By Kimberly Cutter
“Was she a saint or a witch? A visionary or a madwoman? Or a unprecedented peasant woman who, at God’s bidding, led a military, kept France, and paid the cost through burning alive? . . . Kimberly Cutter’s portrait of ‘Jehanne’ as an odd, gritty teenage tomboy and precise believer is compelling.” —USA Today
It is the 15th century, and the tumultuous Hundred Years’ struggle rages on. France is less than siege, English infantrymen tear during the geographical region destroying all who go their paths, and Charles VII, the uncrowned king, has neither the energy nor the need to rally his military. And within the quiet of her mom and dad’ backyard in Domrémy, a peasant lady sees a spangle of sunshine and hears a strong voice converse her identify: Jehanne.
The tale of Jehanne d’Arc, the visionary and saint who believed she were selected via God, who led a military and kept her state, has captivated our imaginations for hundreds of years. however the tale of Jehanne—the lady whose sister used to be murdered by means of the English, who sought an get away from a violent father and a pressured marriage, who taught herself to trip and to struggle, and who by some means discovered the braveness and tenacity to cajole first one, then , then hundreds of thousands to keep on with her—is straight away exciting, unforeseen, and heartbreaking. wealthy with unstated love and battlefield valor, The Maid is a singular concerning the energy and uncertainty of religion and the exhilarating and devastating outcomes of reputation.
“Impressive . . . Cutter inspires the novel’s medieval international with remarkable details.” —New York occasions e-book Review
“Joan of Arc, the teenage peasant lady who commanded a French military, was once burned on the stake, and finally declared a saint, exists in our collective mind's eye as extra fantasy than man or woman . . . Cutter strips away the romanticism in want of a extra advanced portrayal that increases a few provocative questions.” —O Magazine
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Extra resources for The Maid: A Novel of Joan of Arc
I can't even ride a horse. Please, ask me anything else. I'll do anything else! No. This is God's mission, child. We will help you. God will help you. Go to the King, drive the English out of France. Crown the King. She sobbed and ran from the forest. " she cried. " 18 The Church of St. Remy sat beside Jehanne's house, not twenty yards away. Separated only by a shaggy row of willows and a cemetery of leaning stones starred with pale green lichen. The church itself, a small peach stone building with a big wooden cross inside.
Knew he was Michael, the Archangel. He who is like God. His face filled up the sky. Oh Lord, she said, shaking, feeling as if she would break apart with joy. Jehanne, he said. Just one word and it was clear. She'd do anything for him. He'd be the one to deliver the bad news. Then came the two virgins. Glowing like dandelions. Motherly, consoling. Saint Catherine with the sad spoon face, the hands like carved ivory. Wise, beautiful Catherine who had broken the spiked torture wheel. Her voice a flute of cool water, so clear it made Jehanne feel as if she understood everything in the world, could count every stone in the bottom of the river.
He who is like God. His face filled up the sky. Oh Lord, she said, shaking, feeling as if she would break apart with joy. Jehanne, he said. Just one word and it was clear. She'd do anything for him. He'd be the one to deliver the bad news. Then came the two virgins. Glowing like dandelions. Motherly, consoling. Saint Catherine with the sad spoon face, the hands like carved ivory. Wise, beautiful Catherine who had broken the spiked torture wheel. Her voice a flute of cool water, so clear it made Jehanne feel as if she understood everything in the world, could count every stone in the bottom of the river.