I swear, this is the last Jane Austen mash-up I’m going to read.

I also swear that I will not break out into Dear Jane letters, as Elizabeth is inclined to do at critical junctures of the book. The Postal Service could not be terribly reliable in Europe in her day, but the letters provide an easy way for Elizabeth to share her deepest secrets with us, as well as with Jane, and so she keeps writing.

I found Mr. Darcy, Vampyre to be a breezier read than Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. It’s not written to be funny, although it is occasionally ridiculous; it seems a more serious attempt to extend the romance of Elizabeth Bennett and her beloved Mr Darcy. From the glorious morning of their wedding day to the novel’s final sunrise, they stay true to the world Austen created.

The story begins on the morning of Elizabeth and Darcy’s wedding. They are having a double ceremony, sharing the happy occasion with Jane and her Mr. Bingley. But the trouble starts almost immediately after the wedding breakfast — Darcy has received some disturbing news along with their wedding congratulations, and he cancels their trip to the Lake District and he and Elizabeth head for Paris.

As they travel across the Continent, there is a whirlwind of parties and balls given in their honor, visits with Darcy’s wide circle of friends and relatives, along with an undercurrent of menace. It is clear that things are not what they seem. Some of Darcy’s relatives seem openly shocked to meet Elizabeth, and when Cousin Sophia lets slip – “This is the dress I wore to meet Marco Polo” – it’s clear that someone has been keeping some secrets.

Of course, you and I know that Darcy is a vampire. Many of his friends and relatives are obviously vampires. Author Amanda Grange has tailored a vampire mythology (everything from their ability to go out in the sun to the way they age and die) to fit her story and purposes. In a puzzling turn, Darcy has not once visited Elizabeth’s bedchamber. Weeks into their wedding tour, our bride is still a virgin. Obviously Darcy is restraining himself, but why? What fun are vampires that don’t have sex?

I was disappointed that we didn’t get to see more of the Darcy’s vampire nature in action. There are a few incidents, but until about three-quarters of the way through the book, you could make the case that he simply had cold feet and was keeping his distance from his bride. It is fun to read certain comments and reactions, knowing what we know, and watching Elizabeth try to sort out the mystery on her own, but I would have liked it better if she clued in a little earlier.

I read Mr. Darcy, Vampyre on the flight from Cleveland to Minneapolis. It was a quick, fun read — it kept the feeling of other Austen novels, with some downright silly situations. Devoted Austen fans don’t seem to enjoy it as much, but I was amused by it. Heck, I finished it, which is more than I can say for Sense and Sensibility.

My copy of Mr. Darcy, Vampyre was provided free of charge for review. You can read more about the book at the novel’s blog, and more about the author, Amanda Grange, at her website.

In The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel, Maureen Lindley looks at the life of a notorious Chinese princess from a forgiving angle. Eastern Jewel, also known as Yoshiko Kawashima, was considered quite scandalous in her day: a Chinese princess raised in Japan, a promiscuous young woman who wore men’s clothes, she drank and smoked opium, she spied for the Japanese and was eventually executed as a traitor. Lindley suspects that she was not inherently evil, but a product of her very peculiar upbringing and headstrong temperment. She paints a very compelling story.

She was born a Manchu princess, 14th daughter of Prince Su and a distant cousin of Emperor Pu Yi. When she was 8 years old, she was sent to live with her father’s “blood brother”, Kawashima Naniwa. She was told this was as punishment for her reckless and unladylike behavior, but it was pre-ordained — Kawashima had asked for Eastern Jewel to be sent to him two years before, because he found her to be a pretty child. So the seeds of her rebelliousness and disconnection were planted early.

Kawashima encouraged her rebelliousness, providing her with fencing lessons, allowing her to wear boys’ clothes and encouraging the deep divide between Yoshiko and the other women in the household. Her stepfather and step-grandfather played key roles in her sexual development; eventually, Kawashima — in addition to having regular sexual relations with his stepdaughter — began sending men to visit her. These were generally businessmen, military and government officials, and others that Kawashima wanted to impress or influence. Yoshiko believed he respected her modern ways, when in reality, he was using her as a royal whore.

