A masterpiece

The whole series is tour de force. Historically accurate and entirely believable . Faction at its best. My favourite is Sulla.

McCullough's Caesar-stanship continues. She shows him to be completely in control and almost incapable of misjudging... except when it comes to his life. On the way there, Caesar's greatness constantly clashes with the aristocratic egalitarianism of the Roman republic.
Once Caesar is dead, Octavian takes center stage. His similarly talented, but much darker character is quite as entertaining - if not more, for Octavian still has to win it all.
Still, McCullough has a healthy respect for the losers of history (even if she does not sympathize with them). To me, the most moving part of the book was Cato's march to Africa and his eventual suicide.

Well, not really finished. gave up after 250 pages. Supposed to be historical fiction, but can’t decide what it wants to be. Too much confusing historical detail for fiction, and I’m not a newcomer to Roman history. My life isn’t long enough and there are too many more books to read.

See book #1

With the end of Gaius Julius Caesar came the end of Rome's idea of Republic. Caesar bore the last vestiges of Roman Republic, governed by Roman patricians. It has been more than 2,000 years since Caesar walked this earth and even after that the man remained an enigma for historians. For centuries, his war tactics, his shrewd mind, his foresightedness baffled historians and the writers the like of William Shakespeare and Dante Alighieri.

Colleen McCullough did an exceptional job at destroying the mythical things about Caesar and made him into a human who walked with us who was just a touch above our understanding.

Caesar was royal and he proved it so even in his death. The author, with the display of her extremely brilliant prose writing, wrote it aptly - How can twenty-two sheep kill a lion like Caesar?
But more so, the below phrases explains a lot about Caesar and what entailed after his assassination. Caesar was Rome and Rome had never belonged to one person as much as it belonged to Caesar. The meticulousness of author's grip on the historical events to follow, highlights cleverly what Caesar meant for the world.

Few quotes that I absolutely loved from Colleen McCullough about Caesar. It is not a surprise that just like hundreds of rulers and greats, I too have admired Caesar greatly. And I am not the only one, the list includes Napoleon Bonaparte too.

- Under no possible circumstances will I entertain the thought of ruling Rome as her king. Rex is a word, nothing more. Caesar does not need to be Rex. To be Caesar is enough.

- The titan had fallen, the world was so changed that no Republic could ever spring fully armed from its brow. The death of Caesar was a liberation, but what it had liberated was chaos.

- Caesar was, and he had been a natural sovereign. It is not the diadem, it is the spirit.

- Octavian(Later came to be known as Augustus Caesar, the first emperor of Roman Empire after the fall of Caesar) was cheered for a full quarter of an hour. Though this was immensely satisfying, Octavian well knew that it was not an indication that Rome belonged to him; it was an indication that Rome had belonged to Caesar.

Sixth and last in the (original) “Masters of Rome” series.

The book starts in Egypt – with Caesar’s embroilment in the Egyptian civil war and his relationship with Cleopatra and thereafter switches to Rome for the events of Caesar’s dictatorship including the wars against the Republicans in Africa and then Spain. In a rare piece of sympathy for the Boni and especially Cato (who McCullough clearly regards as responsible for destroying through his intransigence the very Republic he claimed to be preserving) she covers in detail a little known march he led of around 10,000 wounded troops to join the Republican army in Africa.

Caesar’s assassination is covered around 2/3rds of the way through the book and the section that follows is as confused as the actual period following the death with various armies on the move (alluded to in the title of one section) and with loyalties and factions shifting. Eventually things coalesce into two uneasy factions – the Second Triumvirate (led by Antony – the boorish man of action but still basically a Republican and Octavian – see below) and the Liberators (led by the increasingly confident Cassius and the man of Philosophy Brutus). This culminates in the two battles of Philippi (this section of the book is called “Everything by Halves” and paints both sides as hopelessly divided between their main leaders) the first ending in the mistaken suicide of Cassius (believing his side lost and unaware of the near victory won by Brutus’s men) and the second in slaughter of Brutus’s army and his own suicide. The book ends with Brutus’s head being demanded by an increasingly compelling and cold-blooded Octavian from a reluctant but overawed Antony so he can send it to the Rostra in Rome but the head being thrown overboard from the ship carrying it as the sailors believe it a curse.

Throughout the book McCullough paints the most favourable possible picture of Caesar in two key areas – his control of events (e.g. Egypt is portrayed as completely under his control and foresight, whereas all non-fiction accounts aqree that his involvement was unwitting, that he was caught by surprise by the Alexandrian hostility to his soldiers and that he fought a desparate and clumsy struggle for survival) and in his genuine good intentions (any historical incidents traditionally taken as describing his increasing megalomania are spun or explained away – eg his wearing of the traditional long red boots of the Alban Kings was to cure varicose veins whereas the attempts to make him a King or God were deliberate acts by Mark Antony as part of his attempts to surreptitiously legitimise the Liberators cause.

