Against a Crimson Sky: A Novel

From Publishers Weekly Martin ( Push Not the River ) continues his fictionalized account of the life of Polish countess Anna Maria Berezowska in this entertaining sequel that follows Anna through the chaotic years of the Napoleonic wars. These are trying times for her beloved Poland ("Europe's plaything"), but Anna finds happiness in her marriage to the handsome Count Jan Stelnicki and in her three children. But because the book takes place in early 19th-century Poland, tragedy continues to dog her (in the earlier novel, she was raped and forced into a loveless marriage), including the death of a son during Napoleon's disastrous Russian campaign. Because of their prominence, the Stelnickis have a front-row seat to history: while her husband and sons fight for Poland's independence, Anna is part of the Warsaw social scene that wines and dines Napoleon after he liberates Poland from Russian rule. Martin provides a panoramic view of Europe during a time of enormous change and in all its sanguinary excesses. His characters could benefit from more depth and his narrative drama from more realism, but fans of historical romance will find much to enjoy in this sprawling epic. (Aug.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. An August 2006 BookSense Pick: " An enticing blend of history and fiction set in 19th-century Poland, with characters you come to care about as you share their joys and disappointments. James Conroyd Martin will please readers who might not usually consider historical fiction." --Nicola Rooney, Nicola's Books, Ann Arbor, MI, for BookSense, a network of 1200 independent booksellers xa0"Entertaining…fans of historical romance will find much to enjoy in this sprawling epic." - Publishers Weekly "Compelling...a moving and fascinating winner." -- Polish American Journal "Polish history fans will be riveted." -- Kirkus Reviews "Readers will revel in this engrossing tale of courage, family loyalty, and the Polish nation." -- Historical Novels Review "If you love reading, Poland, history, historical fiction...you will love this book!" --Polish Culture Newsletter "With Napoleon Bonaparte's ill-fated campaign to conquer Russia as a backdrop, Against a Crimson Sky manages to turn the wily emperor's exploitation of Polish patriotism into a classic read that lovers of Push Not the River will devour. James Conroyd Martin brings back the characters that made his first novel so compelling, deftly weaving their daily lives into the panorama of war and turmoil that consumed Poland in the early nineteenth century.xa0 He portrays a world of hardship and heart in marvelously rendered 'little pieces of happiness stolen from a tapestry of turmoil, war, and separation.'" --Leonard Kniffel, Editor-in-chief of American Libraries and author of A Polish Son in the Motherland: An American's Journey Home "I was both enthralled and educated by this story of a changing family in a changing Poland. You don't have to have read Push Not the River to get the most from this sequel, but after finishing Against a Crimson Sky you'll want to--just as you'll be rooting for another book from James Conroyd Martin." --Suzanne Strempek Shea, author of Around Again Praise for Push Not the River: " Push Not the River contains all the sweep and romance of the classic epics such as Gone with the Wind and Doctor Zhivago, with a heroine who remains strong in the face of both personal and political tragedy. An enthralling tale of courage, survival, and hope, Anna Maria's story is at once timeless and timely." -India Edghill, author of Queenmaker "In young Anna Maria, Martin has created a character we learn to love and cheer for as she matures in this turbulent time." Joci Tilsen for BookSense, a consortium of 1200 independent booksellers xa0"[ Push Not the River ] holds readers because of its cast of well-developed characters and the need to see how Anna and her young son will survive the latest crisis." Kathy Piehl, Library Journal "Aristocrats and peasants, patriots and traitors come alive in this story, and the Polish soul is beautifully illuminated through ancient myths, folkways, and wisdoms. With his juxtaposition of the personal and political, Martin weaves a compelling tale of transformation--both of a remarkable young woman and her remarkable nation." --Jennifer Donnelly, author of The Tea Rose James Conroyd Martin is a longtime teacher of English and Creative Writing whose acclaimed first novel, Push Not the River , was based on the diary of Anna Maria BerezowskaBerezowski, a Polish countess. Against a Crimson Sky allows for Martin to freely imagine how life may have continued to unfold for Anna among the fascinating people and events of the Napoleonic era. He is currently working on his third novel. