Lucy Holland’s Song of the Huntress follows her critically acclaimed Sistersong and has gained significant attention and praise. Not only does it follow a bestselling novel, but it also taps into the huge focus on feminist retellings from the perspectives of female mythological and historical characters that represent many of the new fiction releases. Given that many of these retellings use characters from Greek mythology, it is particularly interesting to see space being given to British history and mythology, and some important but barely acknowledged figures being rehabilitated as rounded characters. This would mean that it’s a particularly useful text for teaching classics or ancient history, as it allows teachers/lecturers and students to see how narratives can be made from the (often very sparse) information known, as well as demonstrating how such narratives can help to bring historical or mythological figures to life, giving them a more rounded and relatable character. Holland uses the Wild Hunt, particularly its leader, Herla, as well as the Otherworld, and Æthelburg of Wessex, a female warrior queen, to structure her novel.

The story spans from the time of Roman occupation and Boudica’s revolt, through to around six centuries later, when the Saxons lived alongside native Britons. The beginning of the book has a map and a historical note, which helps the reader to orientate themselves into the time and geography, providing a concise and digestible summary and grounding for what follows. A ‘Persons of the Story’ list is also included, which is interesting but does not feel as necessary as the other introductory materials. Holland’s writing is fluent and the story well-paced, so the introduction of the characters is contextually supported and flows naturally within the plot. What works particularly well is the inclusion of specific vocabulary of the time, for example ‘gesith’ and ‘ætheling’, which adds flavour and realism, particularly as they are frequently employed so they quickly become familiar. Terms of address, such as ‘Ine king’, also highlight the differences in formality and speech that we might expect across time and distance but without making the novel difficult to engage with for the modern reader. The prose treads the line well between being easy to read and allowing the reader to get lost in the story but also maintaining the flavour of the time and people.

Without providing too many spoilers, the novel centres around a kind of love triangle, treason, and a fight against Gwyn ap Nudd, the king of the Otherworld, who is trying to gain control of the mortal realm and destroy the heir of the British Sovereignty, characterised by a deep connection to the land, which brings in modern environmental considerations. The fantasy elements work well in a text that melds history and mythology, and Herla is a terrific character, everything that a reader would wish for in terms of a fierce mythological heroine. Æthelburg is a well-drawn mortal correlation, and her husband, Ine, is thoughtfully characterised as a king who puts his people and integration first. The explorations of tension between indigenous people and invading forces is compellingly written, and by spanning both whispers of the Roman occupation and being rooted in Saxon–Briton conflict generations later, it talks to universal themes about diversity and division, clearly demonstrating that we have much to reflect on what we can learn from history and mythology.

This reviewer was a little torn on the inclusion of the same-sex love stories of Herla and Boudica and then Herla and Æthelburg, and the asexuality of Ine. It is incredibly important to recognise that sexuality and desire have been complex and multilayered since the beginning of time, and the non-binary aspect of Emrys works really well in capturing how people of their role and knowledge have, in many cultures, sat between genders. For this reader, I felt that the story could have worked without the same-sex and asexual aspects, as women can admire one another without desire, and the lack of a child does not always need explanation. Having said that, the tensions and jealousies of this love triangle felt true and well-written, and the author needed her characters to understand each other’s perspectives by the end of the novel, even if it is clear to the reader without the exposition. What would have been welcome would be more of the dynamic of the relationship between Herla and her Hunt sisters, as where that was the focus of the story, aspects of the mythology came to the fore, as did the complexity of being bound to a leader with whom you do not always agree.

Overall, the novel is bound to evoke further interest in British and Celtic mythology and broadens the offering of mythological retellings in a compelling manner.