Greetings! I am featuring Jane Johnson today. Her novels include The Tenth Gift, The Sultan's Wife and The Salt Road. You can follow Ms. Johnson on Amazon, Goodreads and Bookbub. To discover more about Jane Johnson's books and life visit her website.
Court of Lions is the latest
novel by author Jane Johnson. In the
present day, Kate Fordham is an Englishwoman living incognito in Granada,
Spain. Kate is hiding from her abusive
husband, James. One day Kate is visiting
the Alhambra and finds a small piece of paper with unusual writing on it hidden
in a wall in the garden. How long has
that paper lain hidden in the wall? Kate meets friends at the Alhambra who help
her discover what is on the paper and its origins. Kate is worried about her sister, Jess after
she receives a coded email from her. James
has found Jess and taken something very precious. It will not be long before he
tracks down Kate.
Blessings is a companion to
Prince Abu Abdullah Mohammed in Granada in 1476. Blessings cares for Prince Abu aka Momo, but
must keep his feelings to himself. As Momo
gets older, the tasks set to Blessings by Momo become more challenging. Momo’s father, Sultan Moulay Hasan takes a mistress
who will bring conflict to the palace that will forever change Momo’s life. Then
there is Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand with their Inquisition. What will happen to Blessings and Prince
Abu?
Court of Lions is a dual time
line story (alternating chapters). The
book is a slower-paced story that took me a short time to become engaged. I found the writing to be descriptive. The vivid descriptions of the Alhambra (I
adored the tile descriptions) and the region allow readers to visualize it (I
would love to visit it). The historical
sections seemed more alive than those set in the present day. As the book progresses, we find out why Kate
is hiding in Granada, how she met James and what happened to their
marriage. Kate was a bit of a
contradiction (and a little hard to like at times). I thought she would be more afraid of getting
involved with another man after her disastrous relationship with James. The romantic entanglement felt predictable,
but he was needed to aid the story. Blessings history is revealed throughout the
story. We find out why he had to leave
his tribe and came to be with Prince Abu.
Blessings was devoted to Prince Abu and would do anything he requested. I was
curious as to how the two separate storylines related, but it becomes more
obvious as the novel progresses. The author did a wonderful job at
incorporating the history into the book.
She made the time-period come alive and beautifully weaved it into her
story. It is obvious that Ms. Johnson
did her research for Court of Lions. Christopher
Columbus even makes an appearance. Blessings
story takes place over twenty years while Kate’s section encompasses less than
one month. Some of the themes presented
in Court of Lions are love, poverty, grief, heartache, differences and
similarities between religions, religious persecution, friendship, greed, cultural
discrimination, family, violence, war, bond between sisters, domestic abuse and
passion. I do wish readers to know that
there is foul language, graphic violence and descriptions of intimate relations
included in Court of Lions. To discover
what is written on the scrap of paper Kate found at the Alhambra and get swept
back in time, then grab a copy of Court of Lions. Court of Lions will be available on March 6. Find an extract from Court of Lions below:
Granada, 1476, or in
the Heigra Sha’ban 891
He
stroked the tiled skin of the palace wall, and I wished suddenly, fervently, it
were my skin he touched with such tenderness.
“Look,
Blessings,” he said again. “Really look. What do you see?”
I
was bored now. “Patterns,” I said, deliberately obtuse. “Just patterns.”
Prince
Abu Abdullah Mohammed, heir to the throne of Granada, known to me as Momo,
sighed. Sometimes he was so patient it made me want to break things.
“Spiderwebs—can’t you see them? Hundreds of spiderwebs, thousands of them.”
They
didn’t look much like spiderwebs to me, who had seen real ones stretched
between cactuses in the desert, their fragile filaments barely catching the
light. These webs were green, and gold, and red, and white. I supposed the
craftsmen had used their imagination and jewelled them up. Sultans didn’t want
their palaces adorned with real webs: they employed a battalion of slaves to
get rid of all such traces of reality.
“They
represent the webs the spiders made to protect the Prophet when he was fleeing
his enemies on the road to Medina,” Momo went on.
He
liked to educate me in such matters, since he regarded me as a heathen, a wild
little savage. Both were pet names for me and I had allowed them to define me.
“The
Prophet, peace be upon him, hid in a cave in the mountains and the spiders
worked furiously to spin their webs across the entrance. When the murderers
came upon the cave in which he hid, the webs were so thick they passed by,
convinced no one could have been there in years.”
I
yawned. I had heard the story before. “Can’t we go outside?” I whined.
“In
a minute. The men who made this zellij were the finest craftsmen in the
world. Imagine the care and patience it must take to cut each piece so precisely.”
His finger traced the design of the intricately pieced together tiling. There
was such awe in his voice. It might seem mad to be jealous of a wall, but I
was.
When
they brought me to the Alhambra, it seemed so massive I was scared of it. The
ceilings, so high, so heavy with detail in carved and coffered wood; or worse,
the lacy plasterwork, cascading like frozen water or giant honeycombs. It all
simply terrified me. I was so sure they would fall on me in the night that I
could not sleep and would creep out into one of the courtyards and curl up in a
niche there. Before I came here, I had only ever slept under a low camel-hide
tent or a canopy of stars. It took me months to get used to being indoors. If
it hadn’t been for Momo, I would long since have run away.
He
clasped my hand and led me into the next room. “How’s your Arabic coming along?
Can you read this inscription yet?” he persisted. The stylized calligraphy ran
in a frieze across the fretted plasterwork. I sighed. It would be about God. It
was always about God, and in Classical Arabic, which had no connection to my
language. Reluctantly, I raised my eyes. The thought of sunshine and oranges,
of fountains and wet skin, was calling to me. Working from right to left, I
gabbled it off by memory:
I
am a garden adorned by beauty:
I
will know whether you look at my beauty.
O,
Mohammed, my king, I try to be equal to
the
finest thing that has existed or will ever exist.
A
more personal connection with these words suddenly struck me, and I found
myself blushing. But Momo did not notice. His intense amber gaze had gone
distant.
“A
king. One day I will be sultan. I will sit on the throne of Granada and
dispense my kingdom’s laws and defend its people.” His voice was dreamy. He
blinked and looked back at me. “What do you think about that?”
I
made a face. “Sounds boring. Who in his right mind would want to be a king?” I
grabbed him by the hand and dragged him outside into the light of day.
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