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Prologue Whom the Gods lovexa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0 die young.xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0 ---Polish proverb Poland 1794 2 Novemberxa0 All Souls' Day Swollen with recent rains, the river heaved and churned, flowing rapidly away from Warsaw, its burden of bodies propelled carelessly along, like so much flotsam.xa0xa0xa0xa0 A partially clad woman clung to something as the current took her. A log? A piece of planking from the broken bridge? Delirious from the fall, she was certain she was dying--or had died. Her faith--or the hazy filaments of a childhood belief that she conjured now--suggested she might expect to ascend into heaven as if on wings. Or plummet to a hell she had thought little about. xa0xa0xa0xa0 But she was being carried in an undulating line--like a weightless twig--through the drumming rush of water. The sparkling interplay of the afternoon sunshine on the water was deceiving, for the river was brutally cold.xa0xa0xa0xa0 The woman's mind inexplicably fastened on to the mythical river that was thought to usher one to the Greek underworld. Her cousin had told her about it--the river Acheron, was it? She dared not open her eyes.xa0xa0xa0xa0 What was she to expect in the underworld? There would be the fee for the ferry boat operator. Did she have any coins? She thought not, and without a coin he would not bring her across. Everyone knew that. Might she use her charms on him? Were charms of her kind taken as legal tender in the underworld? She had her doubts. xa0xa0xa0xa0 Her heart felt the icy fingers of the river upon it. How was she to account for her life? The things she had done? xa0xa0xa0xa0 The numbing water seemed to run faster now--like her fear--rushing her to her fate. xa0xa0xa0xa0 The ancient Poles had believed that those who died by drowning were doomed to become water spirits, forever residing in the waters where they had met death. She imagined Marzanna, Goddess Death, waiting for her at the river's end, dressed in white and carrying her scythe. xa0xa0xa0xa0 The woman pushed the Polish deity from her mind. At the age of twenty, she had run out of time. So? What of it? She had often proclaimed that the years of her youth were ducats to be spent. Wishing she had lived a better life was useless. Just as well, she thought--she had never been one for apologies. Or regrets.She was cold, cold to the bone. She took in a mouthful of water and coughed. Despite the urge, she knew not to move a hand to her face. To do so would cause her to lose her grip, and the river would draw her to its bottom. Her arms and hands were frozen in position, locked on to the object they were holding . . . holding. xa0xa0xa0xa0 And if God was the Christian God of her parents' beliefs, she wondered, would he forgive her?xa0xa0xa0xa0 With the numbing cold, she felt darkness descending--and the angry resignation that death was imminent. It was as certain as the fall of night's curtain. . . . Dog's blood! How had she come to such an ignominious end?xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0 xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0* * *xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0 xa0xa0xa0xa0 The villagers who had hurried down to the river's edge stared in horror at the cargo the River Vistula was carrying past them. Those transfixed with wide eyes were mostly women, their men having gone off to fight with Kosciuszko against the invading forces. An old man gawked much like the others--in silence--as the flotilla of human bodies moved steadily along. Sometimes a corpse became enmeshed in the weeds and foliage at the bank of the river, but the force of other bodies following a similar fateful journey goaded it once again on its way--or the water's strong current drew it down toward the murky bottom.xa0xa0xa0xa0 In disbelief, the old man turned toward Warsaw; the city was a great distance away, twenty miles upriver, but he could see an eerie, orange glow and above that, thick black smoke rising high into the air. Had the capital fallen to the Russians? God help us all, he prayed. Then aloud: "God and the Black Madonna!"xa0xa0xa0xa0 The man's grandson had braved the sight, going close to the shore. xa0xa0xa0xa0 The old man called him back. This was no sight for a sixteen-year-old, even one already wounded in the patriots' cause. The boy seemed not to hear. xa0xa0xa0xa0 "Jerzy, come back!" he called again.xa0xa0xa0xa0xa0 His grandson turned, a queer look on his face, and waved him forward.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Without questioning, the old man obeyed.xa0xa0xa0xa0 When he came to the shore, his eyes widened at the sight that held Jerzy spellbound. A raven-haired woman clung to what looked like planking that had become caught in the thick reeds and tubers at the river's side. Her skirt was red as blood, and she was naked above the waist. She was both young and beautiful, . . . Something about her told him she must certainly be noble. xa0xa0xa0xa0 The old man saw now what Jerzy had seen. Little bubbles at her mouth. Damn! The woman was gasping for breath. She was alive!xa0xa0xa0xa0 The peasant understood what his grandson meant to do and moved closer to assist.xa0xa0xa0xa0 Jerzy immediately stepped into the water, reaching for the woman with one arm while the other linked him to his grandfather and to the river's bank.xa0xa0 Jerzy tugged at one of the woman's arms, trying to force her to let go of what had held her afloat. Her skin was nearly blue. "Let go! Let go!" he cried. xa0xa0xa0xa0 She remained insensible to his directions. The mouth seemed to twist and tighten. Her clawlike hands held fast.xa0xa0xa0xa0 The current spun her body now, pulling her, whipping her legs and lower body out toward the river's middle, as if the river had mighty hands that would not allow her to be rescued. xa0xa0xa0xa0 Jerzy held on, persisting in loosening her grip, pulling back one finger, then another. At last her hand came free and came to clasp his as he pulled her to him.xa0 Her other hand willingly released that which had held her afloat the long distance from Warsaw, and as the old man aided his grandson in pulling the woman to safety, he saw that she had set free the red uniformed body of a Russian soldier, its mustachioed face blue and bloated beneath the waters. Read more