Cauldstane by Linda Gillard, reviewed by Mari Biella

This is the first novel by Linda Gillard I’ve read, despite her being, so I understand, one of the most popular author-publishers around today. I really don’t know why it took me so long, but I’m very glad I finally made a start and read Cauldstane. The writing is easy, fluid, and the story well-told and compelling; I found myself believing absolutely in Cauldstane Castle and its highly diverse group of inhabitants.

Cauldstane is, in the words of the author, “a gothic novel in the tradition of Daphne du Maurier and Victoria Holt.” The story follows professional ghost-writer Jenny – or J.J. Ryan, as she is professionally known – as she travels to the remote Cauldstane Castle in the Scottish Highlands to meet the Laird, the adventurous and utterly charming Sholto MacNab. Jenny has been employed to write his autobiography, and in order to get to know him and learn about his life she plans to spend a while living in the household, which comprises Sholto, his sons Fergus and Alec, his sister Zelda, and Wilma, the housekeeper and home-baking enthusiast. In many ways, Cauldstane is a comfortable, and comforting, place: Wilma delivers regular snacks and drinks, meals are plentiful and generous, and the surroundings charming and full of character. Yet the castle is also something of a museum, a place where the detritus of centuries is stored. The MacNabs, as is often the case in Gothic fiction, are oppressed by the weight of their own history, and troubled by their future prospects, or lack thereof. The castle, and the lifestyle of the family, are “a building and way of life in its death throes.”

Cauldstane is beautifully described, to such an extent that I thought of it as a real place while I was reading. The problems inherent in the management of the place – its size, the cost of running it, and the fact that the MacNabs simply cannot afford it – do not diminish its romance. But this romance comes at a terrible price. “Let Fear be Far from All” is the MacNab motto, but in reality this is a family living in an almost constant state of nagging fear. Sholto has lost both his wives, and his son Alec has been widowed; there’s even a curse that supposedly dictates that any woman marrying a Cauldstane heir will either die young or remain childless, which makes MacNab males something of an unappealing prospect to many women. Interestingly, the MacNabs themselves are sceptical about the existence of the curse, but it continues to throw a shadow over their lives; more interestingly still, the curse is never actually shown to be false during the novel, and indeed is seen to be fulfilled time and again. This in turn raises a question: can somebody be negatively affected by something that they do not believe in, something that might not even exist?

An enormous portrait of Sholto’s second wife, Meredith, dominates the interior of the castle – as does the woman herself, despite having died several years before. In an echo of du Maurier’s Rebecca, Meredith’s hold over Cauldstane and the people living there actually seems to have increased following her death. And Jenny is soon affected too, as her association with the MacNabs becomes more than purely professional. The growing attraction between her and Alec could come at a high personal price: somebody doesn’t want her at the castle, and will go to great lengths to force her out.

Many elements combine to make Cauldstane such an enjoyable read. One is the setting: the lonely, atmospheric castle is almost a character in its own right, and tends to dominate the human characters (another common element in much Gothic fiction). Yet the human protagonists are rounded, realistic and, for the most part, sympathetic. Sholto was my personal favourite, but Jenny too was an interesting and engaging, if atypical, heroine: she’s forty and unmarried, and not altogether happy about this; she’s had some rather vague psychological problems in the past and continues to worry about her mental state, which has interesting ramifications when much that happens to her at Cauldstane seems calculated to cast doubt upon her sanity. And she has her own secrets – not as dark as those of Cauldstane, but ones that continue to haunt her.

I understand that Linda Gillard was once traditionally-published, before her publishers allowed her to go the indie route. That’s a decision I simply don’t understand from any point of view: Gillard writes not only well but in what I imagine to be a highly marketable vein. Happily, she’s now self-publishing, so no one need go without her books. If you enjoy Gothic romance or sheer escapism, you might want to pick up Cauldstane. In the words of one of the characters, “it has all the right ingredients . . . Money. Class. Sex. Scandal. And a big country house.”

The Black Douglas by S.R. Crockett, edited by Cally Phillips

Literature, it seems, is as subject to the quirks of fashion as just about every other area of human activity. S.R. Crockett was a tremendously popular novelist back in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; now, barely a hundred years later, he’s much less widely known. However, that might perhaps be about to change, due to Authors Electric’s very own Cally Phillips, who has been working flat-out to republish Crockett’s works, and hopefully introduce them to a whole new generation. (Go to the Ayton Publishing website to see the entire collection.)

The Black Douglas revolves around a cast of actual historical figures, including William Sixth Earl of Douglas (“The Black Douglas” of the title), and Gilles de Retz, the loopy French nobleman who fought alongside Joan of Arc before (allegedly) embarking on a life of occult rituals and murder most vile. The story unfolds against a backdrop of mediaeval Scotland (in particular, Crockett’s native Galloway) and France, and is frequently told through the eyes of the Earl’s sidekick and knight, Sholto MacKim.

