfully paradoxical effect of pulling the reader into Hild's universe while reminding us that this place is, for us, strange and ultimately irrecoverable. And there are moments of exquisite poetry throughout the text, particularly in descriptions of the natural world. Where this book falters is in its length, its pace, and a list of characters that will be unmanageable for most readers. For example, the first quarter of the book--almost 200 pages--describes the lead-up to a war between Edwin and rival kings. The political machinations are not easy to follow; nor are they, ultimately, very enlightening. Most of the conversations among Hild, Edwin, and other powerful players are about what they don't know and, given that the text seldom strays from Hild's point of view, the reader receives no insights that she doesn't have. There's also a tremendous amount of repetition. The word "seax"--a type of knife--occurs 92 times in this novel and, in most instances, Hild is grasping hers or adjusting hers or drawing attention to hers because she feels uneasy or wishes to assert her power. And every time she does it, she becomes more of a figure from pantomime than a real and singular woman. Overlong and slow-paced, but compelling despite its flaws. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.