The most recommended books on chivalry

Jade is born special, and she is prepared to continue on her dutiful path – marrying someone she fears and distrusts, giving of her very blood to nourish her kingdom, and never questioning why her sacrifice is necessary. Until the day before her wedding, when an unauthorized encounter with a pirate ship changes everything. William is a pirate with secrets, honor, and unexpected chivalry. Jade grows closer to him as she grows closer to the horrifying truth about her existence. It’s impossible not to get drawn into Jade’s world, and the moral ambiguity of it all.

My goal this year was to commit to longer books. So, I read A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. It was not too long, but it was too dry. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, however, is Martin’s saving grace - it’s light, relatable, humorous, fun, and atmospheric.

What makes it so great is that it hones in on the story of just two characters whom you get to know intimately: Dunk, a failing hedge knight, and Egg, a royal in disguise.

Martin constructs a narrative of blind optimism in the face of constant failure for Dunk, which is something I strongly identified with. Almost everything I’ve done as a creative has failed, yet I keep pushing forward – nothing will stop me. Seeing this attitude in a book character compelled me to keep reading.

Are you fascinated by knights in shining armor? This is the illustrated book for you.

Yes, it’s a book essentially for kids, but I found it incredibly useful for my research on everything from jousting to armory, from swords to riding armed on horseback. It also has a useful timeline in the back that gives useful dates from Charlemagne’s use of mounted warriors to the use of squires, crusades, tournaments, and the end of the era in the 1600s.

I was hesitant to include this title because I’m not fully convinced by McAleer’s argument that the persistence into the 20th Century of violent pistol dueling in Germany signals a uniquely German mentality, an intensely caste-conscious and militaristic cult of violence “divergent from that of other Western nations” and “innately antithetical to classical liberalism,” or in other words, the exact opposite of what Steven Hughes describes for Italy. But the book is a brilliantly compelling read, and people have a right to make up their own minds.

Cameron’s Chivalry series of which this is the first, takes the reader on a thrilling journey across Europe during the Hundred Years War, chronicling the life of a mercenary who comes to serve the great Sir John Hawkwood and eventually is knighted himself.

Cameron is a master of prose description, scene-setting, and dialogue that rings true to the ear. His historical research is impeccable and like me, he has for many years donned full armour in reenactments and tournaments and so truly understands the challenges of medieval combat. A great read.

The Ruins of Gorlan for me was a reminder that you never let anyone tell you, “you can’t”.

Will was a misfit, an orphan. He was too small for battle school and becoming a knight, not adept at being a diplomat, a scholar, nor even a cook. He had no idea what would become of him. It was a fear that permeates down deep. I remember how I felt when I couldn’t go into the army, was unable to go to Devry, and I didn’t want the ordinary.

For Will, it all changes and his fantastic journey begins as he’s chosen to be the ranger’s apprentice. And I cheered inside. I knew it. He didn’t give up. We didn’t give up. And found what our skills were best suited for.

I loved that this book took me back to my fantasy roots and is epic fantasy at its best.

The post-apocalyptic theme in this book is not obvious at first and is only really explained as the trilogy progresses. I love that Kelsea is nothing like a normal protagonist, perhaps a result of this mysterious and uncertain history. I found it authentic that she was inexperienced, lacking in confidence, and had to labour hard to mature and find her place and role in the story.

I loved the dark, sinister, and mysterious nature of the antagonist, the Red Queen. And I loved the setting, the kingdoms, the threat of war, the chivalry of knights, and the threat of assassins.

Thomas Costain’s series introduced me to a fascinating world of castles and cathedrals, of tournaments where mounted knights broke lances on behalf of their ladies, where courtly love and chivalry ruled the day. (In theory. Seldom in practice.) How strange, my preteen self thought. How enchanting! I was particularly fascinated by The Three Edwards, which recounts the reign of one of England’s worst kings sandwiched between two of its greatest. With the eye of a natural storyteller, Costain intersperses tales of wars, rebellions, and political machinations with myths such as Arthur and Guinevere’s tombs being “discovered” in Glastonbury and the possible origins of Robin Hood. While there are newer series mining the same period, Costain’s research remains relatively solid, and his prose retains its powerful simplicity.  

The 400+ year-old urtext of metafiction, Cervantes’ masterpiece is directly responsible for my own novel. But its influence on literature is incalculable. The story of a man driven mad by the spellbinding power of romantic books about knights and the women they serve, Don Quixote is more than just a comedy. While serving up one misadventure after another, Cervantes pokes fun at books about chivalry, poetry, authorial ego, and the very process of writing a book. Subjects that still consume us today, from book burning to censorship to plagiarism, also get their time in the spotlight. One note of caution: many readers find Don Quixote too long. Open it up and start reading anywhere, it is a bible of another sort.  

I love this description of the power that the Arthurian legends exerted in nineteenth-century Britain and its cultural imagination.

With the re-printing of Thomas Malory’s Morte Darthur, poets, writers, and artists were inspired by these tales of chivalry and sacrifice at a time when the British Empire was at its height and ideals of service, governance, and personal endeavour were central to norms of masculinity.

Girouard perfectly captures the mood of the times and shows us why the vision of Camelot, doomed in its own Arthurian context, was even more flawed, and yet magnetic, in the context of empire.