And what a story it is, involving murder, blood-drinking, witchcraft and werewolves, no less. The Black Douglas was published in 1899, two years after Dracula first appeared, and I’d be surprised if it hadn’t been influenced by that novel to some extent. Many of the elements of Dracula are also present here: a sinister, intriguing nobleman who lives in a castle with such a blood-curdling reputation that very few people dare go there; the curious command that said nobleman has over animals, and in particular wolves; and the significance of human blood, particularly as a means of prolonging life. Indeed, anyone who has read Dracula may experience a strange sense of déjà vu when reading a particular passage in The Black Douglas, in which a woman whose child has been abducted hammers, screaming, at the castle door, pleading for his return: “Give me my boy, murderer! Restore me my son!” All that is missing is Stoker’s curious psychosexual take on his material – that, and the vampirism.

For de Retz is not actually a vampire, though his physical appearance brings Stoker’s Count to mind: “The upper lip was retracted, and a set of long white teeth gleamed like those of a wild beast.” Indeed, it may be that he’s simply a deluded madman, though Crockett himself suggests that there’s something genuinely supernatural underlying the story. De Retz is a curious, complex figure: unashamedly villainous, yet given to moments of charm, and even of tenderness. At times he seems to be driven by a desire for knowledge: “I have in secret pushed my researches beyond the very confines of knowledge . . . Evil and good alike shall be mine.” Despite worshipping a demon, and carrying out blood sacrifices in its honour, he is also strangely devout, to the extent of allowing a community of monks to live in his castle and spending hours at his devotions. Crockett describes him as a “good Catholic and ardent religionary.” (This, interestingly, is a feature of much Gothic fiction: a deep suspicion and dislike of Catholicism. More on this in my contribution posts for the Edinburgh Ebook Festival this summer. . .)

The Black Douglas also tells two love stories: the happy one between Sholto and the mischievous but ultimately sweet-natured Maud, and the altogether less happy one between William and Sybilla, the niece of Gilles de Retz, and an integral part of de Retz’s plan to ensnare William. There are traces of La Belle Dame Sans Merci in Crockett’s description of Sybilla. However, there’s also a robust streak of humour in the novel. During a tournament in which Sholto has performed well, a spectator (an armourer by trade) cries: “Well done, Sholto MacKim – well done, lad! . . . Ye shall hae a silken doublet for that! . . . At little mair than cost price!”

I suppose there is a sense in which it is unsurprising that The Black Douglas is less well-known these days. It’s not due to any lack of ability on the part of the author: Crockett was clearly a talented writer. It’s just that fare such as The Black Douglas is perhaps more morally earnest and melodramatic than is currently fashionable. The Black Douglas portrays a world of fair maidens, foul fiends, and unblemished heroes; but you shouldn’t let that put you off reading it. It struck me as being a little like the literary equivalent of a Pre-Raphaelite painting: a little sentimental, perhaps, but ultimately a colourful, adroit, and highly entertaining creation.

Go to Ayton Publishing or Amazon to buy a copy.

Cauldstane: Linda Gillard, reviewed by Kathleen Jones

Cauldstane

by Linda Gillard

Since I discovered The House of Silence, I've been reading Linda Gillard's award-winning novels and wondering why on earth her publisher ever allowed her to go 'Indie'.  She's providing exactly what readers seem to want - a rattling good story, interesting characters, romance, real dilemmas and traumas we can all empathise with, and an original mix of genre elements.  If you like this recipe, you're never going to get bored.  Not all Linda's books are to my taste, but the writing is always impeccable.

I've followed the genesis of Cauldstane via Linda's Facebook author page and been intrigued by the little snippets she's shared.  I also admired her determination to press on with the book through the long recovery process of a serious brush with cancer.  Her honesty and integrity in sharing her journey gave me a greater respect for her skills as an author.  This is someone who writes about traumatic human situations with personal knowledge.  It's this compassion and empathy that inform the pages of this unusual novel. Think Northanger Abbey meets Daphne du Maurier and Bridget Jones with a bit of Downton Abbey thrown in. It's absolutely modern and gloriously gothic.

There's a remote and decrepit Scottish castle, (with a curse attached, of course), a wicked stepmother, a feisty but emotionally vulnerable heroine, more handsome men than you can shake a sword at, and a very dangerous ghost.  The main male character, Sholto, has made a career out of adventure, but is now getting old, short of money to keep the roof over his head intact, and wants to tell his sometimes scandalous life story.  He has chosen J.J. Ryan to ghost-write it for him, picking the name from a Society of Authors list of recommendations without realising that J.J. is a woman.  Jenny falls in love with Cauldstane and its occupants and is totally committed to the project, until ghost-writing of another kind comes between her and the family.  To tell you more would be to spoil the plot, so I won't.

I'm not a great fan of the Gothic genre, though I did read quite a lot of it when I was younger, but this novel is a really good read and I was happy to suspend disbelief and just enjoy myself between the covers.  It could only be improved by being read with a stiff malt whisky in one hand and a plate of Mrs Guthrie's ginger cakes on the side!

Kathleen Jones writes fiction, poetry and biography and blogs over at 'A Writer's Life'.

www.kathleenjones.co.uk

The Sun's Companion, published by The Book Mill, 2013