When Christ and His Saints Slept

Books that are over 300 pages tend to be remarkably uniform. If a writer feels the burning desire to craft a book large enough to be used as an instrument of blunt force, they're usually very reliable writers, who have a pretty set formula. Things will stay largely consistent over the course of the book. So with books as huge as When Christ and His Saints Slept, I knew if I wasn't charmed by page 100, I wasn't going to be.

Suffice to say, I wasn't charmed. The book's early ham-fisted approach to characterization was an immediate turnoff. All the major players are introduced within the span of 40 pages, all are caught at moments while they are not only discussing important and pivotal moments from their past, but doing so in conjunction with their major outlook on life and character motivations. How convenient! Not only that, but anachronistic protofeminist soundbites are thrown around at random to make characters seem more sympathetic to a modern audience, with misogynistic actions becoming so overdone and ghoulish to be laughable. I'm not saying misogyny wasn't a problem in the middle ages-- whoo, boy, was it ever!-- but when a character feels the need to remind his wife how she'll come to heel, by God! three times in the same conversation, on the first scene in which he is introduced, I start wondering what the author thought I was going to miss. It's not like Penman wouldn't've had more time for a more subtle or nuance approach-- this book is 700 pages long.

Not only that, but I have difficulty swallowing Matilda's (or Maud, as she's inexplicably called in this book) characterization as a shrewd woman constantly harping on about her poor luck. Matilda was an incredibly calculating, pragmatic woman, as history has shown us. The idea that she would so publicly, loudly and obviously draw attention to her difficulties and foibles strikes me as odd for a woman who historically went through great lengths to not only demand an imperial bearing, but maintain one.

I've seen a few reviews noting how this book is a refreshing departure from the bodice ripper genre of historical literature. I wonder at that, considering, while Stephen gets an introduction deeply interwoven with his history, childhood, past and potential, Matilda's introduction focuses entirely upon wife-beating, rape accusations and, at one point, brandishing a knife at her husband. In general, I find the leering focus on medieval women's disjointed marriages troubling, if not boring and repetitive. To find the entire first leg of Matilda's character arc in the book to be consumed entirely with these tropes did not inspire me to continue reading past page 100.