We already know the story. As Kimberly Cutter notes in her acknowledgments: “More books have been written about Joan of Arc than any other woman in history.” So why tell the tale again? That’s the question “The Maid” confronts — and answers in its own evocative way.
The story begins in the 15th century with Joan, a.k.a. Jehanne, accused simultaneously of witchcraft and sainthood. Surprisingly, the second accusation proves more damning. To her judges, it suggests arrogance, something the Catholic Church will not tolerate. How dare she refuse to disclose what her voices have told her? Those same voices have predicted Jehanne’s early death, but at the book’s opening, she still hopes to be spared.
Jehanne first heard God’s voice when she was 12, not in a church but in a garden near her home. For the young farm girl, the soul of France is represented by the fields and woods of Domremy. This is where her beloved saints appear to her. Saint Margaret, Saint Catherine and Saint Michael come bearing the same message: France must be saved from the English, and Jehanne has been chosen to lead the troops into battle.
In Cutter’s creative telling, the perfection of nature contrasts with the brutality of battle that has become an everyday part of Jehanne’s world. At this late stage of the Hundred Years’ War, raids and battles are moving ever closer, the Goddons are taking over France province by province, and now the Burgundians have allied with the English. Jehanne’s father, once her hero, is slowly going mad and becoming brutal himself. When her sister is killed, her father’s rages grow more frequent. It’s no surprise that Jehanne finds refuge in God, the saints and nature.
Some modern psychiatrists have speculated that Joan of Arc was schizophrenic. While that may be true, Cutter clearly considers such a diagnosis inadequate. Mentally ill or not, this young girl, through vision and determination, inspired a nation — and the world. With a singularity of purpose and a minor show of miracles, she persuaded the dauphin to allow thousands of outnumbered and war-weary men to follow her into an impossible war. They emerged victorious from many sieges, including the famous battle at Orleans.
As a result of Jehanne’s battlefield triumphs, the weak and unlikely dauphin was crowned king, something for which he might have been grateful. However, when Jehanne urged him to help her take back Paris, he didn’t support her. He said he was tired of war. When she was captured in Burgundy, he would not ransom her. Instead, he abandoned her to the highest bidder, the English. In an ecclesiastical trial that was later nullified, Jehanne was convicted.
A contributing editor at Marie Claire magazine, Cutter makes the story of Saint Joan worth retelling by breathing new life into these characters and dramatizing the complex politics of their era in a strikingly engaging way. She depicts Jehanne as she was, a simple farm girl who believed herself chosen to do God’s work. We see the bloody battles, the relationships formed and destroyed. We are with her when her voices fade, dimmed by stone walls and men’s agendas.
If I have any criticism of this book, it concerns the contemporary and conversational language Cutter uses. In most cases, this draws us in, eliminating the distance between the reader and the story. In a few places, however, it has the opposite effect, particularly when someone makes a disparaging remark about Jehanne’s character. “Watch her or she’ll run off the first chance she gets,” her father says, to become “a filthy army slut.” That remark stopped me cold, as I’m certain it was meant to do.
Later, when Jehanne is taunted by her captors, Cutter uses a modern obscenity that was offensive enough to pull me out of the novel to check the historical accuracy of the term. Although the word was in use even before the 15th century, its modern-day connotation is much more offensive than the original. Once again, the rhythm of the story was interrupted. In the first case, the interruption worked. In the second, it didn’t. Still, this was a minor issue in light of the considerable strength of the narrative.
Cutter’s depiction of this frequently told story does what all the best historical novels do: It raises the ongoing questions we need to ask ourselves: Is war ever justified? Why do we destroy those who inspire us? Should we put our faith in our own understanding of God or in someone else’s interpretation?
By exploring these questions, “The Maid” sheds new light on a legend from the past and ultimately succeeds in illuminating the present.
