Two French explorers arrive in court to charm two ships from the English King. The rest, as they say, is history … or perhaps not.

In this tale of beginnings and invention, actress-turned-explorer Lilly Cole takes on 17th century society with a provocative modern sensibility.

Lilly must out-perform and out-fox – in court, on stage, in private quarters and in the brutal cold of James Bay – if she is to live at all.

The synopsis sounds bright, interesting and a must-read for all die-hards of history; but this is no tale of nobility, justice or truth, but the darker side of human nature like sex, betrayal, murder and lies.

Lilly Cole is a hooker, an actress making only pennies a day and sleeping with the trashiest of men. Playwright Bartholomew, the drunken Earl of Buxborough, notices her when she is a mere waitress. Obsessed with her beauty he decides he wants to train her as an actress, and train her as an actress he does.

Her performance on a late night impresses King Charles and she in turn becomes his mistress. She later finds out she has the chance to manoeuvre her way onto a journey to the Orient.

The story is uniquely written and it takes on the format of a film. Scenes are short and jump between each other very quickly.

Lilly Cole is supposed to be the central character, but with that narration you wouldn’t be able to tell. It jumps from third person, has some first person, a little bit of second person and some omnipresence.

In choosing this narrative, you lose any emotional connection you could have had with the story.

When you read it, it’s as if you’re reading a very old text that would just describe what all the characters are doing, but not feeling. It feels like a history textbook with some dialogue plugged in.

The characters are by no means appealing. Lilly has no depth to her.

Her mother died of the plague, she’s living with an accused witch and she has no ambition but to sleep around with royalty. You don’t get a chance to hear her thoughts, her feelings. There are blips of it the odd time, but nothing that might trigger some compassion towards her.

The King is also painted with a stained brush as he comes off as a gigolo and the French characters are stereotypical of what people have been made to believe they were: Nasty, deceiving people.

The whole story feels like a drag, with no real points of excitement or action, just chapter after chapter of people having redundant conversations.

The only highlight of the novel is how Sweatman describes the scenery and gives the story atmosphere. You can almost smell the King’s castle, the musky alleyways and ale-fumed pubs.

Overall the story is very dry, slow moving, confusing and quite uninteresting. In other words, this book is probably better left on the shelf.

Published in Volume 64, Number 7 of The Uniter (October 15, 2009)