Eventually, she was married off to a Mongolian prince, living in extremely primitive conditions. It had to be a horrible shock, going from the royal palace in Tokyo to a tent on a windswept plain, huddling with dogs for warmth. She immediately began to plot her escape and did not care who was hurt in the process. I can’t say that I blame her for that — I wouldn’t have wanted to live in those conditions, either.

Yoshiko eventually makes her way back to Japan, providing information to the Japanese government. She does her best to influence Emporer Pu Yi to favor the Japanese agenda. (She appears briefly in the movie, The Last Emperor.) She felt herself to be Japanese — not surprising, considering the way she had been treated by her Chinese family. In an era when women had few choices about their lives (or their deaths — Yoshinko’s mother, a concubine, committed ritual suicide after the death of her master), she had an opportunity to live outside of society’s norms and she took it. I have no doubt that vengeance and selfishness played their parts in her decisions, but her options were very limited.

Lindley’s narrative is full of lush detail. She provides a alternate view of a fairly reviled figure — rejected by her native and adoptive countries, Yoshiko was eventually betrayed to Chiang Kai-shek, imprisoned and executed as a traitor. I found the story quite believable, giving a strong foundation to the argument that Eastern Jewel was not an evil woman. She may have been shaped by outside forces, but she made her own decisions and had a hand in her own destiny.

My copy of The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel was provided by LibraryThing Early Reviewers; get your copy at Amazon.com.

The Glassblower of Murano is an exceptional first novel written by Marina Fiorato, who is herself half Venetian and a graduate of the University of Venice. Her love of the city and its history comes through clearly. It’s a very romantic story, full of intrigue and heartbreak; to understand it, a little history is helpful.

Murano is well-known for its art glass, its millefiori and its chandeliers, but its artisans were virtual prisoners on the island. In 1291, all of Venice’s glassblowers were forced to move to the island of Murano; the city leaders were terrified of fire, and the furnaces were considered a danger to the city. There was also a darker motive: the move gave the government control of the artisans and their movements around the city. Venetian glassmaking was the best in the world and these leaders wanted to make sure the secrets remained in Venice.

In The Glassblower of Murano, stories of past and present and woven together, giving a vivid picture of both. It is the story of two Leonoras — one, an orphan in old Venice, the other, Nora, a modern woman, recently divorced and looking to make peace with her past and find her own future. The orphan Leonora is the illegitimate daughter of Corradino Manin, an exceptionally talented glassblower who has developed a technique for the crafting of mirrors that is greatly coveted by the French. Manin is himself an orphan; his family was murdered by The Ten, a secretive government agency, when a jealous brother denounces them. He is spared only by luck — he was watching a glassblower at work and was not at home when the death squad came. He is raised by the glassblower and eventually becomes famous enough in his own right to again draw the attention of The Ten.

Nora has come to Venice to escape the memories of a failed marriage and to reclaim some of her history. She is a direct descendant of Leonora and Corradino Manin, as well as an artist and glassblower. She was born in Venice; her mother had fallen in love with a young Venetian, become pregnant, and eventually left the young man and the city behind. He died soon after and young Leonora was left with only vague memories of the city and her father.

In Murano, Nora is hired on as a glassblower for one reason alone: her famous last name. She has talent, but there are no female glassblowers. The owner of the foundry hopes to use Nora’s name and likeness to build his business, so he gives her training and an opportunity to become Murano’s first maestra. Unfortunately, that does not endear her to the other glassblowers in his employ. In particular, one young man, a descendant of the glassblower who raised and mentored Corradino, is set on her destruction.

Corradino’s story is revealed in bits and pieces. It is clear early on that he has defected and become a traitor — his talent is responsible for Versailles’ lovely Hall of Mirrors — but his reasons are revealed only gradually. Nora’s enemy has evidence of his treachery and publicly discredits him, but Nora still hopes to salvage his reputation and her own opportunities.

