Review of Hag of the Hills (Book 1 of the Bronze Sword Cycles) by J.T.T. Ryder

(Old World Heroism, 2022). ISBN: 978-82-692791-1-5

As a longtime writer of historical fiction, I deeply appreciate the time and effort—the passion and commitment—that authors in this popular genre expend. After all, many authors claiming to be writing in this genre simply make things up, shooting from the hip of history, inserting well-known names and tropes like the Nazis and Templars, and promoting their slipshod stories as authentic historical fiction.

The fact is, in order to make such a claim, you have to be willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Bernard Cornwell (arguably the best historical fiction writer of the late BC/early AD periods), Caleb Carr, Michael Shaara, George MacDonald Fraser, and John Jakes. It’s nearly as daunting as claiming a spot in the realms of high fantasy, where JRR Tolkien (whom Ryder quotes in the Afterword) and George RR Martin are the scales on which we are (brutally, ruthlessly ) measured and weighed.

JTT Ryder (his name itself is staking a claim) not only puts himself forth for membership in the class of historical fiction writers (using the term “heroic prehistoric fantasy fiction”)—he firmly earns his place with the names I just mentioned. An archaeologist by trade, Ryder transfers the skills of the exhaustive researcher, painstaking fieldworker, cataloguer, and patient artisan to craft an engaging and educational story of the Iron Age of Britain.

As are many writers of historical fiction (Fraser and Cornwell again come to mind), Ryder is rightfully proud of the length and breadth of his research. He shares name and place lists and both front and back matter explicating his approach, the fact/fiction line, a lexicon of Celtic and other words, and providing other value-added information for the reader.

Although I recommend reading the supplementary text, the reader loses nothing by simply engaging with the book and its characters, starting with the protagonist, Brennus (who later changes his name to Vidav). Similar to Patrick Rothfuss’s The Name of the Wind, the story unfolds through the device of Brennus telling his friend Luceo about a certain period of his life while they sit beside a campfire. The son of a warrior and ironsmith, Brennus can see the sidhe: the faerie spirits. Made a trope by Ghost Whisperer and parodied on Saturday Night Live, such an ability is a gift (slash) curse as stated repeatedly throughout this book, Knowing several people with this ability, trope or not, this dual condition is true.

Book one takes place circa 200 BC, in Skye in the Hebrides. It’s a time of mythology, folklore, and some say superstition: festivals like Samhain and Lughnasa (from where we get lunacy); goddesses/gods and monsters such as the Morrigan (death and battle), Cernunnos (the horned god), and giants; epic heroes such as Cúchulainn; and shapeshifting (at least psychologically) through the donning of animal masks. It is also the time of the Druids, perhaps the most misunderstood and villainized nature-worship sect.

It is also a period of human sacrifice. There is a particular instance of human sacrifice in the book, near the end, the details of which are too gruesome for Brennus to share with Luceo (and therefore with us). For those familiar with wicker-man rituals, there is one well worth reading at the end of the book.

The titular character, the hag of the hills, is a “goddess of lambs, the patroness of sheep, and warden of spring.” Brennus’s encounter with her (which comes with an unrevealed price) is his Call to Adventure in Hero’s Journey terms. Also according to the terms of that time-honored storytelling structure, before he can commit, he must have everything he has known removed—think of Luke in Star Wars, returning with Ben Kenobi to find his home a smoking ruin and his aunt and uncle dead. Brennus’s losses are due to a brother’s betrayal and an attack on their village.

Fans of the plethora of historical fiction cable shows, from Barbarians and Britannica to The Last Kingdom and Vikings, will love the array of warriors Ryder presents. Painting their bodies blue using woad, spiking their hair with beeswax and growing their moustaches long, draped in bones and feathers, these bronze sword and spear-wielding warriors come out of the mist and into your mind as you read, sometimes on horseback and sometimes over hills, out of dense forests, and through streams. There is combat aplenty, both man to man to settle a dispute and between groups. Ryder’s research on weapons and tactics brings these scenes to life, as does his knowledge of their cultures and travels to the great centers of the world of that time. The conversations around campfires when the warriors brag about where they’ve been, the wonders they’ve seen, and the treasures they’ve collected are a highlight.

These are times of slavery and the subjugation of women, who men use as bargaining tools for alliances, bestow upon one another as gifts or rewards to the strongest warriors, and give very little choice in the course of their lives. A Druid about to die in battle places his daughter in Brennus’s care, forcing the hero to make a complicated oath, which sends the reluctant warrior out into the great wide world as both Protector and Avenger, a quest as worthy as that of Frodo—which is not to say that Brennus is psychologically similar to Frodo. He is more akin to Hercules and Jason, with his gift/curse of “the sight” and his enhanced ability to identify and do battle with monsters.

The monsters Brennus encounters can be horrific, like the morgen, who appears beautiful until it lures an unsuspecting victim into the water to drown. Other cultures have some versions of this, from kelpies and selkies, to naiads and sirens, and even the woman in the bathtub in The Shining.   

Oaths and honor are key to keeping the world from slipping into chaos, and even the fiercest warriors keep to codes and engage in reparations when these codes are broken. After all, this is a world similar to that of the Vikings, where “even the Gods will die.”

Brennus/Vidav forgets this central fact of his and other cultures’ cosmologies and mythologies by three quarters of the way through the book, when he becomes, while relating his story to Luceo, a bragging, seemingly unconquerable, and perhaps wholly unreliable narrator (unreliable being a feature often found in the narrators of Poe’s short stories). When asked who he is, Brennus/Vidav spends approximately 120 words relating his titles, nicknames, and achievements. This cues the reader that the hero of the story is suffering from hubris, a condition named by the Greeks, which is a psychological aspect prevalent in every flawed hero. The key to the experience of catharsis in the theatre of the Classical world (and still an element of the voyeuristic viewer experience today) was to watch the hero make mistakes and fall from grace so the audience member did not have to experience such extremes themselves. William Shakespeare expressed the dangers of hubris in the lines: “They that stand high have many blasts to shake them/And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces” (Richard III, A1, S3).

The strongest blast to Brennus’s self-perceived status (although, in fairness, he does earn several legitimate wins) is King Fenn Beg Corm. As to what transpires between them, and in what form Corm delivers the biggest of the blasts, I will leave for you to discover. I will be reading Book Two to see where it leads.

In closing, perhaps the greatest compliment I can pay JTT Ryder is that, upon finishing his book, I bought and read A Brief History of the Celts by Peter Berresford Ellis, which served to confirm just how much research Ryder did in order to write this excellent piece of “heroic prehistoric fantasy fiction.”