book review – ‘The Sarantine Mosaic’ by Guy Gavriel Kay

The Reading Ritual

Before any journey, I seek out a book which informs my travels in one way or another. It could be fiction or nonfiction which is set in my destination. The author could hail from my destination. Or it could be a something which reveals a bit of its history. I believe it helps introduce me to a place gently, without giving away all of its secrets and it provides me with some frame of reference for the sites I am about to see.

David, my boyfriend, comes along on most of my trips and was particularly keen to visit Ravenna. As a pre-departure book he recommended Sailing to Sarantium, the first book in Guy Gavriel Kay’s The Sarantine Mosaic. I found it a brilliant work of fiction which carried me into the world of a master mosaicist. It left me primed and ready to see the breath-taking mosaics of Byzantine Ravenna.

For more photos of our trip to Ravenna, visit the Ravenna Photo Album.

David is a medievalist who knows a great deal (although he’d not admit this himself) about later medieval Britain and France. His grasp of late antique and early modern Byzantium is, as he would describe, “a trifle shaky”. However, he has obliged me by writing this review of The Sarantine Mosaic.  

Guy Gavriel Kay, ‘The Sarantine Mosaic’ – A Review

Like many, I imagine, I first saw the name of the author of ‘The Sarantine Mosaic’ in the acknowledgements to The Silmarillion (1977). There, Kay was thanked for his help in bringing the publication to light. It is difficult to imagine a better apprenticeship for a writer of high fantasy. Kay’s first major work in this genre was clearly indebted to J.R.R. Tolkien and reflected his wider interests in Norse, Celtic and Arthurian mythology. ‘The Fionavar Tapestry’ swiftly became a much-loved trilogy and readers have often encouraged Kay to return to the world he created in The Summer Tree (1984), The Wandering Fire (1986) and The Darkest Road (1986) With the exception of those elements and characters who we met again in Ysabel (2007) this encouragement has been largely resisted. Instead, Kay has produced a series of extremely well-received books in which medieval and, more recently, Renaissance events, places and people have provided inspiration. ‘The Sarantine Mosaic’, comprising Sailing to Sarantium (1998) and Lord of Emperors (2000), is one of the most effective of these ‘alternative histories’. It is based loosely on the reign of the Byzantine emperor Justinian (here Valerius II) and his empress, Theodora (Aliana/Alixiana), and it includes an array of characters founded on exemplars from the period. We can see, for example, elements in the careers and characters of the generals Belisarius and Narses in Kay’s figure of Leontes, and Procopius, the historian from late antiquity, becomes the entirely scurrilous Pertennius. As with many of Kay’s stories, matters of high politics – the march of armies and of time – are balanced against more mundane deeds and lives. Consequently, the hero, although that designation does not feel entirely appropriate here, is a mosaicist, skilled but hardly of significant rank. Caius Crispus (Crispin) of Varena (Ravenna) travels from Batiara (Italy) to Sarantium (Constantinople) where, after a series of adventures and a great deal of political intrigue, he begins a commission to decorate the dome of the Temple of Jad’s Holy Wisdom (Aya Sofia/Hagia Sophia).

The prologue to Sailing to Sarantium is a fine indication of Kay’s writing. This extended passage is a splendid piece of writing, and the significance of the events discussed rolls out slowly over the course of the story only to become truly apparent in the latter stages of Lord of Emperors. The tone is gently sardonic. Kay’s occasional tendency to employ brief, laconic sentences works nicely when balanced against some of the more lyrical passages. The central act of dreadful violence around which much of the plot revolves is discussed somewhat obliquely and is all the more powerful for it. We are also introduced to many key characters and learn a good deal about day-to-day life, social structures and the politics of the imperial city. None of this feels forced.

We then meet Crispin, a man whose life has been devastated by the loss of his wife and daughters to plague and who undertakes the journey to Sarantium as an act of personal catharsis and renewal rather than a career opportunity. Indeed, a process of renewal and of beginning anew is one that many of the characters undergo. The tone and backdrop to this next section of the book (Part One), which details the journey though ‘barbarian’ lands, differs from later stages and that difference reflects the nature of the central character. Crispin, although overwhelmed by the political machinations in which he finds himself embroiled, swiftly becomes comfortable in the ‘civilised’, urban environment of Sarantium. The journey to reach the city is much more difficult for him and he encounters forces completely outside his experience.

Kay’s works of ‘alternative history’ all contain magical, fantastical or supernatural elements, but in most cases they are subtle and secondary to the plot – an obvious exception being Tigana (1990). In this case, the ‘pagan’ magics which he meets early on shape Crispin’s appreciation of the world but they are not to the forefront for much of the tale. As in most of Kay’s more recent works, one should not expect to meet wizards casting fireballs in the ‘Sarantine Mosiac’. The alchemist, Zoticus, offers Crispin a glimpse into what is here described as the ‘half-world’, but he is no Gandalf, nor a Loren Silvercloak (from the Fionavar stories).

Rather, Kay’s books rely on detailed research into daily life in many of the regions within and on the borders of the Byzantine empire. As in several of his other works, medicine plays an important role. We are introduced to Rustem from the Basanid empire (Persia) at the opening of Lord of Emperors. He, like Crispin, is a skilled practitioner – in his case a doctor – whose skill brings him into the intrigues of the powerful. Chariot racing also forms a significant element in the story, as does cookery. It is, though, architecture and mosaics which provides the most important recurring theme. It is a testament to the author’s writing that he captures some of the wonder of the remaining mosaics at Aya Sofia and the extraordinary cycle of images in the Basilica di San Vitale in Ravenna both of which are adapted to Kay’s purposes in these books.

‘The Sarantine Mosaic’ is an elegant story. The plot is well paced and handled with skill. The author juggles a constellation of characters without losing sight of the central figures. Perhaps this reflects some of the mosaicist’s craft. And in that regard, this is a much more ‘human’ story than those told by Tolkien. Of course, the comparison is, in some ways, unfair. Tolkien’s world/s emerged out of mythological underpinnings. While a degree of moral ‘shading’ is evident among many of the inhabitants Middle Earth there are also fundamental forces of good and evil at work. The flaws in Kay’s ‘heroes’ characters are evident and some perpetrate ghastly actions. Similarly, there are few who are irredeemably wicked or whose actions are not explained even if those actions are not excused. Our appreciation of these characters develops over the course of the books and shifts throughout. Just as Kay depicts the movement of light over a mosaic.

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