A Song For Arbonne, by Guy Gavriel Kay

In many ways this book deserves to be seen as a companion volume to the author’s work in Ysabel, given that it explores the same region of Provence that the author’s previous book had done.  And while this book does not show the author as fully in command of his fantasy world as he was otherwise, here he at least moves beyond an attempt at historical fiction with heavy mythic undertones and undertakes to make his own fantasy world even if it is very close to our own.  This work appears to belong to a parallel universe to our own but also a slightly different world than he would later write about in a great deal of other novels.  In many ways, this book is an attempt to wrestle with the complex heritage of France and to provide a way that Southern France, and the greater female-friendly cultures of Aquitaine and Languedoc and Provence could have survived as independent cultures from the more militaristic and Germanic/Frankish north.  The author clearly has reasons for doing so, as this book provides plenty of evidence for the author’s strong interest in feminism and its portrayal in fiction, of which this book is a classic example.

This book is a one-off novel of between 400 and 500 pages that begins with a picture of Blaise as a northern mercenary who finds himself in Arbonne (Provence) teaching the local soldiers how to fight and finding himself continually involved in affairs of honor and attempts on his own life as well as that of others.  He makes himself plenty of enemies, finds people who love him or at least want him, and deals with some unfinished business involving the cynical Italian noblewoman who took his virginity and considerably embittered him.  Meanwhile, his younger brother and father back in the northern lands deal with a bad treaty that robbed them of much of their lands and more or less compelled them to move south to invade Arbonne, much in the same way as the expansion of the Germans towards the home of the Salian Franks more or less forced them to seek to dominate southern France in order to reward their knights.  And while there are definitely the usual religious angles here (a sort of dispute over the dominance of a male god or the presence of a female one), most of this has to do with blood, sex, and politics, and ought to please many readers.

Unlike the author’s lesser work, this book does have emotional resonance, but it is a complicated one, much like the heroic Blaise, who represents a better sort of example of the Northern French and German-influenced culture that the book in general views with a strong sense of negativity.  To be sure, the author does not whitewash the flaws of the weak and divided Southern French, but those who are partisans of the Anglo-Saxons, Germans, Dutch, and northern French are likely to be rather hostile to this book’s favoritism towards the more feminine cultures of the Mediterranean that were in history unable to maintain their independence given that military weakness.  This is a book that seeks to have it both ways, showing how a nation can succeed in both the ars romantica and song and culture while also proving itself strong enough to overcome a military attack from a stronger neighbor.  Ultimately, although this book is full of loss and regret, I don’t think that its portrayal is nearly accurate enough.  There is a contrivance here to make it seem plausible, but the most accurate and truthtelling version would have been a far more tragic tale and it is easy enough to understand why the author did not wish to pursue that unpleasant truth all the way to the end.