This blog post is a follow-up to one I posted on September 18, 2017 on Jane Porter’s The Scottish Chiefs. In that post, I lamented that no complete biography has been published of Jane Porter and that there has been no critical edition of the novel. Since then, Devoney Looser published her wonderful biography of Jane Porter and her sister Anna Maria Porter, titled Sister Novelists. I posted about Looser’s biography on January 10, 2023. Besides being a well-researched and thoroughly interesting biography, it revealed to me that the edition of The Scottish Chiefs I own and have read twice, the Scribner 1921 edition with illustrations by N. C. Wyeth, is a heavily abridged edition. Yes, I had read the introduction in that edition by Kate Douglass Wiggin where she describes how she and Nora Smith, the book’s editors, hardly changed anything in the book. Wiggin states:
Neither of the editors believes in abridging the classics; still less in altering, interrupting, or adding to a text that should be sacred; but we hope that we have taken away from the present edition nothing but negligible phrases, paragraphs that are not a part of the main flow of the story; a little of the descriptive matter, retaining the most beautiful where there is little else than sheer beauty; preserving the historic content, and not allowing a single romantic incident to escape us in a world that sometimes threatens to be dull, dreary and lacking in idealism. (p. ix)
Could anything be more untrue? Wiggin tells at least a half-lie here since she and Smith did everything she says, but her tone makes us believe just a word or at most a paragraph here or there was cut or changed. In truth, about one-third of the book was cut for the Scribner edition. Worse, they constantly rewrote sentences, often to make them shorter, but rarely improving them. The novel’s very first sentence was altered. In the Scribner edition, the first sentence is “Bright was the summer of 1296.” In Porter’s original, it begins, “That war which had desolated Scotland was now at an end.” Only later in the paragraph does Porter insert the year 1296, but Wiggin and Smith felt the need to insert the date earlier. The number of such changes is far too numerous to discuss in detail. But worse, whole paragraphs and even pages of text are cut. In one place, a very Radcliffean exclamation about nature is chopped out, which detracts from the work’s place in the Romantic tradition. In another, Wallace meets a poor family and hears them praise him before his identity is known to them—it is all cut from the novel. In other cases, chapters of Porter’s novel were trimmed down and combined into new chapters. In short, a travesty was committed.
Fortunately, I have since learned that Broadview Press published an edition of The Scottish Chiefs in 2007, edited by Fiona Price, which includes the complete five-volume original text. While not a critical edition, it has a wonderful introduction by Price, retains Porter’s own notes about her sources in writing the novel, and includes appendices of Porter’s prefaces to later editions, contemporary reviews of the novel’s editions, and poems about Wallace by other authors. I would like more notes and clear statements on the historical people in the novel to separate them from the fictional characters so I don’t have to keep looking them up at Wikipedia, but the Broadview Press edition is the one to read. That said, I found it fascinating to carefully compare it to the Scribner edition as I read to discover what changes were made.
I always wanted to like The Scottish Chiefs, but when I first read it in 1992, I found it dull. That was three years before Braveheart (1995) was released. After rewatching Braveheart in 2017, I wanted to revisit Porter’s novel. I found it more interesting on a reread, but somewhat dull in places, still not knowing I was reading a heavily abridged volume. Now, on reading the Broadview Press edition, I was blown away by Porter’s writing and the strong Romanticism evident throughout the novel. Now I think the novel a true marvel and one of the gems of the Romantic period.
For the remainder of this essay, I will discuss the role of love in The Scottish Chiefs and how it affects the love quadrangle of characters. While some readers might only think a love triangle exists in the novel, in many ways, it is a very subversive text, and a close reading reveals that gender fluidity marks the text. The members of this love quadrangle are Sir William Wallace, who is widowed early in the novel; Helen of Mar, a young virgin and daughter of the Earl of Mar; her stepmother Joanna, Countess of Mar, who though married falls in love with Wallace and throws herself at him; and Edwin Ruthven, Helen’s cousin who—believe it or not—is clearly in love with Sir William Wallace despite all the descriptions of it being brotherly love in the novel. Some might argue Edwin simply hero-worships Wallace, but I will argue and cite passages that demonstrate the text clearly implies Edwin has homosexual tendencies toward Wallace and that Wallace may even share those tendencies. In her introduction to the Broadview Press edition, Fiona Price notes the novel contains “latent homosexuality” (p. 21), but I’m not sure it’s solely latent). Because homosexuality would be a taboo subject, while Porter repeatedly hints at it, she also pulls back into claims of platonic love. (Porter never uses the word platonic but describes it as “brotherly” or “spiritual.”) The only member of the quadrangle whose love is not purified by being described as being spiritual is Joanna, whose love is “passionate.”
