Leon Mintz, Arthurian Tales:
Ambrosius Aureliani. Pontiac, MI: Erie Harbor Productions, 2010.
Reviewed by Ann F. Howey (ahowey@brocku.ca)
Arthurian Tales: Ambrosius Aureliani by Leon Mintz is the
first book in a projected four-book series. It tells the story of Ambrosius
Aureliani (the legendary King Arthur’s uncle) through the first-person
narration of Merlinus (Merlin). In this review, I will primarily address its
strengths and weaknesses as a work of fiction; that might seem an obvious
statement to make, but while Mintz’s book is a novel, it is also an argument
for a certain interpretation of early medieval history, as the paratexts make
explicit; it would be entirely possible to review it from the standpoint of
historical plausibility alone. Reviewing it as fiction reveals real strengths,
such as the pacing of certain battle scenes, but also weaknesses in dialogue
and characterization, and these problems underscore a dilemma of medievalism:
how to create a plausible, “authentic” past in the language and cultural idiom
of twenty-first-century readers?
The novel covers the entire span of Ambrosius’ life, from
his infancy to his death in a woodland skirmish with Attila the Hun. The
narrator Merlin is only fourteen years older than Ambrosius and is involved in
Ambrosius’ destiny originally as part of a conspiracy that switches the infant
son (Ambrosius) of Princess Placidia and King Adaulphos with a dying child.
Merlin spirits the true heir of the empire to Armorica and then to Britain,
where Ambrosius is raised as a son of Constantine, and as brother to Cai and
Geraint. When Ambrosius’ foster mother is forced to flee with him years later,
she takes refuge at Merlin’s estate in Aureliani; once Merlin returns from his
travels in the Far East, he becomes a mentor and advisor to Ambrosius. They
return to Britain with Bishop Germanus, and Ambrosius eventually takes a
leading role in the defeat of Grallon (Mintz’s version of Vortigern). Ambrosius
returns to Aureliani to marry, essentially abdicating his role as High
Commander of the Council to Euthar Pendragon (revealed later to be Ambrosius’
twin brother). Euthar eventually sends his son Arthur to be fostered with
Ambrosius and Merlin, setting up the events of novels to come in the series.
As that brief summary suggests, Mintz has incorporated many
events traditional to Arthurian legend: the invitation/invasion of the Saxons,
Vortigern’s death by fire in a fortress, the poisoning of Vortimer, and the
removal of the Giant’s Dance from Ireland to England. Some events, such as the
conception of Arthur, are reported very briefly, as they happen away from the
main characters of this novel. All of these events are situated in a
continental, imperial context, so the novel also incorporates many events of
Roman and continental history (the drowning of Ys, the presence of Attila, and
many others). The novel is thus ambitious in its scope: even in 350 pages, it
is a lot of material to cover.
That emphasis on bringing many historical events together is
elaborated in the paratexts of the novel. A section called “The Making of
Arthurian Tales” is followed by a Chronology, lists of sources, and rationales
for seven key elements of the story. Sources include medieval chronicles
(Geoffrey of Monmouth, Nennius) and other primary texts (Gildas’ The Ruin of
Britain, for example), as well as various non-fiction sources on Arthurian
legend and the time period (Leslie Alcock’s Arthur’s Britain, Geoffrey Ashe’s The
Discovery of King Arthur, and many other texts that promote historical theories
for King Arthur); no literary texts are mentioned, however. Although the most
explicit argument for a particular interpretation of history is reserved for
the paratexts, the sense of the novel itself as an argument persists, in part
because of the attempt to be encyclopedic in the inclusion of events and
historical characters, and in part because of the framing of the novel (in the
initial Note from the Author as well as the concluding paratexts) as part of a
scholarly historical debate rather than as part of a literary tradition.
The tension between the demands of fiction and the demands
of historical argument is not entirely resolved. The descriptions of various
battles create effective pacing and suspense, particularly those where
Ambrosius begins to come into his own as a warrior and leader. In other
respects the novel seems choppy as it moves quickly from one encounter to
another (the short chapters contribute to this sensation); historical details,
rather than characters’ experiences, have priority. Because Merlin is a
first-person narrator who is away from Ambrosius periodically, the early years
of Ambrosius in Britain have to be summarized in conversation, as do Ambrosius’
experience of marriage and the loss of his wife in childbirth later in the
novel. Consequently, the novel keeps the title character distant from the
reader; Merlin recounts facts of what has happened, and although he can remark
on the physical symptoms of grief or anger that Ambrosius displays, he cannot
provide the emotional experience of Ambrosius’ romantic attachment and
heartbreak (to give one example). The novel’s narrative strategy, therefore,
works against the creation of fully realized characters because of its focus on
events and because of Merlin’s lack of knowledge of the inner feelings of other
characters.
The insistence on historical accuracy (or at least
plausibility) creates another dilemma: that of language. In dialogue, in
particular, demotic expressions and twenty-first-century cultural idioms at
times clash with the epic register of many of the other scenes. This dilemma is
not unique to this novel, but is rather typical of fictional medievalism. How
can one represent the thoughts, feelings, words of a people so removed in time
from us in a way that suggests historical authenticity while being intelligible
to twenty-first-century readers? For some authors, the solution is an
“historical” Arthurian novel that is actually a hybrid, including some elements
of fantasy; Mary Stewart’s Merlin trilogy of the 1970s springs to mind, where
historical detail combines with fantasy elements such as Merlin’s powers of the
Sight. The fantastic elements absolve the text from the need for strict
accuracy; in contrast, Mintz’s emphasis in this novel as providing “a
historically plausible, ‘World-Restorer’ scenario for King Arthur while
utilizing a vast majority of the sources in a synchronized manner” (Note from
the Author) suggests that all aspects of the novel, including language and
characterization, will be historically accurate. Consistency in register, it
seems to me, is key to maintaining the sense of “authentic” history; unexpected
shifts in register bring me, as a reader, out of the fictional world and simultaneously
undermine characterization.
My reception of the novel no doubt is influenced by my
preference for fiction over history, and Ambrosius Aureliani, I would argue,
privileges history. Ultimately, this first of the Arthurian Tales suggests the
ambition of the project and the dedication of its author to creating a
historical account of Ambrosius’s rise to power, but the potential of those
events as fiction is not fully realized, at least in this installment.
Ann F. Howey
Brock University
