SPOILER ALERT: JULIUS CAESAR GETS ASSASSINATED.

Sorry, I felt like I needed to get that out of the way first. What more can I say about Colleen McCullough and this masterpiece of a series that I haven't already? The historicity, the attention to detail, the astounding depth of the characters all make The October Horse on par with the best works of historical fiction.

Chronologically, this takes us from Caesar's pursuit of Pompey following his crushing victory at the Battle of Pharsalus to the ultimate suicide of the chief conspirator and douchebag extraordinaire Gaius Cassius Longinus. Along the way, we witness the much-romanticized affair between Caesar and Cleopatra, the profound restructuring of Roman society in Caesar's image, and the meteoric rise of Rome's first emperor: Gauis Octavianus Augustus Caesar.

Of all the things I adored about this book, the most salient was probably the way McCullough portrayed the relationship between Octavian and his best friend: Marcus Agrippa. Where Caesar was an ice-cold machine who withheld emotional intimacy from even his closest lovers, Octavian never shied away from expressing love and adoration for Agrippa.

All too often, characterizations of male relationships fall into two frustratingly reductive categories:
1) "Bromances" defined by machismo and bereft of any emotional depth
2) Laughably stereotypical gay relationships that only serve to further some plot point or serve as
comedic relief

In The October Horse, McCullough offers a refreshing alternative: an unexpected yet natural friendship between two men defined by their abiding, platonic love for one another.

That being said, the relationship between Octavian and Agrippa remains a relatively minor component of the larger plot. It just really stood out to me and I wanted to praise McCullough for portraying male friendships not as they are, but rather as they ought to be.

Historical fiction can inform of critical past events while entertaining the reader, but it risks the error of focusing one’s view on the illusion raised by the author. In this case, Rome’s greatest citizen, Gaius Julius Caesar, is presented as an ambiguous and complex human being, whose moods inexplicably run the spectrum from everyman’s advocate to divine dictator.
In a tangle of dialog that undertakes the task of attributing motive and reason to the cohorts and events of Caesar’s last days, McCullough only succeeds in turning this volume – her sixth and last episode in an ambitious Masters of Rome series – itself into the October horse of legend. In the macabre ritual, the winning steed in a race on the Plain of Mars was annually sacrificed and mutilated to Rome’s past glory.
The union between Caesar and Cleopatra is also sacrificed to credibility. In the author’s imagination, Egypt’s queen is endowed with political genius and a homely visage, wavering between admiration and resentment of her lover. In the few chapters that hope to explain the great power struggle between the oriental and occidental cultures they embody, the pair nonchalantly produce the potential heir to the two domains without giving thought to the possibilities. The novel’s dearth of action and occasional use of silent dialogue between the two protagonists hardly warrants its subtitle.
Back in Rome, we wade through conversations that sound more like recitations of onomastica than genuine discourse. Indeed, the narrative exploits the author’s assiduous research in the martial strategies and political tempests of the time. But while the players act out a spectrum of quixotic sentiments – from pathetic infatuation to patriotic zeal, the story – in spite of its voluminous historical detail – fails to penetrate the designs of its ancient heroes.
Instead, the motivations of Brutus, Marc Antony, and Octavian appear vain and prosaic. Despite the inference of familial loyalties and national fervor, they come off as distant and confused. The tale leads the reader from the glory days of the Roman Republic to the tentative emergence of an Imperial milieu brought about by Caesar’s unmanageable ego and a host of miscreants who, like the ancient ritual, won by losing the race. The reader is not so lucky.

Narratively, this book is a continuation of "Caesar".
(Spoilers)


It marks an end of the Roman Republican era, the Republic entering its death throes as Caesar lay in the Curia of Pompey, stabbed twenty three times. Several other personages, including Cicero, Cato, Brutus, also meet their ends in this book. Just as this book signals the end of the Republic, it also heralds the beginning of the Empire, in the personage of Caesar's heir: Octavian. Enter Octavian, master manipulator extraordinaire, onto the stage of Roman politics. His rise from a mere teenager to a member of the second Triumvirate is very engagingly depicted. I am so looking forward to the next book in the series!