The Tenth Gift by Jane JohnsonThe Tenth Gift by Jane Johnson

The Tenth Gift

byJane Johnson

Paperback | May 26, 2009

Pricing and Purchase Info

$17.96 online 
$19.95 list price save 9%
Earn 90 plum® points

Prices and offers may vary in store


In stock online

Ships free on orders over $25

Available in stores


His parting gift to her was a new beginning...

Julia Lovat walks away from her seven-year affair with Michael with a broken heart and a book of secrets. Her book tells the true story of Cat Tregenna, kidnapped by Barbary pirates and sold into slavery in Morocco four hundred years ago.
When Julia travels to Morocco to discover Cat's fate, she is quickly lost in an exotic and vibrant land. Yet her guide is Idriss, a man so charismatic and beguiling that their meeting feels like destiny. And so, in the heat and dust, two love stories, separated by four centuries, entwine and blossom...

The Tenth Gift is an enthralling story of secrets and discovering love where you least expect it.

JANE JOHNSON is a British novelist, historian and publisher. She is the UK editor for Dean Koontz and George R.R. Martin, and as Jude Fisher has written the companions to Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit movie trilogies.
Title:The Tenth GiftFormat:PaperbackDimensions:400 pages, 8 × 5.15 × 0.83 inPublished:May 26, 2009Publisher:Doubleday CanadaLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0385665016