The other interesting aspect of the book it its portrayal of the rise of Octavian against all the odds of his health, appearance, age and lack of standing but trading on the deification of Caesar by the ordinary Romans, the devotion of Caesar’s soldiers and on his own sheer cold-minded determination and resolution to seize the destiny that his Great-Uncle laid out for him by making him his heir. The book portrays well also his complete lack of clemency for his and Caesar’s enemies (in contrast to his Great-Uncle) with even by the time of the Battles of Philippi the Liberators keener to surrender to the hot-blooded and militant Antony (who on a number of occasions led his soldiers to slaughter protestors in the Forum) than the cold-blooded weakling Octavian.

Overall a brilliant series of books – methodically researched but with the novelist licence allowing McCullough to explore the motivations of the main actors in these historical events and in the death of the Republic (which she paints as being finalised with the death of Caesar’s main assassins and Octavian’s rise to prominence)

EXCELLENT! Colleen McCullough does meticulous research, and tells great stories! She paints a fabulous portrait of Julius Caesar, but cares little for Cicero who was always changing sides. Poor Cassius and Brutus! Fabulous intrigue among the females! Did Atia, mother of Brutus, force her daughter-in-law to eat live coals, or did Porcia elect that method of suicide? One more to read in McCullough's series on Rome!!!

This 750-page book took me a month to get through but was actually one of the stronger entries in the series I thought. I learned a lot that I was not aware of from this period of history, and enjoyed how it was broken up into two distinct stories. The normal things that drag for me in these books still did, but they were minimal compared to some of the other entries.

After the brilliance and sheer storytelling magnificence of the previous five books, this one comes as a disappointment. Caesar is getting older and while he's reached the pinnacle of Roman politics, he finds himself disillusioned with what that means, frequently frustrated and increasingly short-tempered. And as her hero runs out of energy so, too, does McCullough.

For me, this is a book of two parts: the run up to Caesar's assassination, and then the aftermath. McCullough who's always had a romantic view of Caesar, now switches her allegiances to Octavia (later Augustus) and herein lies one of the problems: for while Caesar does genuinely tower over the period and combine intelligence, charm, ruthless focus and wit, Octavian is a much smaller man in lots of ways, and one whose brutal propaganda has been increasingly deconstructed in academic history - I guess what I'm saying is that I couldn't follow McCullough's emotional trajectory and abandon Caesar for Octavia. This left the book decentred for me.

Stylistically, too, this flags: we're increasingly 'told' things instead of them being dramatised as was the case in the earlier books. So, this is still worth reading: and if you've been following the series, it's a must - but it lacks the energy and perhaps the emotional commitment of the earlier books.

The period of the Late Roman Republic was no doubt one of the most dramatic in European history, with men such as Caesar, Pompey, Cicero, Antony, Brutus, and Octavian, and women such as Porcia, Servilia, and the Pharaoh Cleopatra all prominent movers and shakers at the same time, in relation to one another. The events between 48 BCE—and indeed, well before that fateful year—and 42 BCE—and of course, well after that consequential year—would shape the course of Roman history forever. It was truly a watershed moment. Nevertheless, prior to the brilliant Masters of Rome series of historical novels by Colleen McCullough, neither a trained classicist nor creative fiction writer, the Late Republic had been more or less overlooked by serious authors. Whereas John Williams and Robert Graves had famously treated the first years of the Roman imperial era and the machinations of the Julio-Claudians, literature was devoid of well-researched and well-written historical fiction that explored the cultural ethos of the Republic as it slowly fell apart. The Masters of Rome series filled that void, and The October Horse, at first intended to conclude the series—now its penultimate novel—is perhaps the most enjoyable work of historical fiction that I have ever read.

As a classicist myself, my enjoyment stems in no small part from the comprehensiveness of The October Horse. McCullough has read, it seems, nearly every ancient author who in some way chronicles the period—Plutarch, Suetonius, Appian, Cassius Dio, Cicero, Sallust, and many others—and she by no means shies away from the sometimes-mundane details that these authors provide in their historical and epistolary accounts. So, for instance, when Caesar moves across Anatolia just prior to his famous veni, vidi, vici proclamation, after he has left Cleopatra in Alexandria, she describes every military maneuver, each relevant political development, and the totality of the Dictator’s financial fortunes and misfortunes. No stone is left unturned. Sometimes, this commitment to historical veracity becomes tedious and arduous for the reader. Yet, when interpreted from a much broader perspective—that is, when one apprehends the entire novel and reflects on the consequential events that have taken place—this exhaustiveness is much appreciated, at least in my view. For the quotidian military tactics and political machinations ultimately add to an extraordinarily rich picture of ancient life for the noblemen and women of the Late Republic, whose minds we so seldom have the chance to enter into and study. The fullness of this historical portraiture is unmatched in academic volumes.

