I do not know too much about the Borgia family, who for a while ruled over large parts of Italy but had wider desires still. Much of what I know I got from watching Horrible Histories and playing Assassin's Creed (the one set in Rome being my favorite). City of God takes you along the path of the English Nicholas, as he tries to sneak his way in the Borgias good graces.

It is entirely my own fault that it stood on my shelves for so long, however, when I started reading I suddenly remembered why. There was an error in my e-copy, making that there wasn't a single pagebreak in the entire book. All text was pasted together, making me guess as to when the scenes had changed (considering this is a book filled with conspiracy and backstabbing, imagine my initial surprises when I missed a change of scene and thought someone present at the actual meeting where they discuss his murder). While annoying, the book was still more than readable.

While I enjoyed the setting, and the level of scheming is worthy of Game of Thrones, I missed a connection to the main character. Why does he do what he does? And more importantly, why should we, as readers, care? He always felt very distant and even when personal tragedy strikes, I didn't feel for him. I fear this will not be a book that stays with me over time.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

2.5 stars.

I'm on a bit of a Borgia kick at the moment and so was keen to explore Cecelia Holland's vision of 16th-century Rome. The Borgias are at the apex of their power, with Alexander VI on the Papal throne, his daughter Lucrezia being offered in marriage to the d'Este in Ferrara, and his son Cesare driving the fear of God into the Romagna at the point of a sword. As Italy shifts under the weight of their dominance, Nicholas Dawson, a sharp-eyed envoy at the Florentine embassy begins to wonder whether he can use the Borgias as a stepping stone to his own fortune. As a roistering story of the Roman underbelly, full of dark alleyways, abductions and subterfuge, this should have been an absolute stunner... and yet it's oddly stilted and unsatisfying.

There are times when it can be a curse to know too much about a period, because you keep getting distracted by historical errors or improbabilities. Most people probably wouldn't give two hoots that Isabella d'Este, Marchioness of Mantua, is mistakenly called Beatrice (her own sister, formerly married to the Duke of Milan, who'd died in 1497). But this does matter to me. If we're to lose ourselves in a historical novel, we have to believe it and we have to trust in the author's command of her period. There are also smaller things that niggle. Nicholas and his colleague Bruni wear 'coats', which they often remove in the office and which I found it difficult to visualise: were these doublets, robes or mantles? Nicholas himself cherishes the small pretension of an elegant walking cane, while Bruni has a habit of curling up in his office with 'novels' rather than official reports. Poetry, dialogues or Latin classics, I would have accepted, but as far as I'm aware there was no such thing as a printed novel available in 1502, unless you stretch the term to cover the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. End of pedantry, I promise. These are minor things, but they broke the spell: in my mind, these were 18th-century gentlemen who'd unaccountably strayed into the 16th century.

This is the first book I've read by Holland and I have to admit I expected more. The quality of her descriptive prose is high, but the sentence structure is very staccato and the characterisation is thin. We are told, rather than shown: Nicholas goes here. Nicholas goes there. Nicholas sees this person. Nicholas returns home for dinner. Nicholas spends another evening watching Stefano play tarocchi. And what comes of it? Perhaps this is deliberate - perhaps it's some kind of postmodern subversion of the expectations that we have about historical fiction, showing that it isn't all chases by moonlight and swinging on chandeliers, and that people spend a lot of their time walking around the streets and watching other characters at parties... but it just feels a bit flat. I never quite understood why I should care about Nicholas or any other of the characters - the only one for whom I felt genuine affection was poor, devoted Juan. And, trust me, it takes a lot to make me remain indifferent to Cesare Borgia, but here he lacked the force with which every contemporary record imbues him: he becomes a beautiful youth, good for leading an army and blessed with an unnerving henchmen in Michelotto (here called Miguelito) but influenced strategically by Nicholas. It just didn't ring true.

For the full review, please see my blog (to be published on 6 Feb):
https://theidlewoman.net/2017/02/06/city-of-god-cecelia-holland/