I will now highlight the significant moments in the relationships between the characters in the love quadrangle. The novel opens when Wallace is pulled into the events of the Scottish War against the tyrant King Edward I of England. A Scottish noble, Donald, Earl of Mar, seeks Wallace’s aid to hide him and a mysterious casket. By the end of the novel, we will learn the casket contains the regalia of Scotland. Wallace and his wife Marion hide Mar, but when the English soldiers come, Marion is slain. This crime causes Wallace to take up arms for his country to free it. He repeatedly from this point on feels like God has chosen him to save Scotland and that Marion’s death, as much as it hurts him, is part of Scotland’s plan.
Once Wallace takes up arms to free Scotland, he also feels he is no longer capable of loving another woman. While in time he grows to love both Helen and Edwin, he refers to this love as that of a brother and sister.
Helen and Edwin also develop love in their hearts for Wallace. Helen realizes she loves Wallace, but she also understands his statements that he cannot love again, and she does not believe he can love her in that way. Wallace is repeatedly described as being like a god and someone to be worshiped, so not surprisingly, Helen may feel she is not worthy of the love of a being so superior to her.
Edwin is a different story. Edwin is a boy of fifteen who has been weak and sickly, so he has been sent to a monastery to live. The monastery is attacked by the English, causing Edwin to be rescued by Wallace. From that point, Edwin is dedicated to Wallace, indeed worships him, and likely has homosexual feelings for him. At the same time, through Wallace’s fatherly or brotherly love, Edwin gains confidence to become more manly and do manly warlike deeds. We might just call this male bonding or a father’s influence, but an extreme number of scenes about Wallace and Edwin’s love suggests something more is going on.
It is hard to tell if Wallace has any feelings for Edwin that might be of a sexual nature, but I suspect his relationship with Edwin is a type of surrogate relationship for his inability to love a woman—both because he mourns Marion and because a woman’s love would interfere with his ability to focus on the fight for Scotland’s independence from English tyranny. Consequently, the love Wallace feels for Edwin seems to be a vicarious replacement for his love of a woman.
Edwin, however, clearly has stronger feelings for Wallace that go beyond hero-worship or brotherly love. Wallace, in turn, transforms Edwin into a pseudo-female in his thoughts. For example, at one point Wallace has a nightmare that Edwin has drowned. He awakes and declares:
“Oh! I love thee, Edwin,” he exclaimed to himself, “and I fear my hermit-heart was to be separated from all but a patriot’s love! So is Heaven’s will; and why then did I think of loving thee?—must thou too die, that Scotland may have no rival, that Wallace may feel himself quite alone?” (p. 252-3; all subsequent page numbers from the Broadview edition)
Here, Wallace is equating Edwin with the dead Marion. She had to die so Wallace would be free to fight for Scotland. Now that he realizes he loves Edwin, he fears Edwin will have to die also.
Later, Edwin tells Wallace, “Ah, my beloved general, what Jonathan was to David I would be to thee!” Wallace replies, “But thy love, passes not the love of woman, Edwin!” In response, Edwin replies, “No, but it equals it…what has been done for thee, I would do; only love me as David did Jonathan, and I shall be the happiest of the happy.” Wallace replies, “Be happy then; sweet boy!…For all that ever beat in heathen or in Christian breast for friend or brother, lives in my heart for thee” (p. 295).
Porter continually does this, hinting at something more than brotherly love, then pulling back to call it something more innocent. The David and Jonathan reference recalls 2 Samuel 1:26, where after Jonathan dies, David says of him, “thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.” Notably, though, both Wallace and Edwin agree Edwin does not offer love that passes that of a woman. Rather because Edwin’s love equals a woman’s love, it equates him with a woman, making him the subordinate in his relationship with Wallace, the dominant male.
If I seem to be reading between the lines too much, consider the following passage. Here, Wallace and Edwin have been parted and they express their joy at being reunited.
