This complimentary yet clear-eyed review of Heyer’s first Medieval novel Simon the Coldheart is from London’s Times Literary Supplement (November 19, 1925).


The historical novel has an appeal to two classes of readers: those who like a stirring tale of adventure, heightened by an infusion of “atmosphere,” and those who are interested by a reconstruction of past times. Occasionally, but not very often, both are catered for by the same book. Of Miss Georgette Heyer’s Simon the Coldheart one can only say it is above the average of the former class of romance, and that it does make an attempt, not completely successful, to enter the latter. The hero rather resembles one of those over-successful warriors portrayed by Henty, save that he is more gloomy and stern and less disinterested than most of them. He fights his way dourly upward from the moment when, a boy of fourteen, he forces his way into the service of the Earl of Montlice as a page, till he is finally appointed “Lieutenant and Warden of the Sands and Marches of Normandy” by Henry V. A little too dominating, perhaps, is Simon and the better, we should have thought, for being taught that the greatest sometimes must suffer defeat; but otherwise we have no fault to find with him. The heroine is rather less realistic, a shrew of shrews, who leads her men to battle, who attempts to stab her conqueror Simon in the back, who escapes from him in boy’s clothes, and has to be rescued from the unspeakable Raoul the Terrible. Those who enjoy fighting at desperate odds, knowing that the best man will win, and in no doubt as to who is the best man, will be happy in Simon’s company, though they may feel that the shrew and her tamer are an unconscionably long time in coming to terms. It takes us over 300 pages to reach the moment when the Lady Margaret stood by the sundial in her pleasaunce, gazing wistfully down at it. It was May now, and all about her flowers bloomed… The sun shone warmly down upon the garden, and the birds sung [sic], but the Lady Margaret was sad. Then we know all will be well, and that the sundial has not many minutes more of sadness to record.

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