Game of Thrones. Some have read the books, most have devoured the series (only one of these groups has been disappointed by the ending, since the other hasn’t yet experienced it). But few people know that George R. R. Martin's major inspiration for his life's work was a French historical fiction written by a French resistance fighter, historian, and academic.

The saga of The Accursed Kings cannot boast of being historically factual, although it does provide some education on the events leading up to the Hundred Years' War with England. The whole flavor of the story comes from the rather bold liberties Druon took to embellish it. Is it true that a laundress had a secret child with Louis the Hutin? In truth, these are just court rumors, but Druon exploits them. Some say that John I of France was poisoned: Druon claims this, characterizes lesser-known figures of French history, and makes them liars or brave, beautiful or ugly.

Yes, this fictional salt that makes history truly more appetizing to read can rightly make us wary. What is true? What is false? Look for yourselves. But one must commend the enormous amount of research, assembly, and production that such a work entails — especially before the advent of the Internet — spanning 7 volumes without ever really losing its breath.

I only hated the last volume. I read only the first fifteen pages, before flipping through the rest and, realizing that this infamous second-person narration persisted throughout, closing it permanently.

Some passages prove quite hard to swallow, and it's not due to Druon's prose. It’s simply that he sometimes bombards us with historical facts, characters left and right (does he expect us to know them?), battles, treaties, and places as well. You can try to memorize everything, but it’s often of little use, no matter how passionate about history you are.

A Vivid Psychology

While my favorite author remains undoubtedly Joseph Kessel, both for his prose as elegant as it is epic and especially always intelligible (right, Dostoevsky?), I must admit that Maurice Druon lightly touches the greatness of his uncle.

I find him brilliant in his way of describing humanity, both appearance and character. It’s always concise, effective, and above all very vivid. Impossible to read a scene involving Robert of Artois without feeling the very ground tremble beneath us, or to read the adventures of Guccio Baglioni without seeing his incisive Italian manners, or to hear the languid voice of Béatrice d'Hirson... And the text is often punctuated with small remarks about life or humanity in general, never revolutionary but always relevant, well-placed, the kind of remark that simply verbalizes a thought you’ve carried around for a long time or shows things from a new angle. A bit like René Barjavel would do in The Tiger's Hunger.

Druon also finds this delicate balance, which I seek myself in my stories, where he describes what is necessary and lets the reader’s imagination do the rest.