“[Edwin was] clasped in the arms of Wallace. Real transport, true happiness, now dilated the heart of the before desponding chief. He pressed the dear boy again and again to his bosom, and kissed his white forehead with all the rapture of the fondest brother. “Thank God! thank God!” was all that Edwin could say; while, at every effort he made to tear himself away from Wallace to congratulate his uncle on his safety, his heart overflowing towards his friend, opened afresh, and he clung the closer to his breast; till at last exhausted with happiness, the little hero of Dumbarton gave way to the sensibility of his tender age, and the chief felt his bosom wet with the joy-drawn tears of his youthful knight.” (p. 255)
To me, this is hardly less than a veiled orgasm on Edwin’s part. Edwin is pulled repeatedly to Wallace until he is exhausted and ejaculates tears. Call it brotherly love if you want, but having had a brother, I’ve never seen two brothers express love in such a dramatic fashion. Notably, the Scribner edition completely cuts this scene, suggesting Wiggin and Smith could read between the lines also.
Other characters are also aware of the heightened affection between Wallace and Edwin. Witnessing the above scene, Edwin’s cousin Murray says to Wallace, “That urchin is such a monopoliser, that I see you have not a greeting for anyone else!” (p. 255). Murray is only joking, but several other characters find this homoerotic love less amusing and take it more seriously.
Helen feels she must repress her feelings for Wallace, though she thinks of him as “a God” and is aware that she could easily fall down and worship him (p. 346). She thinks, “I may steal some portion of the rare lot that was Lady Marion’s—to die for such a man,” but then she adds, “Ah, that I could be in Edwin’s place, and wait upon his smiles, and with my bosom shield his breast! But that may not be: I am a woman, and formed to suffer in silence and seclusion. But even at a distance, brave Wallace, my spirit shall watch over you in the form of this Edwin; I will teach him a double care of the light of Scotland” (p. 347). In other words, Helen wishes she could be Edwin so she could always be with Wallace, and she imaginatively transforms herself into Edwin to protect Wallace.
Wallace repeatedly holds Helen at a distance, citing he must fight for Scotland and that he can love no woman, but he keeps having a spiritual relationship with her. At one point they are in “communion” and she is described as “the sublimest of beings.” He then gives her a chain to wear to “bear witness to a friendship…which will be cemented by eternal ties in heaven!” (p. 378).
Later, Helen feels resigned to live like a nun for Wallace, and she tells Edwin, “He has spoken to me the language of friendship: you know what it is to be his friend: And having tasted of heaven, I cannot stoop to earth” (p. 409).
In response, Edwin says, “Ah, Helen! Helen!…durst I speak the wishes of my heart! But you and Sir William Wallace would both frown on me, and I dare not!”
“Then never do!” exclaimed Helen, turning pale, and trembling from head to foot; too well guessing by the generous glow in his countenance, what would have been that wish” (p. 409).
But does Helen guess correctly? We are led to assume Edwin wishes Helen and Wallace could be together, but perhaps Edwin is only wishing to be with Wallace himself.
Joanna also suspects something unusual about the closeness between Edwin and Wallace, largely because of her jealousy toward anyone Wallace loves since she loves him herself. Joanna is the only one in the love quadrangle who is not chaste or pure in her feelings. To some degree, we might argue that Wallace, Helen, and Edwin are all repressing their sexuality while Joanna is the only one in touch with her sexual needs and passion. However, because she is married to Lord Mar, not to mention she is too forward and obnoxious for Wallace to love, Wallace repeatedly refuses her. Joanna is a sublime villain, even wishing her husband were dead so she can marry Wallace. But while she clearly admires Wallace—everyone in the novel does; even Queen Margaret of England falls for him later—Joanna’s love is love of self-interest. She is herself descended from one of the houses contending for the throne of Scotland, so she considers herself a princess. She envisions her royal blood can help Wallace take the throne for himself, and then he will want her to be his queen. It will be a marriage of convenience for them, but also one of love. Wallace wants nothing to do with such a relationship, however.
After her husband dies and Joanna reveals the full extent of her intentions toward Wallace, she comes to embody the statement that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. In the end, she plots against Wallace, wishing him dead rather than seeing him marry Helen, whom he denies he can love because his heart belongs to Marion, but Joanna knows better. In the end, as Joanna feared, Wallace and Helen do marry when he is in prison and about to be killed by King Edward. Again, Joanna seems the only character in touch with her and even others’ sexuality, and while she is the greatest villain in the novel, save perhaps King Edward, she is perhaps the character who feels most real to us today.
