The Inquisitor's Tale by Adam Gidwitz

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

This book is a Newbery Honor Book, so it fits with our rather unsystematic exploration of Newbery winners and honors. I’m not quite sure how to describe this book, as it is unusual, to say the least. Let’s start with this: the book is definitely an example of Magical Realism. So there’s that. But it is more than that, and unusual for more than that too.

As the title suggests, The Inquisitor’s Tale is a bit of a nod in the general direction of The Canterbury Tales. Most of the book consists of a series of tales told at an inn. However, these are not a bunch of unrelated or loosely related stories, but one story, told by a series of narrators who witnessed various parts of the story. Oh, and telling the tale of what went on in the inn is the Inquisitor (whose identity doesn’t become clear until near the end of the book.) So that is one way to look at this book.

Another is that it is a collection of Medieval legends retold in an imaginative way. After all, very little of the story is truly “original.” Gidwitz borrows ideas liberally, but weaves the threads into a single story. 

The story itself is of three children from disparate backgrounds who are thrown together by circumstance. And also a venerated dog come back from the dead.

The first child is Jeanne, a French peasant girl. The dog is Gwenforte, a greyhound who saves Jeanne from a snake, but is killed in the mistaken believe she has harmed Jeanne. The peasants of the village venerate Gwenfortet as a saint for her heroism, and decorate her grave. Then, an inquisitor is sent to stop this idol worship, and things start to get magical - and scary for Jeanne. The incident of the holy dog, minus the resurrection, is based on real events.

The second child is William, who is based loosely on Guillaume D’Orange, a real person who later became legendary as a kind of monkish Paul Bunyan. In this story, William retains his large size and superhuman strength, but becomes the illegitimate child of a crusader and an African woman. William is abandoned at a monastery by his father after his mother dies in childbirth, and William is raised as an oblate. When we meet him in this book, he is on a mission to deliver books to Saint Denis for his superior.

The third child is Jacob, a Jewish boy recently escaped from the destruction of his village. (This incident is also based on an historical event.)

The children are thrown together by chance, and end up fleeing together as Jeanne is sought by the inquisition, Jacob is trying to find out if his parents survived, and William has his books to deliver. Along the way, they meet some memorable characters, from Michelangelo di Bologna, a giant monk who may be the villain - or not - to King Louis IX and his mother, Blanche of Castille, to Mamaluke, the good hearted but slow witted knight. Their adventures include historical events such as the mass burning of Talmuds by Louis, as well as legendary ones like the curing of the Dragon of Deadly Farts.

This second story is the one my kids thought was the most hilarious. But it isn’t original to Gidwitz. Rather, it comes from, of all places, a collection of tales told about the saints. Who says the Middle Ages were dour?

On the one hand, there are humorous moments like this. On the other, there are some really serious topics in this book. Religious and class prejudice pervade Medieval society, and all three children are looked down on as a result. Religious persecution is addressed without softening the blow at all. People are burned to death, books are burned, villages are burned. All in the name of religion.

There is also an extended examination of the Problem of Evil. I appreciate that Gidwitz doesn’t talk down to the intended audience on this. Or worse, lecture and pretend that he has a solution. There is no solution, just a combination of questions and potential partial answers. And that is okay! No person, religious or not, should fear this question or gloss over it. Humans have pondered this since the dawn of civilization. Gidwitz presents two contrasting views. The first is that of Job, where the answer is merely a question back: “where were you?” The second is that of the troubadour, who theorizes that life is like a beautiful yet tragic song. The bad things that happen are not beautiful, but the song itself is, and both the good and bad that happen are necessary for the beauty of the song of life.

The book has a rather modern sensibility, rather than a Medieval one. The author (although not always the characters) is aware of the evil of prejudice, of religious persecution, of sexism, and of superstition. As one of the characters puts it, part of being a saint (in the general sense) is to fight for good and kindness and love, and against the forces of hate and ignorance. (Hey, we could use a bit of that right now in our present time, yes?) Gidwitz gently argues for religious tolerance (also pointing out teachings in the Talmud similar to those of Christ.)

