Trigger warnings: Miscarriage

6/10, at first I enjoyed this when I first read it in the early days of 2023 but looking at it now I wouldn't pick this back up again since I found some issues retroactively within this and even though the concept is actually quite interesting the execution is a bit lacking to say the least, where do I even begin. It starts off with the main character Isabel Aird living in a Scottish historical urban fantasy world which is quite a mouthful by the way and she can't be a mother because of her body at least that's what the book thinks but that is soon proven wrong which I'll get to later. There were a couple of subplots involving minor characters but the author couldn't find a way to make these characters actually relatable and thus I couldn't care nor could I connect to them. By the way the fantasy aspects of this novel were just barely there and this felt more like a historical book, nothing much happens in the middle of the book but it's probably to build up some suspense leading up to the end of the story, in the end I think the villain revealed himself just before a big battle could happen. The epilogue was interesting since I could see Queen Victoria visiting the Glasgow Waterworks Project or whatever it's called, I don't remember and Isabel has her ninth child, hence the title ending this on a high note. ( )

This was a great read, which although may need some perseverance at the beginning as it does kind of flip around a bit but it is worth sticking to. It entwines real life events in the 1850’s set in Scotland with some elements of magical realism too. The detail was fantastic and it shows the author did a lot of research about the aqueduct being built, why it was being built and the scenery too.
I thought it was an enlightening book with all the details of the disease, medicine and the building of the aqueduct as well as heart wrenching, losing one baby is hard but eight must be so destroying. ( )

The Ninth Child, Magnusson’s second novel, is inspired by a true event in Scottish history – the construction of the Loch Katrine aqueducts, meant to supply fresh water from the loch to the city of Glasgow, thirty-five miles away. This ambitious project was commenced in 1855 and was inaugurated by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1859. The protagonist of Magnusson’s story is the fictional Isabel Aird, whose husband Dr Alexander Aird is assigned to the project to cater for the workers’ medical requirements. Isabel joins her husband and is, at first, not particularly enthusiastic about her new life in the Highlands. She also battles with the pain of consecutive miscarriages. As she settles down, however, not only does she start to appreciate the countryside and the company of the locals but, inspired by the recent exploits of Florence Nightingale in Crimea, she also nurtures the ambition of working side by side with her husband in the medical profession.

Magnusson weaves into Isabel’s story the legend associated with the Reverend Robert Kirke (or Kirk), a 17th Century Scottish Episcopalian minister and Gaelic scholar. Kirke wrote the first complete translation of the Scottish metrical psalms into Gaelic, and was also involved in the publication of one of the earliest Gaelic editions of the Bible, whose printing in London was funded by scientist Robert Boyle. However, Kirke is nowadays best known for The Secret Commonwealth, a book which he left unpublished at his death. Its lengthy subtitle gives a good indication of the subject of Kirke’s studies: an Essay on the Nature and Actions of the Subterranean (and for the most part) Invisible People heretofore going under the names of Fauns and Fairies, or the like, among the Low Country Scots as described by those who have second sight. The fairy realm is hardly the typical area of study of a religious minister, and Kirke’s dubious dabbling in this “occult” fare gave rise to the legend that he was spirited away by the fairies at his death, his body replaced with that of a stranger. Sir Walter Scott refers to this legend in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft: Scott, it should be said, published the first edition of The Secret Commonwealth in 1815, more than a century after Kirke’s death.

Magnusson imagines Kirke returning from fairyland and striking up a friendship of sorts with Isabel Aird. Fairies and Elves in Gaelic folklore are hardly the cute spirits found in children’s books, and we soon learn that the sìthichean are asking from Kirke a nefarious deed in return for being released from fairy captivity.

The Ninth Child is a well-researched historical novel with supernatural elements – and it should have been right up my street. Yet, I struggled to finish it, leaving it to the side for several weeks before returning to it in earnest. I can’t really put my finger on why this was the case, particularly since so many readers have been really enthusiastic about the novel. It might be that I simply was not in the mood for it. That said, I could not shake off the impression that the book was somewhat all over the place. Isabel’s story is already compelling on its own, and with introduction of Kirke, we get some supernatural frisson as well. However, Magnusson also introduces several other characters, including historical figures such as Victoria and Albert and scientist and polymath William Rankine. Their stories and voices intertwine – sometimes in unlikely ways, such as Prince Albert’s meeting with Robert Kirke. I felt that these subplots sapped the punch from what could have been an interesting and captivating story.

Related to this, there’s also the issue of the multiple and rapidly changing viewpoints. The novel’s “anchoring” narrative is Isabel’s story, as recounted by Kirsty McEchern, Isabel’s Scottish helper and friend. However, the novel often switches to omniscient third person narration, showing us scenes between the Airds (and between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert) which, of course, Kirsty would not have been privy to. We then get Kirke’s ruminations, answered by the fairies’ insolent replies. This, apart from various letters and diary entries of the various figures, some of whom make little more than a cameo appearance. Again, I felt that this blurred the novel’s focus.

This book then, has plenty to recommend it, but I would have liked it leaner. ( )

The Ninth Child, Magnusson’s second novel, is inspired by a true event in Scottish history – the construction of the Loch Katrine aqueducts, meant to supply fresh water from the loch to the city of Glasgow, thirty-five miles away. This ambitious project was commenced in 1855 and was inaugurated by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1859. The protagonist of Magnusson’s story is the fictional Isabel Aird, whose husband Dr Alexander Aird is assigned to the project to cater for the workers’ medical requirements. Isabel joins her husband and is, at first, not particularly enthusiastic about her new life in the Highlands. She also battles with the pain of consecutive miscarriages. As she settles down, however, not only does she start to appreciate the countryside and the company of the locals but, inspired by the recent exploits of Florence Nightingale in Crimea, she also nurtures the ambition of working side by side with her husband in the medical profession.