Being in touch with her sexuality, Joanna not only realizes the love between Helen and Wallace, but she recognizes Edwin’s improper feelings for Wallace. This recognition first happens when Edwin teases her for not letting Wallace leave her presence by saying, “if you do not mean to play Circle to our Ulysses, give us leave to go!” She whispers, “Are you indeed my nephew?” At first, I thought she was offended by his remark, but Porter then tells us, “A strange jealousy glanced on her heart; she had never seen Edwin Ruthven; the blooming cheek of this youth, his smooth skin, his almost impassioned fondness for Wallace: all made a wild suspicion rush upon her mind” (p. 262). What can this mean other than that she realizes Edwin is in love with Wallace? Fiona Price interprets this as saying Joanna suspects Edwin is really a woman (p. 21), which is possible since she has never seen him before and cross-dressing is not uncommon in the novel, but whether she really thinks Edwin a woman or suspects he is queer, it is a shocking moment in the novel and I suspect she feels Edwin is trying to steal Wallace from her.
Later, Joanna is stupid enough to reveal to Edwin her plans to marry Wallace and have him make her his queen. When Edwin upbraids her, she replies, “when you love yourself, and struggle with a passion that drinks your very life, you will pity Joanna of Mar, and forgive her!” By this point her husband is recently dead, so she tries to claim she has only just begun to love Wallace, but Edwin responds that love grows by degrees, and there has not been time for such love to grow. Joanna then realizes “by the remarks of Edwin that he was deeper read in the human heart than she had suspected; that he was neither ignorant of the feelings of the passion, nor of what ought to be its source” (p. 491). Edwin has had no passion for a woman at this point; he is a fifteen-year-old boy who has been locked up in a monastery—what passion can he know except for the passion he feels for Wallace?
Joanna is so consumed by passion that at one point she dresses herself as the Green Knight of the Plume to join Wallace. After a battle, she reveals her true identity to him and claims she has proven her love for him by putting herself in danger. Wallace once again rejects her. She then works to destroy Wallace. When the Scottish chiefs hold a trial and Joanna accuses Wallace of treason, others speculate that the Green Knight might have been the treasonous one or working with Wallace. Joanna is now afraid that Wallace may have told Edwin that she was the Green Knight and he will reveal it. Wallace has not told Edwin since he is too honorable to cast shame on her by revealing her ill behavior. However, to protect herself, Joanna “informs the council of the infatuated attachment of Edwin Ruthven to the accused, and she concluded by asserting that she had ample cause for knowing that the boy was so bewitched by the commander who had flattered his youthful vanity by loading him with the distinctions due to approved valour in manhood, that he was ready at any time to sacrifice every consideration of truth, reason, and duty, to please Sir William Wallace” (p. 623). In other words, “That gay boy is so infatuated with lust for Wallace he’ll lie for him.”
In Edwin’s final scene, he tries to protect Wallace, resulting in being shot with an arrow to his heart. He embodies that there is no greater love than to die for one’s friend. Wallace, in mourning, says of Edwin, “In thee was truth, manhood, and nobleness; in thee was all man’s fidelity, with woman’s tenderness” (p. 67). With Edwin’s death, I rest my case on whether he was gay or not.
If Edwin and Wallace do have homosexual feelings for each other, Porter tries to cover this up with depictions of Wallace’s heroism and the argument that after Marion’s death, he can only love on a spiritual level. Consequently, she repeatedly depicts Wallace in Christ-like terms. Such references are numerous, so I will only cite a few examples of how Wallace resembles Christ.
At one point, Wallace is reunited with his old steward, Gregory, who declares, “O Power of Mercy, take me now to thyself, since my eyes have seen the deliverer of Scotland!” (p. 390). This recalls the priest Simeon when he sees Christ as a baby in the temple and proclaims, “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2: 28-31).
In another scene, Wallace arranges to feed the poor, though obviously he can’t multiply fish and loaves (p. 392).
