In recent years, bookshop shelves have creaked under the weight of numerous retellings of Classical myths from the perspective of the previously silenced women featured in them. These new takes on old myths have added vital insight and agency to the ancient workings of a demographic group who were for so long sidelined even within their own stories.

Happily, the non-mythological women of the ancient world are now starting to benefit from a similar process of new attention. Even more happily, they are no less sensational than their mythical counterparts. Jane Draycott’s study of Fulvia is a fascinating illustration of the value of female-centric biographies for antiquity, although it has to be admitted that relatively few women are as well-documented as Fulvia – and those who are typically come from the same sort of social group.

The book opens (chapter 1) with a discussion of the Late Republican world that Fulvia was born into, providing background on concepts such as the optimates and populares and the cursus honorum, and an overview of life for elite women in this period. Chapters 2 and 3 explore Fulvia’s family and childhood, respectively, the latter leaning fairly heavily on the likely course for a women of her status rather than a reconstruction of Fulvia’s specific experiences. After a brief discourse on the ‘ideal Roman woman’ (chapter 4), the text moves on to consider Fulvia’s marriage to Publius Clodius Pulcher (the first of her three marriages) and her life in the immediate aftermath (chapter 5). At this point, we are still to get a sense of the real Fulvia, who is still hidden behind the generalities of Roman marriage and wifehood, with any specific details in this chapter coming from what is known about Pulcher and his family.

It is from chapter 6 that the real Fulvia begins to emerge, following the murder of Pulcher and his widow’s atypical responses to her new circumstances. The impression that we are dealing with no ordinary Roman woman is rapidly reinforced in chapter 7 through a discussion of the choices open to Fulvia as a widow, a possible sex scandal (a theme which would be revisited in her later life), ultimately leading to a remarriage to Gaius Scribonius Curio. Chapter 8 deals with her marriage to Marc Antony, noting some of the controversies associated with the match, and her increased involvement in politics on his behalf.

From chapter 9 onwards, Fulvia really begins to jump off the page, as she moves from generic daughter-and-wife to the political agent that we will come to know and – perhaps – admire. It is chiefly through her connection to Antony that she was documented by the ancient sources, so the increased level of source material here is no surprise, but very welcome. Chapter 9 vividly describes Fulvia’s animosity towards Cicero, and her treatment of his body afterwards, while the account of her involvement in Antony’s proscriptions leaves the reader in no doubt about her ruthlessness. Chapter 10 focusess on Fulvia’s involvement in the Perusine War (41 to 40 BC), a conflict in which she truly transgressed the boundaries of acceptable female behaviour. This chapter explores the sexual insults directed towards Fulvia by Octavian and others, including lewd messages inscribed on lead sling-bullets used during the conflict. However, as Draycott notes, male commanders received similar treatment, perhaps suggesting a certain amount of gender ambiguity in the treatment of Fulvia during this conflict. This period is where we start to see Fulvia’s political downfall, following public humiliations from both Octavian and Antony, leading to her ultimate abandonment and death. Chapter 11 discusses Fulvia’s death and burial, and speculates what might have happened had she not died in 40 BC. The final chapters explore Fulvia’s legacy, first through her children (chapter 12) and then through history more generally (chapter 13), the latter considering how her story was first distorted by the Julio-Claudian regime for their own ends and, later, almost entirely forgotten. A final summary presents the two sides of Fulvia: the exploited and mistreated young woman who attempted to take control of her own destiny, and was reviled for it.

Draycott’s study of Fulvia provides a valuable reassessment of a woman much maligned in antiquity and will hopefully inspire readers to question the ancient narratives about other ‘notorious’ females. It is suitable for anyone with an interest in Late Republican Roman history, with good background and context provided for a non-specialist audience, although those already familiar with the subject may find some of the key themes and concepts easier to follow. However, readers with an academic-level knowledge of the period will probably already be familiar with much of this background information, particularly in the earlier chapters.

At times, particularly in the earlier chapters, the story feels more like that of the men around Fulvia rather than her own – but this is almost inevitable when dealing with this period of history in any depth, and certainly no fault of the author. Draycott has done an excellent job with the limited amount of source material available, especially in the earlier phases of Fulvia’s life. Any issues here are more than balanced out by the contextualisation of Fulvia’s specific actions on numerous occasions, with succinct descriptions of what social convention would dictate that she do versus what she actually did. This serves to make the narrative more comprehensible to those less familiar with Late Republican Roman socio-political practices, while demonstrating to all readers just how extraordinary Fulvia and her actions were.

Ultimately, this book does a great job in putting Fulvia back at the centre of her own story – and also leaves a lingering feeling that Cleopatra was probably quite lucky that her path never crossed that of Fulvia in person…