Magnusson weaves into Isabel’s story the legend associated with the Reverend Robert Kirke (or Kirk), a 17th Century Scottish Episcopalian minister and Gaelic scholar. Kirke wrote the first complete translation of the Scottish metrical psalms into Gaelic, and was also involved in the publication of one of the earliest Gaelic editions of the Bible, whose printing in London was funded by scientist Robert Boyle. However, Kirke is nowadays best known for The Secret Commonwealth, a book which he left unpublished at his death. Its lengthy subtitle gives a good indication of the subject of Kirke’s studies: an Essay on the Nature and Actions of the Subterranean (and for the most part) Invisible People heretofore going under the names of Fauns and Fairies, or the like, among the Low Country Scots as described by those who have second sight. The fairy realm is hardly the typical area of study of a religious minister, and Kirke’s dubious dabbling in this “occult” fare gave rise to the legend that he was spirited away by the fairies at his death, his body replaced with that of a stranger. Sir Walter Scott refers to this legend in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft: Scott, it should be said, published the first edition of The Secret Commonwealth in 1815, more than a century after Kirke’s death.

Magnusson imagines Kirke returning from fairyland and striking up a friendship of sorts with Isabel Aird. Fairies and Elves in Gaelic folklore are hardly the cute spirits found in children’s books, and we soon learn that the sìthichean are asking from Kirke a nefarious deed in return for being released from fairy captivity.

The Ninth Child is a well-researched historical novel with supernatural elements – and it should have been right up my street. Yet, I struggled to finish it, leaving it to the side for several weeks before returning to it in earnest. I can’t really put my finger on why this was the case, particularly since so many readers have been really enthusiastic about the novel. It might be that I simply was not in the mood for it. That said, I could not shake off the impression that the book was somewhat all over the place. Isabel’s story is already compelling on its own, and with introduction of Kirke, we get some supernatural frisson as well. However, Magnusson also introduces several other characters, including historical figures such as Victoria and Albert and scientist and polymath William Rankine. Their stories and voices intertwine – sometimes in unlikely ways, such as Prince Albert’s meeting with Robert Kirke. I felt that these subplots sapped the punch from what could have been an interesting and captivating story.

Related to this, there’s also the issue of the multiple and rapidly changing viewpoints. The novel’s “anchoring” narrative is Isabel’s story, as recounted by Kirsty McEchern, Isabel’s Scottish helper and friend. However, the novel often switches to omniscient third person narration, showing us scenes between the Airds (and between Queen Victoria and Prince Albert) which, of course, Kirsty would not have been privy to. We then get Kirke’s ruminations, answered by the fairies’ insolent replies. This, apart from various letters and diary entries of the various figures, some of whom make little more than a cameo appearance. Again, I felt that this blurred the novel’s focus.

This book then, has plenty to recommend it, but I would have liked it leaner. ( )

‘The Ninth Child’ by Sally Magnusson is a Scottish historical mystery featuring a doctor’s wife, Queen Victoria, an infrastructure project to bring clean water to Glasgow from the wild and beautiful lochs, and the sithichean (fairies).
It is a story of water and the fate of two different women, both expecting their ninth child, and their husbands; one who is ignorant until the end, the other who looks the threat in the eye and shivers. The pregnant women, who have never met, are the Queen and Isabel, wife of Dr Alexander Aird, physician to the water construction project. The Airds live on the remote and basic construction site in a stone cottage called Fairy Knoll, alongside the drilling and tunnelling of the water project. There are two stories here - a historical saga about health and living conditions for the families which struggle both in Glasgow tenements and of the navvies that work on the water project; and a mystical story of a preacher stolen by the fairies in 1692 who returns 167 years later to talk and walk with Isabel Aird. His purpose is not clear but he is egged on by a fairy voice with whom he has made an unearthly deal. The link with Queen Victoria is tenuous and, after a strong introduction, this strand goes silent for a long time.
The tale is told by the Aird’s neighbour and servant Kirsty McEchern, alternating with Robert Kirke the preacher and, briefly, Prince Albert. At times the transition between viewpoints is sudden and confusing and I admit to skipping over some of the Robert Kirke passages. Sometimes his dialect merged into a following section by Kirsty and this took me away from the story. But I did like the character of Isabel Aird and the portrayal of her journey through the grief for her eight miscarriages. Inspired by contemporary women such as Florence Nightingale and Anne Lister, Isabel fights against her husband’s expectations that she pursue a gentlewoman’s traditional life. The juxtaposition of the Queen, Isabel and Kirsty demonstrates that women, whatever their class and education, face many of the same trials in life and have the similar mental and physical fortitude when called upon.
Magnusson is a confident writer in this period and I believed in the construction site she describes near Loch Chon and Loch Katrine. Many characters and incidents are based on real people and events including many places in the Trossachs national park which to this day bear fairy names. The Queen Victoria strand promised much but was under-used. I wished the story had more pace and for this reason the first three-quarters of the book was a 3* for me, rising to 4* for the last quarter which races along. A special mention goes to the glorious purple thistle cover.
Read more of my book reviews at http://www.sandradanby.com/book-reviews-a-z/ ( )