St George Rides Again

Two years ago, Dr Taylor Marshall gave new life to the legend of St George in his debut novel, Sword and Serpent. As I wrote in my review at the time, it was a credible and inspiring portrayal. The sequel, The Tenth Region of the Night, suggests that Marshall is only at the beginning of his career as a talented storyteller.

Jurian (St George) returns as a man on a mission, matured by his confrontation with manifest evil and plagued by self-reproach over the fate of Menas (St Christopher) whom he seeks to liberate from his captors. There is a sense of a gathering storm, and we realise that Jurian’s slaying of the dragon in Sword and Serpent was but one small victory in “a battle that spans from the beginning of time to its end”.

The Tenth Region of the Night can be seen as a portrayal of two worlds in conflict – the Roman Empire and the Early Church. Marshall casts light on both with impressive detail and insight, showing how the early Christians lived in both worlds and what problems this created. For us, it is a poignant illustration of the tension between secular and spiritual that existed both then and now. We get to view the world through the eyes of martyrs and understand how ordinary their lives might have seemed to them; and we get to feel their fear as they keep the memory of the Christ alive while surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies.

My one quibble, and it is only a quibble, is that Marshall overuses Latin terms to convey life in the Roman Empire. There are seven pages of them in the lexicon at the end of the book, and (although it is instructive) having to look them up does interrupt the flow of the narrative. Sadly, our standard and breadth of education has suffered immensely in the last fifty years or so, and these terms are not familiar to the average reader. While I wish they were, I have to conclude that it was simply not necessary to use so many of them. That said, there are far more onerous ways of educating oneself about the classical era.

In contrast to the Roman Empire, Marshall depicts the Early Church in somewhat familiar terms, and it is in this setting that the book displays exceptional flair. We are introduced to the precocious Aikaterina (St Catherine of Alexandria), St Helena and her enigmatic son Constantinus (Constantine the Great), and a network of “fellow travellers” spanning much of the known world. The penetrating reality of Golgotha and the legacy of the Cross is brought home through the experiences of these early Christians. Their faith is stripped bare for us to marvel at, for though they were paupers in terms of formal knowledge they were rich in prudence and fortitude, and nourished by the Eucharist.

As with most second books in a trilogy, The Tenth Region of the Night has a dark aspect to it. Jurian’s slaying of the dragon has already become legend and the perils he faces are not only credible but harrowingly realistic. This period of martyrdom is almost incomprehensible at our distance of so many centuries, but Marshall brings it within our grasp, and whatever the anguish we may feel it is worth it. It is a book for our time, because the story he weaves could well be our story too.

The cast of characters is literally a litany of the saints, and yet they feel like old friends by the end of the novel. It may not be history, but it is certainly historical, and any stretching of the truth can easily be forgiven thanks to the way in which Marshall casts light on the mysteries of our faith. The Tenth Region of the Night may be about the darkest time of night before the dawn, but it is also about the irrepressible courage that arises in even the weakest when we are filled with the love of the Christ.