Frequently Asked Questions From Our Postbag

A reader asked about a book she had read that seemed to have significant similarities to mine: “If imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, you must be flattered indeed. Even the dust jacket is a knock-off! The comparisons are too numerous to list, but I am curious about your reaction to this book.”

I was sent the book you mention for review - yes, they even wanted to quote admiring comments from me - but I used my standard refusal, that I never review novels set in the ancient world as I can't do them all and it wouldn't be fair to pick and choose... I don't read them either. I would get too angry if I thought the author and publisher were jumping on a bandwagon. There is nothing to stop other people writing a close parallel to a successful author's work (though I gently suggest it is foolish for a publisher to ask me to endorse a blatant rip off!) Copies of Falco are even offered to my own editor. He sends them packing. Sometimes he even tells me about it, so I’ll know I have an honorable editor (this is a rare thing!)

My chief reaction to this stuff is sorrow - inventing your own characters and creating a new fictional world is such good fun, I pity the authors who have such paucity of courage and imagination they can regurgitate someone else’s idea. And how feeble of editors to accept this second-rate dross. It is insulting to readers too; the rationale is that people who like one Roman series will read anything set in that period: well I think you may be fooled once - but that's it. My readers prefer something original.

“I really love your work, Ms Davis - I too am writing a novel. Will you read it?”

No.

This is not my job. You have to be your own first critic. Brutally look at your work and decide whether it is commercial, original and ready for the market. If it is not commercial, dump it. If it is not ready, work on it. If it is both, send it straight to an agent. Evaluation is their job.

If it is just plain unoriginal, don’t despair. Publishers love what they already know.

“But I just want your opinion.”

You don't realise how many manuscripts I am asked to look at - or how ghastly most are.

I am sorry to sound ruthless, but brutality is what you must expect from agents and editors. Getting a first novel published is very, very hard.

“I know you must be very busy but hope you can just glance at the synopsis and first page.”

No, no, no.

“I have obtained a publisher. They say my novel has the same qualities as your writing; the story is set in AD70 and centres on Marcus Bolonius, an ex-soldier who works as an imperial agent. I would be so grateful for a review for the jacket...”

No.

I have an absolute rule that I never review novels that are set in the ancient world. (Nor books that don’t have women characters or a sense of humour, that do have cats, magical realism, time slips, the supernatural, psychiatry, religion, or Birmingham but you can’t tell that it’s Birmingham. And I loathe novels about Famous Men by male professors of history).

“So what do you like?”

That’s my business.

“Should this be a Rant?”

Why? I am perfectly calm.

“What will happen in the Vesuvius eruption?”

I have always said that I don’t really want to write about the eruption. For one thing, Pliny described it so well (his classic and very famous description is still used by vulcanologists) that there is nothing left for a descriptive novelist to say. And then this was a real tragedy. The Boxing Day tsunami confirmed my view that such an event is not really suitable for light, entertaining novels.

So, I don’t want to put Falco and Helena there – and if they are somewhere else and just hear about it, that will be a bit of a cop out… We have a few years before I have to commit myself, and I may never bring the series as far as that.

I have been asked whether Falco and Helena might be killed amidst the lava – absolutely no chance!

“I am worried what will happen to Falco when Domitian comes to power?”

Domitian cleared the informers from the Saepta Julia (so, in fact, did Titus) and of course there is enmity between him and Falco since ‘The Silver Pigs’. So people worry about what the paranoid Emperor, famous for his brutality to senators and his own relatives, might do to our hero.

I don’t. He has spent a lifetime escaping from difficulties, after all. Perhaps it will be time for him to retire to obscurity. Perhaps it will even be time for me to retire!

“I would love to read the story of Falco and Petronius Longus in the army in Britain.”

I never commit myself absolutely, but there are two reasons why I shall probably not write a prequel about Falco and Petro, much as I know it would appeal to young or youthful male persons!

Firstly, I couldn't have Helena in it, as Falco definitely meets her for the first time in 'The Silver Pigs'; sorry, but I really don't feel drawn to writing a book without her now.

And then, I don't myself really want to know what went on. If what this disreputable pair say about their army career is all true, then I'd be ashamed of them! Or maybe they exaggerate... Sometimes, there is much to be said for leaving things unsaid. I prefer not to know whether they were bad boys, or very shy, or just normal insignificant recruits with unformed characters, whose story is in truth not very interesting. And I personally think it is more horrific and effective if the events of the Revolt are left as a grim shadow over them that they won't really talk about.

I am sorry to disappoint.

Roman Names

The main thing you need to know about Roman names is this: There are rules, but - the Romans were not a hidebound people and they did not follow the rules! Men – Originally men had two names (as in Mark Antony) but by the First Century a citizen characteristically had three: 1 a 'personal' name such as Marcus. BUT there were only twelve official personal names and in some families everyone had the same one, even brothers. Ask yourselves, therefore, can they possibly have used them the same way that we do? 2 a 'family' name such as Didius 3 a 'third' name, which some books will tell you was a nickname (though how can you give a baby a good nickname before its character is formed?). Many refer to geographical locations. 4 People who were adopted, or very aristocratic, or generals who led conquering armies could have, or could be given, extras

A glance at imperial names will indicate how flexible the Romans were. Some emperors were known by their personal names (Titus), some by their family names (Claudius), some by their third names (Vespasian), some by names they acquired (Caesar, Augustus). He whom we name Caligula (an acquired childhood nickname) was officially the Emperor Gaius (his personal name).

Women had two names, apparently derived from either parent as the mood struck. In Vespasian's family they are all called Flavia Domitilla. Antonia (both the Younger and the Older sister) is/are called after her/their father Mark Antony. Julia, the only daughter of Titus, was named neither for her father nor for either of his wives and we don't know her other name...

Slaves had one name, often Greek in origin; on manumission they usually took one or two further names from the patron who freed them.

Foreigners often took two names from the current emperor to indicate Roman citizenship

In Novels The more formal you were being the greater number of a person's names you used and I have devised a graded system to match what I perceive to be Roman etiquette, eg Helena will say 'Marcus' in bed, 'Marcus Didius' when referring to him to others, 'Didius Falco' when referring to him to complete strangers or those she dislikes or distrusts - and 'Marcus Didius Falco, you are a complete bastard!' when she is seriously annoyed. Other characters are referred to by various of their names or nicknames in the casual or convenient way that seems Roman to me. IT IS NOT POSSIBLE IN A NOVEL TO NAME EVERYONE THE SAME!

Silphium

Silphium seems to have had the pungency and medicinal attributes of garlic, while looking more like giant parsley. It is closely related to asafoetida. There is a rumour that plants have reappeared and been seen in recent years in parts of Libya which are still landmined after World War Two (near Tobruk). I met a man who had met a man who had seen it...

Fish Sauce/Garam

The Roman fish sauce was made – amidst legendary smells – from small fish and/or the innards of fish, creating a kind of unsociable silage; this was done on an industrial scale in vats near the shore, especially in parts of Southern Spain, with the contents exported in amphorae. Garam was used frequently in recipes and on the table as a condiment, perhaps in the way we use ketchup or soy sauce. Cookery books sometimes say that the Far Eastern sauces nam pla or nuoc mam are modern equivalents. Anchovy essence is probably a good substitute.