The romance is fairly predictable: Nora meets a young man in Venice, falls for him, and he helps her in her search for her history. It is strikingly similar to the story of Nora’s mother and it gives the history some grounding in the present day.

The history is fascinating and kept me intrigued through a romantic story that I would otherwise have set aside. Fiorato’s familiarity with the city shines through in lavish descriptions and details. She is making a name for herself in the genre — a second novel, The Madonna of the Almonds, was released earlier this month and a third, The Botticelli Secret, is scheduled for release in 2010.

If you like Historical Fiction with a strong emphasis on the Historical, you’re going to love The Whiskey Rebels.

This book is well-written and painstakingly researched. Liss clearly has a thorough knowledge of the history behind the story, the language and demeanour of the characters, and the workings of the frontier economy. (It is truly bizarre to hear them keep referring to Pittsburgh as “the frontier.”) All of the detail of the story rings true and those with a real interest in this period of American history will be fascinated.

The narration skips back and forth between Ethan Saunders, a former spy who was falsely accused of treason, and Joan Maycott, a headstrong young woman married to a war veteran. Ethan Saunders would like to reclaim his good name, but fears he can only do so at the expense of his partner, who died soon after the accusations became public. Joan Maycott and her husband, Andrew, are trying to make a good life for themselves on the wild frontier, and are caught up in the beginnings of what will become the Whiskey Rebellion. The movement between narrators is never confusing, and the shifting viewpoints gives you a chance to look at the story from all angles.

The problem, for me, was that I just didn’t care about any of these characters. I didn’t care if Joan Maycott wrote the first American novel. I didn’t care if Ethan Saunders reclaimed his good name and won the affection of the affection of the lovely Cynthia. The only thing I was vaguely curious about was when and how Ethan would tell Leonidas, his slave, that he had freed him. At one point, I accidentally left this book on my credenza at work over the weekend…and I didn’t miss it one bit. That is almost without precedent. I realize I am a lone dissenter in this case; most of the reviews I have read have been far more glowing. Sadly, this book just did not capture me.

So how to summarize? The book is well-written, extremely detailed and historically accurate. If you’re more interested in the history than the fiction, you’ll be pleased, but even the author’s skill couldn’t make a compelling story out of the monetary policies of Alexander Hamilton. History buffs will love it, but others might want to give it a pass.

The Whiskey Rebels will be released September 30th. My copy was an Advanced Reader Edition. Pre-order yours at Amazon.com.

The problem with reading a book about the Salem witch trials is that you know how it ends, and you know it is going to end badly. It’s like reading a book about the Titanic – you know the boat is going to sink, and even if the characters survive, they’re going to get wet.

This was the undercurrent running through the early parts of The Heretic’s Daughter. You know, considering the subject, that someone is going to be accused of witchcraft, and with each hurtful remark, each contentious run-in with a neighbor, you can feel it drawing closer. Still, even with a good idea of what was coming (the first chapter is an introductory letter that sets up most of the story), I was glued to the pages. This book had me reading in line at the grocery store, sneaking a few pages on my lunch break, and staying up way past my bedtime.

Author Kathleen Kent is a 10th generation descendent of Martha Carrier, the woman Cotton Mather referred to as “The Queen of Hell”. This first-person narrative of the Salem witch trials focuses not on the witches and judges, but on the ordinary people who were swept up in the frenzy. The descriptions of the jail where accused witches were held, the filth and hunger and indignity, were shocking. The cruelty that these so-called religious people displayed was infuriating, but it was even worse to stand with Sarah, rooted on the railroad tracks, watching the train bearing down on her family.

It was easy to forget that at the time of these events, Sarah is only 9 years old. The hard work and responsibility required of her, just for basic survival, is unheard of today, in this country. It is told from the vantage point of an old woman, which accounts for some of the maturity of her voice, but it is still far more than a small child should have to bear.

The Heretic’s Daughter is a great read and I strongly recommend it to fans of historical fiction and tales of early America. My copy was an Advance Reader Edition. Buy your copy today at Amazon.com.