Why does your page look like this?

When The Illuminator, by Nashville writer Brenda Rickman Vantrease, appeared in December 2005, newspaper and magazine articles first honed in on its unique origins, leading with headlines like “Retired Schoolteacher Writes Best Seller at Age 60.” Then came the critics’ praise: The Atlanta Journal Constitution called the book “remarkable”; The Boston Globe pronounced it “a bold first novel.” Publisher’s Weekly gave the “expertly told tale” a starred review; Book Sense chose it as a 2006-2007 Reading Group Pick; and there were translations in 15 languages.

Auspicious, for sure, but so much acclaim brings a certain amount of pressure. Any writer could be forgiven if her sophomore effort struggled under the expectations. Vantrease, however, has no need to apologize: her sequel, The Mercy Seller, is bigger, broader and even better than its predecessor.

Like The Illuminator, The Mercy Seller is set in 15^th century Europe and driven by conflicts both romantic and religious. Characters from the first book reappear—notably Finn the illuminator and his granddaughter Anna, though both are considerably older and now living in Prague. Also reappearing are the intertwined interests of kings and Catholic archbishops: years have passed, but the Church is still hardly separated from the state.

But between the events of The Illuminator and those of The Mercy Seller, history raised the stakes, and Vantrease follows suit. The Illuminator introduced the initial debate in England over John Wycliffe’s preachings—namely, his idea of translating the Bible from Latin into “a language of the people”—but The Mercy Seller picks up years later when the heretical scope is greater and the consequences darker. Disseminating translated (and therefore vulgar) copies of the Gospels, questioning the transubstantiation of the Eucharist or believing that priests are not the only intermediary to God means risking beheading or burning at the stake. Finn and Anna are targets for persecution, and Anna promises Finn she will leave Prague to seek safety in England. The journey is long and arduous, but in Vantrease’s novels love is found, faith is tested and human frailty puts a kink in relationships. Much the stuff of life today.

Vantrease has done her research. Opening each of the 42 chapters are 42 epigraphs taken from early English texts, including Shakespeare’s King Henry IV, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, an 11^th century Monastic Ideal, and a 12^th century Rules of Courtly Love. Insights and the occasional curious detail about life in the year 1413 are gracefully woven throughout. Yet the distance of several hundred years between reader and character doesn’t mean the two can’t connect. Ranging from those with fictional origins (like the Gypsy woman Jetta and the young priest Father Gabriel) to those rooted in history (Archbishop Arundal and Sir John Oldcastle, Shakespeare’s inspiration for Falstaff), each character is fully formed and even funny, as when the spirited Anna says, “Just because one slips into the mud doesn’t mean one must wallow in it.”

Complexity marks the book, and the political and religious climate depicted in The Mercy Seller bears a resemblance to today’s. All too quickly, opinions turn to absolute convictions, and fever-pitch emotions cloud compassion. When a young man steals priestly indulgences and burns them at a church altar in protest, the authorities cut off his head and impale it for the whole town to see. Religiosity and intolerance come together with unsettling ease.

Vantrease isn’t writing treacly romance, and she has a gift for avoiding stereotype. The Romani, for example, pilfer and employ less than scrupulous tactics in horse-trading, and yet a kindly and older Gypsy woman rescues Anna from drowning, while the whole wandering band gives her refuge when she has nowhere else to go. Father Gabriel was raised by and in the church, never once second-guessing its tenets, but there comes a time when his solid beliefs aren’t so solid anymore. “The shadows,” he says to a child, “we all have to live with. We all have to learn to deal with them in our own way.” He continues, advising the boy on courage, but his advice is apt to apply not just to conflicted souls but to artistic endeavors like The Mercy Seller itself, and to authors who face high expectations. “[Y]ou have a brave heart,” he says, “and you can do it. That’s how brave hearts are made stronger.”