There are a number of narrative elements and characterizations of note that set The October Horse apart from other fictitious treatments of the years 48-42 BCE, such as Shakespeare’s famous Julius Caesar. Perhaps most plainly, Caesar says not a word as his assassins stab him twenty-three times, in accordance with most of the ancient sources yet contrary to Shakespeare. In addition to his silence, the death of Caesar is rendered rather uniquely, especially for the fact that the liberatores panic after their vicious attack and flee to the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. Brutus offers no speech, Antony misses the chance to provide an evocative funeral oration, and the potent uncertainty in the aftermath of the assassination is appropriately drawn out over several months, as it certainly was in truth. Likewise, in terms of characterization, Brutus and Antony are a far cry from their Shakespearean selves. Cowardly, miserly, and politically apathetic until the end of the novel, Brutus is driven to tyrannicide by his wife, Porcia, far more than an intense desire to restore the Republic, for which Brutus initially cares little. His scruples about the assassination, moreover, are the product of fear and cowardice, and do not at all derive from his friendship with Caesar, to whom he was a mere secretary while Caesar conquered Anatolia. Antony, on the other hand, is quite the brute, more so than I envision when I read the ancient sources. He seems to lack the sharp wit and intellect that I believe he must have possessed in order to have positioned himself so well after the death of Caesar. Yet in The October Horse, Antony seems dimwitted and hyperbolically unscrupulous, save for the end of the novel, when he treats the body of Brutus with far more reverence than his fellow Triumvir.

Then, of course, there is Octavian, the most inexperienced Triumvir, yet its most essential member, not least of all for his adopted title, Divi Filius. In my view, Octavian is rendered perfectly, and it is quite the literary and historical adventure to enter into his Ulyssesean mind. Calm yet cruel, refined yet wily, ostensibly trustworthy yet clandestinely deceitful, he is the one Roman other than Cicero whom I truly wanted to achieve his ambitions, however abhorrent I sometimes found his methods. While I take issue with the notion that Octavian anticipated his rise to ascendency and ultimate plan to eliminate Antony as early as Philippi, as The October Horse implies—there were simply too many political variables in 42 BCE for Octavian to have envisioned his later supremacy over the Roman empire—I nevertheless believe that he must have been inordinately calculative in order to have marched on Rome twice, won the consulship by force, defeated Antony at Mutina, and formed the Second Triumvirate. With respect to this aspect of his characterization, McCullough hits the mark. Given that we know so little about Octavian the man—even his busts proffer a cold, steely front—the inner deliberations and premeditated plans crafted by Caesar’s fresh-faced heir spellbind the curious reader.

While my love for Rome has never wavered these past four years as a classics major, The October Horse set fire to my ardor for the ancient world in a way that academic study has not. Here, Caesar, Antony, Octavian—they are all truly alive, and not merely disembodied characters whom I know performed remarkable deeds. To be sure, The October Horse embraces Great Men History in a manner that, as a responsible classicist and student of history, I cannot condone. Yet in a work of historical fiction, I enthusiastically commend this approach, warts and all, even more since the narrative cleaves so faithfully to real events. As I read The October Horse, I realized that there was still so much about the Late Republican period about which I do not know, so much that I need to learn. I also realized how infinitely pleasurable it is to contemplate, armed with reliable historical evidence, even when rendered in fiction, the reasons for the demise of the Republic, the vision Caesar had for the restoration of peace and political order in his new Rome, and the way in which Octavian artfully accrued power and auctoritas in the wake of utter political chaos. These questions fascinate me, no matter how many times I return to well-worn solutions offered by reputable historians. Unlike professional classicists, The October Horse rarely tries to answer such questions. While it may have a thesis—that Rome could not possibly rule its empire with recourse to archaic Republican bureaucracy, and needed an innovative autocrat in order to survive—it nevertheless invites the reader to provide answers of her own. So seldom does a work of historical fiction stimulate the academic mind with such verve and vivacity.

In the first portion of the book McCullough helps us know Caesar at the height of his career as the man he might have been. McCullough's take on the romance between Cleopatra and Caesar differs from Shakespeare's as she devles into Plutarch and other sources. Her explanation for Octavian's actions is that he may have had asthma which is more consistent with his personality. Caesar is later murdered by 23 conspirators and the story switches to following the assassians, Mark Antony, and Octavian's actions among others. When Caesar's will is read his nephew Octavian is the key heir, to the chagrin of Mark Antony. The resulting chaos and political upheaval nearly bankrupts Rome. As the assassians flee, Octavian vows to bring the murderers to justice. I found it difficult to get into this read and when I checked Amazon reviews found that others did, too, but some fans believe that this is the least well written in the series. I have more of them to read which I look forward to tackling. I continue to marvel at McCullough's attention to detail, historical accuracy and ability to make the Romans come alive again and again.

Sarò sempre grato alla McCullough per la serie I signori di Roma, perché mi ha dato la possibilità di conoscere approfonditamente gli ultimi 100 anni della Res Publica romana senza sentirne assolutamente il peso, anzi, amando ogni singola pagina letta. Il ciclo Masters of Rome resterà tra le esperienze più belle della mia storia di lettore.