My kids liked this, but I will warn that there are some pretty intense scenes. Some children might find things scary. (And, adults should find this stuff scary. Humans can be so dreadful to each other.) This is a book full of humor, but not particularly lighthearted in its themes. But it is, like the famous cheese which gets a scene, strong and complex, and a lot like life itself.

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I strongly recommend reading the Author’s Note at the end. Gidwitz explains how he came to write the story, and indicates where the various legends and tales that are incorporated came from. 

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The audiobook is read by a full cast, including the author. I approve of this approach, and thought the Listening Library version was excellent. 

The Voyage of Bran, Son of Febal (and a few other Irish legends)

Source of book: I own this

I got this book as a gift, but it was one I had on my wish list, primarily because it was one of the ancient works that is said to have inspired The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis. Since I am in a snarky mood, I’ll give just a quick summary, and then give some important lessons learned from the poem and the additional legends that are in this book. The Voyage of Bran dates to the 8th Century, but the tales themselves may well have been told in oral form centuries before that. The story is believed to have influenced the tale of St. Brendan, whose voyages also inspired Lewis. 

Manuscript of the story of St. Brendan

So, Bran is met by a woman/fairy sort who tells him of mysterious islands over the sea, where a magic plant can be found, and many other wonders. He takes a boat and some men, and voyages to these islands, over the course of 50ish quatrains, returning to tell his story, but finds that he has been gone for centuries and he is only known in legends. (50ish, because the poem refers to 50 stanzas, but only thirty-some-odd are found in the various surviving versions, and even combined and added up, they still fall short.) Many of the stanzas describe “Mag Mell,” the Happy Plain (perhaps paradise?) and the delights and wonders found there. A stanza or two may suffice:

The size of the plain, the number of the host,

Colors glisten with pure glory,

A fair stream of silver, cloths of gold,

Afford a welcome with all abundance.

A beautiful game, most delightful,

They play sitting at the luxurious wine,

Men and gentle women under a bush,

Without sin, without crime.

In addition to the poem itself, there are also some short prose works included in this thin volume, filling in the back stories of characters that appear in the saga of Bran. The most notable is Mongan, the king of the Cruithin people of ancient Ireland. Mongan was a real person, although the stories told about him are clearly mythical. He was believed to be a reincarnation of Fionn mac Cumhaill (aka Finn McCool).

In legend, Mongan’s birth and subsequent adventures were told and retold, eventually ending up in the Cycles of the Kings. (This would be a fun book to get some time.)

So, without further ado, here are the snarky lessons to learn from these:

1. If a woman comes to you and encourages you to take a crazy trip, she will always be dressed in “strange raiment.”
2. If a chick in funky clothes sends you on a trip, you are probably in for trouble, but you might become famous. Even if it kills you. (I’m pretty sure this holds true across all legends from all places. The human universal of epics.)
3. If the king sees you as a rival, perhaps taking that voyage is a good idea.
4. It is always a bad idea to offer someone “anything short of the kingdom.” This never ends well.
5. Chances are, if you have a hot wife, you will be asked for her.
6. On a related note, the best way to get a hot woman (unless you are king already) is to make a wager or bargain with the king and ask for his wife.
7. Ergo, if you want a hot woman, best to be sly and cunning, or a wizard. Preferably both.
8. Also, if you have something the king wants, like, say, the world’s prettiest herd of cattle, you can drive a hard bargain.
9. It sucked to be a woman in those days. You might find yourself having to bed some random dude because of a bet gone bad.
10. Except that apparently human women are irresistible to fairies and gods, so at least one occasionally got some serious bragging rights.

So there you have it.

My translation was by Kuno Meyer, an old German scholar, who had no hesitation to call all older women “hags.” On the other hand, he was willing to admit when he had no clue what a word meant and footnote how he came to a guess. It would be fun to find the rest of the legends, and fill in the gaps.