Modern Britain is dead centre mainstream in world culture.
It is densely populated and profoundly un-mysterious. It is built on, over, under and around with bricks and concrete. It explains everything by science, and is civilised to the last drop of Costa coffee and the last act of Britain’s Got Talent.
But go back two thousand years and Britannia is wild, unknown on the edge of the world. It is populated by warrior tribes in villages and hill forts in the middle of empty plains and deep forests. And – above all – the gods are everywhere, deep with mysteries and wielding such dreadful powers that the tribes-people alternately shiver in terror and howl in ecstasy.
Then add the Romans who marched in step, and lived in cities with libraries, offices, baths, theatres, temples, taxes, wine, and fish-sauce, and who thought the gods were chaps much like themselves who looked after you, if you looked after them with respectful rituals, while preserving a stiff upper lip.
Any novelist who can’t make a good tale out of that, should seek alternative work. So I hope you might read my efforts, and I hope still more that you might enjoy them.
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