Amalia Gkavea
From Madagascar, Nubia, Egypt, Algeria, and beyond, this isn’t history wrapped in dry academia—it pulses with life, with setting, and with complexity.
The women portrayed here are not polished icons—they’re leaders. Some inspire awe, others provoke horror. I found myself deeply disturbed by the portrayal of the queen of Madagascar (Ranavalona I), whose reign was soaked in blood and torture, particularly in her persecution of Christians. Yet the narrative hesitates, offering lines like “whether she was right or wrong,” as if such barbarity lives in a grey zone. It doesn’t. And moral flexibility in the face of religious slaughter is something I find impossible to accept. You know, that moral flexibility that appears only when Christians are persecuted and slaughtered.
In contrast, Dahia al-Kahina, the Jewish queen of Algeria, stood out as a revelation. Her strength, intelligence, and resistance against Arab conquest stayed with me long after I finished the book. I could easily imagine her as the centre of a sweeping historical novel—and someone should definitely write it. It just shows how fierce Jewish women are when faced with the horror of Muslim barbarians.
Above all, I appreciated that Clark, for the most part, avoided the trend of turning these women into modern ideological symbols. She presents their triumphs, flaws, and legacies with elegance and restraint, allowing readers to think, react, and—importantly—judge.
A challenging, often powerful read that doesn’t always get it right—but never stops being compelling.
Many thanks to Pen & Sword History and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
From Madagascar, Nubia, Egypt, Algeria, and beyond, this isn’t history wrapped in dry academia—it pulses with life, with setting, and with complexity.
The women portrayed here are not polished icons—they’re leaders. Some inspire awe, others provoke horror. I found myself deeply disturbed by the portrayal of the queen of Madagascar (Ranavalona I), whose reign was soaked in blood and torture, particularly in her persecution of Christians. Yet the narrative hesitates, offering lines like “whether she was right or wrong,” as if such barbarity lives in a grey zone. It doesn’t. And moral flexibility in the face of religious slaughter is something I find impossible to accept. You know, that moral flexibility that appears only when Christians are persecuted and slaughtered.
In contrast, Dahia al-Kahina, the Jewish queen of Algeria, stood out as a revelation. Her strength, intelligence, and resistance against Arab conquest stayed with me long after I finished the book. I could easily imagine her as the centre of a sweeping historical novel—and someone should definitely write it. It just shows how fierce Jewish women are when faced with the horror of Muslim barbarians.
Above all, I appreciated that Clark, for the most part, avoided the trend of turning these women into modern ideological symbols. She presents their triumphs, flaws, and legacies with elegance and restraint, allowing readers to think, react, and—importantly—judge.
A challenging, often powerful read that doesn’t always get it right—but never stops being compelling.
Many thanks to Pen & Sword History and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.