Until I moved to Germany, I had very little understanding of the Thirty Years War. I had some idea that it was a struggle between Catholic and Protestant ideologies, mixed it with nascent nationalism, but other than that I knew almost nothing. I became more curious, however, when I learned that the Calvinist stronghold I lived in, Tuebingen, suffered greatly during the conflict--its castle razed by the Swedish army, a huge portion of the population lucky enough to survive the sacking dying in the plague that swept over that great university town in the following year, with the surrounding countryside- a tense mixture of Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist communities (still identified as such in this present day)-losing as much as three quarters of its population from crop failure, disease, and murder. Frankly, even after reading the first part of [b:Iron Kingdom: The Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600-1947|4999|Iron Kingdom The Rise and Downfall of Prussia, 1600-1947|Christopher Clark|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1165517301s/4999.jpg|8536]which deals with this era, I'm still more than a little confused; it was a very complicated conflict. I was very excited, therefore, to read in the wonderful blog http://readingthepast.blogspot.com/1 about a novel dealing with Magdeburg, whose fate stands out even in this very grim time.

The story of Magdeburg is told through the eyes of Christa, the 15 year old printer's daughter of the town, and Lukas, an opportunistic soldier-for-hire temporarily in the service of General Tilly. Ms Richardson's prose is very simple; some readers, preferring more literary furbelows (as I do on occasion) might find her style too stark, even bald. The lack of sensory details has a somewhat distancing effect; her prose reminds me very much of [a:Cecelia Holland|61073|Cecelia Holland|http://www.goodreads.com/images/nophoto/nophoto-F-50x66.jpg], another author whom I sometimes admire more than I love. Ms Richardson does break away from the limitations of the strict point of view of Christa and Lukas after the sack of Magdeburg--her descriptions of the people dead, the simple incantation of the names of the dead townspeople is like a great bell tolling the losses of the town. It has, as another reviewer on GR wrote, a very powerful effect, quite different from the rest of the book.

The plot, too, is unexpected, the structure different from more commercial historical fiction. People behave in ways that are logical, yet surprising. Goetz, the young theology student who runs off to join the army and whom Lukas befriends, was for me the most interesting character in the book, and the changes in his personality are reasonable, yet saddening. There is no escapism to be had here, but there is some hope; perhaps even that is not realistic, but I think the present day writer must make some concessions to his or her audience so that the reader does not become numb with despair. Maybe Ms Richardson doesn't offer enough comfort; perhaps she offers too much. It is certainly a book that deserves wider readership than it has received. ( )

To far too many English readers, the Thirty Years’ War is a hazy shadow in the middle distance of history. We are aware of its presence but it has no direct significance or importance. And yet it shaped the balance of power in Europe for the following three hundred years, and was as critical a juncture for the continent as the Napoleonic Wars or the rise and fall of the Iron Curtain. It is against this momentous backdrop that Heather Richardson sets her novel.

The book opens as Magdeburg, proud bastion of Lutheran faith, is under siege by the forces of the Holy Roman Emperor. Richardson draws a painstaking portrait of the domestic, commercial and spiritual life of a prosperous merchant city; of the cheerful hand-to-mouth existence of the soldier and the mercenary; of the claustrophobia of the era; of the fragility of life. It is an intimate pen-and-ink portrait on a human scale; a compassionate yet clear-sighted portrait of ordinary people, of their intelligence and determination and anxiety and fear, their courage and cowardice and venery.

Above all, the book achieves the thing that historical fiction can do better than anything else: it shows us what made these people tick. Above all, it reveals the moral and social framework of a deeply religious society. Refreshingly for a novel set amidst the atrocities of religious warfare, faith is depicted as a force for good, permeating the society, regulating the lives of the main characters with the ever-present threat of damnation, yet offering comfort and solace as well. Rather than religious bigotry there is theological debate; and throughout, the reader is shown the complexity of the interplay between personal faith, religious allegiance, political expediency, survival and hope.

The writing is quiet and unostentatious, evocative of place and time and atmosphere, easing the narrative along smoothly. At the mid-point of the book, however, time stands still to allow a heartstopping description of the sack of the city, a monument to a devastating loss of life and of a way of life, in prose of which a poet would be proud. ( )