SPQR XI: Under Vesuvius, by John Maddox Roberts
Under Vesuvius is a satisfying historical novel, not just fiction that happens to be set in the past.
Author John Maddox Roberts has been developing his main character, Decius Caecilius Metellus, over 10 previous books in the SPQR series. By now, constant readers are familiar with Decius's shrewd wife, Julia (niece of that controversial conqueror, Julius Caesar), his distinguished and ambitious extended family, his politics, his very Roman attitude toward duty and discipline, and the curiosity that makes him a good investigator. ("I had learned long since that my mental fluidity was a rare thing in a highborn Roman," he tells us. "In any sort of Roman, for that matter.")
In this eleventh outing, Decius (now presumably in his 40s, although that's not stated) has been elected praetor peregrinus. This post, with the responsibility for judicial cases involving foreigners, requires a lot of travel outside Rome. A playboy at heart, Decius starts his trip by taking his entourage to Baiae on the Bay of Naples, the St. Tropez of its day. As the big kahuna from Rome, he is wined and dined by the social-climbing residents and is thoroughly enjoying himself when a local girl is found murdered.
More murders follow, to the point of absurdity, as Decius chases after clues. At the same time, he orders in a squadron of Pompey's cavalry to capture bandits whom the indolent Baiaeans have allowed to maraud through the countryside. Meanwhile, Vesuvius fumes in the background, eyed nervously by the newcomers. (Luckily, it will stay dormant for another 128 years. See next review.) Eventually he uncovers "whodunit" in a satisfactory way.
What makes this series particularly enjoyable is Roberts' understanding of the Roman world and the irreverent way he uses this knowledge to flavor his characters and their setting. For example, Decius muses, "After the endless duties and tedium of the junior magistracies, the praetorship was like a vacation with duty hours. You got to lounge around in a curule chair while somebody else did all the organizing, arguing, and pleading; and when you'd heard enough you rendered judgment and nobody could dispute with you. Plus, since there were so many days on the calendar when official business was forbidden, there was plenty of time to socialize."
As this excerpt shows, Roberts has given Decius a pleasantly dry wit. Humor is a popular tool in mysteries set in this era, although some other writers (notably Lindsey Davis) take this to excess, inducing their characters to volley repartee back and forth so merrily that the reader risks being pinked by flying exclamation points. Less is more, as Cato might have said.
Alas, copyediting has fallen on hard times since Cato's day. No one apparently noticed that Roberts calls Cicero's brother "Quintus" on page 78 and "Lucius" on page 154 (it was Quintus); and his spellchecker twice failed to highlight the incorrect "collonade." Tsk.
In the end, the mystery and its solution are almost irrelevant in Under Vesuvius. We feel that we've just spent some time in a different world, and that we now know more about how it worked and what people thought. For my money, that's what makes a good historical novel.