Also like Christ, the common people love Wallace so much that the other Scottish leaders begin to feel threatened by him (p. 444). At this point, Joanna begins plotting to get Wallace crowned king and the people are crying out “Long live our King!” (p. 444). They want to crown him just like the Jews wanted Christ to be King of the Jews, a title he refused just as Wallace refuses to take the throne. And yet, the Sanhedrin accused Christ of wanting to be king and the Scottish leaders accuse Wallace of the same.
Eventually, to remove contention, Wallace steps down from being regent, but he says if Scotland is in danger, “the spirit of Wallace will be with you still!” (p. 487) just like Christ tells the apostles after he leaves earth that he will always be with them (Matthew 28:20).
Edwin tells Joanna that Wallace will not accept a crown, saying “Earthly crowns are dross to him who looks for a heavenly one” (p. 490). Later, when Wallace is imprisoned, he is mocked like Christ by having laurels thrown at his head, which reflects how Christ was given a crown of thorns. In fact, Porter’s note says Wallace was given a wreath of laurel, but she says for obvious reasons she changed this (p. 676). The reasons are not that obvious; why would she shy away from comparing Wallace to Christ here when she does so frequently elsewhere? Later, Wallace, though referring to himself as a servant to his master, remarks that Christ laid down his life for a rebellious world, so he can do no less (p. 691).
Numerous other passages support my arguments that I will not quote, but anyone who reads the novel will not fail to realize the hero worship of Wallace that exists, the way all the characters (save his enemies) feel almost compelled to love him, and the parallels between Wallace and Christ.
The question remains as to how accurate the novel is. Most events are historical as Porter attests, but her treatment of Wallace himself may be more romanticized than realistic. While The Scottish Chiefs fits most strongly into the categories of Romanticism and historical fiction, it is also worth noting that Porter is carrying on the eighteenth-century novel of manners tradition and writing very much in the style of Fanny Burney and Samuel Richardson in how she handles gender themes. Porter’s Wallace is a study in hero-worship, continually referred to as godlike, perhaps even a more perfect Sir Charles Grandison. The female conduct books of the eighteenth century taught a young woman how to conduct herself (largely to win a man). Richardson and Burney both created novels to illustrate how to conduct oneself. In Richardson’s Sir Charles Grandison (1753-4), it is the demure Harriet Byron who wins the title character, not the forward Lady Olivia. In Burney’s The Wanderer (1814), Harleigh is loved by the forward Elinor, but it is the demure Juliet he marries. So here, Wallace rejects the forward Joanna in favor of the virginal Helen with whom he can experience spiritual love, and while he marries her in the end when he is in prison, notably, she is still a virgin when he dies.
Consequently, while Porter does provide historical research and develop her characters very well, the novel is still a product of her time. Her gentlemanly, noble, and almost saintly Wallace may not be the rough man he was in reality, as an 1810 review of the novel in The Scots Magazine argued, saying the “rough strength and austerity” of Wallace instead “is represented as finished fine gentleman, and the idol of every female heart” (p. 751). Sir Walter Scott also thought the portrait of Wallace was inaccurate, remarking in a letter to a friend about the novel, “Lord help her!…It is not safe meddling with the hero of a country and of all others I cannot endure to see the character of Wallace frittered away to that of a fine gentleman” (Looser p. 281). Perhaps Scott is right in this regard; perhaps he was so appalled by Porter’s depiction of Wallace that he could not give Porter credit for influencing him. However, the remark proves he read the novel. I won’t get into the controversy here of whether Scott or Porter deserve credit for being the first historical novelist, but I do believe Porter deserves far more credit than she has received to date. Not only is she the mother of historical fiction, but she was not afraid to explore gender roles and sexuality, while reining in her subversive themes under the cloak of platonic, spiritual, Christian love to make them palatable to the reading public. Thankfully new interest in her, new editions, and Looser’s biography are helping to place her back into the forefront of early historical fiction.
Curious to learn more about Wallace and determine just how historical Porter was, I read William Mackay’s 1995 biography William Wallace: Brave Heart, which notably came out the same year as the film Braveheart. Mackay appears to be completely clueless that The Scottish Chiefs ever existed since he never references it, yet he points out that Wallace’s capture of the Red Rover, a historical event, is referenced in Sir Walter Scott’s The Fair Maid of Perth (1828), one of Scott’s lesser-known books.
