JOAN

The author of Mary B (2018) eschews hagiography in this very human portrait of Joan of Arc.

Jeanne d’Arc became a symbol, rather than a person, the moment she joined the court in exile of the Dauphin, the outcast prince who would become Charles VII, King of France. Making her real requires imagination and empathy, and Chen brings both to the task of putting solid flesh on the charred bones of a legendary figure. The Joan we meet here is not a saint. She’s a savant, and her genius is for violence. She becomes an expert with a longbow the moment she releases her first arrow. She bests a knight after six days of training with a sword. And when she goes to war for the Dauphin, she is unstoppable on the battlefield. This Joan is earthy. Her encounters with saints do not take the form of mystical visions or spiritual instruction. St. Michael appears stamped into the dessert that gives Joan her first taste of cinnamon. She thinks she hears a statue of St. Margaret laughing the first time Joan knocks a bully to the ground with a single punch. When she finally hears a voice from heaven, it’s not Catherine of Sienna’s; it’s her sister Catherine’s. Although it’s very different in tone from Matrix (2021), Chen’s take on the Maid of Orléans feels similar to that of Lauren Groff’s version of Marie de France. Both authors present their protagonists as women who understand that it's their destiny to be powerful, and both authors allow these women to possess beliefs and attitudes that may be anachronistic but feel true—and satisfying—in context. That Joan will be captured, convicted of heresy, and die at the age of 19 is a foregone conclusion, but as Joan approaches bodily death she foresees her second life as a symbol. “Before each battle, the foot soldiers, artillerymen, and sappers will bend their heads and call my name. They will say, Joan, give me strength and courage, and I shall hear them, wherever I am. I can never die.”

An elegant and engaging work of historical fiction.