J.M. Elliott's Of Wind and Wolves, the first novel in The Steppe Saga, is a historical epic that beautifully combines mythology and history with a captivating heroine's journey. Anaiti is betrothed to an elderly Skythian king in order to cement a political alliance, but in order to secure it, she must first kill an enemy and present their scalp. This rite of passage forces Anaiti into the wilderness alongside a formidable warband and throughout her struggle for survival, she navigates conflicting loyalties, independence and sacrifice. I found this novel to be exquisitely written, well-researched and extremely immersive. Elliott's prose is evocative and really brings the setting to life

Of Wind and Wolves is the story today’s historical fiction genre doesn’t know it needs. Where the current market is saturated with trendy tropes, cookiecutter storylines, and sociopolitical parables, the Steppe Saga offers something unique: a thoughtful and deeply researched exploration of a little-known ancient culture, told through the lens of a heroic and humanistic fictional narrative.

Ancient civilizations receive sparse treatment in fiction nowadays, and so much rich story potential goes untapped. It was refreshing to open this book knowing very little about the Scythians and come away educated and enlightened. By no means a light read, Of Wind and Wolves is densely packed with information, yet it flows naturally, driven by story and character, and doesn’t overwhelm. The writing is elegant and noticeably superior to that of current traditionally published books. If a few similes seemed overwrought, mostly in the first half of the book, I was willing to forgive them. The descriptions are evocative, and the dialogue, at times poetic in the manner of an ancient text and other times raw and even vulgar, felt balanced and realistic—something that can be difficult to achieve when writing characters who would have been speaking in an ancient language.

The story is told entirely in first-person, through the eyes of an Amazon (or “hamazon”) warrior. Here, at last, is a “strong female character” who stands simply, unaffectedly, on her own merits, without the sense of an agenda being shoved down the reader’s throat—and most importantly, without being “strong” only at the expense and demonization of every male character in the story. In fact, the narrator is the only major female character in the book—though it took me some time to notice, as I was too engrossed in the story to tally up quotas. She is surrounded by men, some of whom are horrible, and some are heroic. Imagine that—a fair and balanced portrayal of human beings.

While the book is by no means a romance, it features a love story, of the kind that at times feels worthy of being called “epic.” Neither soapy nor overly jaded and cynical, it evolves naturally as the characters grow closer.

I can appreciate the author’s effort to portray the Scythian culture in an objective, non-judgmental way, and I made an attempt to keep a similarly open mind. To the good, I feel the portrayal is probably a realistic picture of what the Scythians might have actually been like, and the author’s enthusiasm for the subject, especially the horsmanship aspect, is evident.

It’s inevitable, though—and natural—that readers will bring their own values into play in the judgment of any work of art, and for this reason I was never able to connect fully with the Scythian culture in this book. There is a great deal of animosity portrayed against the Greeks, whom the Scythians consider effeminate, dishonest, and promiscuous. To their eyes, trade and mercantilism is suspect, and urban civilization is inferior to the nomadic way of life. No doubt this is an accurate portrayal of how the Scythian people really felt about the Hellenic influence, but as one who admires the contributions of Greco-Roman civilization, I could not relate or agree. There was a certain irony in one character’s comment about “Hellenes who came north from the colonies long ago to get rich off the spoils of trade,” since the profits of freely conducted trade are by definition not “spoils”—in fact, the very antithesis.

I sensed an effort to ascribe a certain nobility and idealism to the Scythians—though neither is the brutality and warmaking glossed over by any means—but I wasn’t convinced. While I appreciated the Scythian “side of the story,” my sympathies and preferences naturally still lie with the culture that valued, at least in theory, trade over pillage, logic over violence, enlightenment over superstition.

Another reason I did not rate this higher was a somewhat disappointing ending. I did not agree with one character’s decision and felt that plot point might have been eliminated altogether, considering its outcome. Perhaps it will be relevant later in the trilogy. Also, a character’s commitment to another, which had seemed unbreakable up to that point, suddenly weakened. This felt like a let-down, and in general the book seemed to end on a downbeat. I’m hopeful this might be resolved in the next installment.

I look forward to seeing how the story continues to play out over the next two books and would gladly read more of this inspired author. I also highly recommend her newsletter, which I found thought-provoking and informative.