Porter’s primary source was the poem about Wallace by Blind Harry, and this is also a primary source for Mackay’s biography. Much of what Porter includes has historical evidence or historical tradition, but she deviates from history in many substantial ways. In reality, Wallace began his campaign against the English as the result of his father being murdered (p. 60), not because his wife Marion was murdered. In fact, Wallace was well into his campaign against the English before he ever married. Like Porter’s hero, he felt he had no time for marriage when he had to free Scotland, although in time he did marry Marion and she was murdered after helping her husband to escape (p. 105-13). Mackay notes that many later historians thought depictions of Wallace’s great size and strength were exaggerated, but Mackay states he was likely six-foot-seven and in a warrior culture a man of great strength would have been admired and a leader.
However, Wallace was a gentleman in many ways, if not to the extreme Porter depicts. As a second son, he was actually intended for the church, which may have helped to soften his character. He probably felt the only good Englishman was a dead Englishman, so he was not gentle with his English soldier captives, but he never killed women, children, or the clergy. Mackay also points out that Wallace was innately modest, selfless, worked for the good of his people, and was the only Scottish leader who never took an oath of fealty to Edward I (p. 173).
One fascinating aspect of Wallace’s history is that twice he put on women’s clothes to escape the English and got away. This is quite shocking given his huge size. Porter has plenty of crossdressing in her novel, but it is the women, Helen and Joanna, who cross-dress, never the men. Wallace also nearly died after being captured and assaulted by the English at one point. He was believed dead and even was being prepared for burial when a woman noticed he was still alive and nursed him back to health. Mackay says this symbolic resurrection wouldn’t have been lost on his followers who would have gotten the Christ-like comparison (p. 89). Later, like Christ, Wallace does have a crown of laurels placed on his head in mockery by the English before his death, and Mackay notes such mockery was quite common in medieval times (p. 257).
Porter’s cast of characters is largely fictional, but Mackay notes that an English soldier named Grimmsesby (Grimsby in Porter) did change sides to fight with Wallace (p. 115). Andrew Moray (Murray in Porter) was a major Scottish leader in the North (p. 121), Wallace’s grandfather was murdered by the English (p. 124), and a young night named Ruthven brought thirty men to serve with Wallace; later this Ruthven would be the Sheriff of Perth (p. 136). This Ruthven may be the character Edwin is based on.
Wallace’s visits to the court of Philip IV and his encounters at sea with pirates are also historical and similar to Porter’s depictions. In addition, he visited Rome and likely met with the Pope and may have also visited Norway, but Porter ignores these visits. However, Porter also depicts Wallace going disguised as a minstrel to Edward I’s court and even winning the heart of Queen Marguerite; this incident appears to be Porter’s invention.
The most noticeable difference in the historical record from Porter’s novel is Wallace’s death. Porter allows Wallace to die a natural death in the Tower of London. In truth, Wallace never was kept in the tower but in a private house under house arrest (p. 258). He then received the standard punishment for treason (although since he never swore an oath of loyalty to Edward I, he never technically committed treason). That punishment was hanging, drawing, and quartering—a ghastly form of death that Porter may have felt too ignoble an end for her hero or perhaps too violent for her readers. Wallace’s body parts were then sent to various parts of Scotland for display while his head was put on a pike on London Bridge (p. 263-6).
It is a shame Mackay did not read The Scottish Chiefs and note some of the historical differences. At least two more biographies of William Wallace that I have not read have appeared since Mackay’s biography, so I do not know if other biographers have acknowledged Porter’s novel. An annotated version of the novel is still needed to detail further where Porter was historically accurate and where she differed from the historical record. Regardless, The Scottish Chiefs is the most historically accurate novel about a historical person and period that had been written when it appeared in 1810. For all its elements of romance, it is clearly more historical fiction than romance. Porter’s novel remains a monumental achievement for which all lovers of historical fiction can be grateful.
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Tyler Tichelaar, PhD, is the author of The Gothic Wanderer: From Transgression to Redemption, Vampire Grooms and Spectre Brides: The Marriage of French and British Gothic Literature, King Arthur’s Children: A Study in Fiction and Tradition, Haunted Marquette: Ghost Stories from the Queen City, and many other fiction and nonfiction titles. Visit Tyler at http://www.GothicWanderer.com, http://www.ChildrenofArthur.com, and http://www.MarquetteFiction.com.
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