ISBN - 13:9780385665018


Rated 5 out of 5 by from Loved it Originally, the cover is what caught my eye on this one. In reading the novel summary of two women, hundreds of years apart and their craft of embroidery. The novel is beautiful in illustrating how certain strands of life repeat over and over again and how, though each of us is unique, each of us lengthens the strand we all hold on to even when it unravels. It is so beautifully written that I read it twice.
Date published: 2018-05-22
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Interesting story told by two women in two time frames, today and 1600's, set in Rabat, Morocco. Fascinating picture of Rabat from the perspective of 1625, and the changes and similarities of the present day city.
Date published: 2014-03-08
Rated 4 out of 5 by from The Tenth Gift! Gripping, fun historical fiction!
Date published: 2013-10-20
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Suspenseful Historical Julia, the young woman protagonist, receives a parting gift from her lover – a small book of embroidery that is from the 1600s. An avid embroiderer herself, she finds a hidden diary written amongst the patterns. The reader is soon whisked through time to learn of the diarist’s adventures as a kidnapped slave in Morocco while Julia tries to finds out what happened by travelling to Africa to find the truth. Her ex-lover has nefarious reasons of his own to get his hand on the book, and soon follows her. It is as if the two lives, centuries apart, combine into this wonderful tale.
Date published: 2013-06-09
Rated 4 out of 5 by from Loved it - great use of language I cannot even recall how this book landed in my lap - perhaps something I picked up at Costco or Indigo - but it was such a nice surprise to see how good it was. The author's use of language is superlative: Not only does she use English well in general, but she also uses it in such a way to bring you into the era and surrounds in which the story(ies) take place. I lived in Istanbul for nine years, and love the exotic nature of Turkey and its ever-present history, so the descriptions of the Moroccan souks and side streets - and the hospitality to strangers that Moroccans and Turks share - reminded me of one of the many things I respect about the people in the region. The intertwining of the parallel stories is well done, and knowing that the author herself put much of her own experience into this books adds to making it what I consider a gem.
Date published: 2012-02-05
Rated 4 out of 5 by from The Tenth Gift by Jane Johnson Based on a true family tale, Jane Johnson weaves an intricate story of two women connected across the centuries. The story encompasses a blending of genres: literary mystery, historical adventure, romance and the supernatural. The story begins with Julia Lovat meeting her lover in a London restaurant and receiving a farewell gift from him. It is a book of exquisite 17th century embroidery patterns belonging to a woman named Catherine Ann Tregenna, aka “Cat”. Later, upon closer examination, Julia finds the book contains faint diary entries in tiny handwriting. The story of Cat, an embroideress and ladies’ maid who yearns for adventure in 1625, is being forced to marry her cousin Rob whom she feels only ‘brotherly love’ for. While she is bemoaning her fate in a Cornish church, she and 60 others are taken by Barbary corsairs, and shipped to Morocco to be sold as slaves. Cat’s ability to embroider is considered a valuable commodity and coveted in the Islamic world. There are memorable episodes on the voyage to Morocco that set the historic era: the horrific treatment of slaves in the hold, encounters with other ships, and Cat’s tending of the captain after stitching up his wound. Suffering from her separation from her ex-lover, Julia immerses herself in the captivating story of Cat. She decides to go to North Africa to determine the authenticity of the book while picking up Cat’s tale after the slave auction where it abruptly stops. Once there, Julia finds herself experiencing the sights and sounds of the spice markets, sultry heat, ancient ruins, accompanied by a charming Moroccan guide and discovers secrets about herself and Cat. The story moves between the centuries with ease, providing just enough information to keep the reader engaged and wanting to know what happens next. Ms Johnson wove historical fact throughout the narrative, explaining the viewpoints of two cultures: British and Moroccan in their specific timelines. She also does a deft job with the supernatural aspects. I found it difficult to put down and found myself reading into the early hours of the morning. This is a book I would recommend to anyone looking for an engaging story.
Date published: 2009-08-31
Rated 4 out of 5 by from The Tenth Gift by Jane Johnson The Tenth Gift is a wonderful and absorbing story about two complex women: Catherine Anne Tregenna (Cat) in 17th Century Cornwall, and Julia Lovat in 21st Century London. Like Cat, Julia has a talent for embroidery and at the dissolution of her long adulterous relationship with her friend’s husband Michael, she is given a book of embroidery patterns. Michael had meant to give her another similar book but mistakenly gives her the more valuable and unique palimpsest, as written overtop of the embroidery patterns and in the margins is Cat’s account of her capture by Turkish pirates. As Julia reads Cat’s story she comes to realize their lives have a strange parallel. Who is Catherine Anne Tregenna and why does Julia feel such a close bond to her? Both Cat and Julia are women of impetuosity, temper and singular naivety, given to taking bold and somewhat blind risks. They are both talented with embroidery, believe in love and are seeking to find meaning in their existence, yet they also have faults of emotional weakness and vanity. I did not like Julia at all at first and was convinced my opinion would not change. She was bitchy, emotional, weak and needy and never thought about what she was saying, insulting others whether deliberate or not. Although I have to admit she became a more likable character when the story took her to Morocco…without giving too much away…she let Morocco cleanse her of mistakes in the past. The Tenth Gift is an excellent work of fiction and though there are romantic tensions and intimacy there is no “romance”. There is a unique, realistic and fresh feeling to the story. I don’t think I have read another novel similar to this one. Johnson also includes quotes, poems, and letters that enhance the storyline. Each chapter is a cliff hanger and I felt equally invested in the fates of both characters, although there was no pattern to the switching from historical time to modern day. Tension ratchets up more and more every time the story flipped back and forth. So much so that I became frustrated that I could not continue to read one or the other of the storylines, but frustrated in a good way as it really made The Tenth Gift an exciting read. I enjoyed and appreciated both storylines as each was so absorbing. There were a few other aspects of The Tenth Gift that interested me. The book expands upon the ideas of mosaic, pattern, and tapestry in culture, as well as rebirth and the influence of supernatural forces. Johnson describes the process of Cat and the captured people of Penzance being sold into slavery, how they looked at the time and how they were sized up, poked at, and forced to remove all their clothing. The pictures she created were quite brutal but mostly glossed over. I learned about places and times that I had never before read or known about: the history and culture of Cornwall and Morocco and the religious, political and economic tensions of the time. I thought the book could have benefited from including pictures or stencils of the stylized designs and embroidery described within. Toward the end of the story we learn that “The Tenth Gift” is a song/poem about how God divided beauty into ten, where the tenth item is a book. I love it when authors go to the effort to include maps, chapter prefaces or quotes, and suggestions for further reading material. I highly recommend this story to everyone. My Rating: 4.5
Date published: 2009-07-25

Read from the Book

CHAPTER ONEThere are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they have never happened before, like larks that have been singing the same five notes for thousands of years."I had scribbled this down in a notebook after reading it in a novel the night before I was due to meet Michael and was looking forward to slipping it into our conversation at dinner, despite knowing his likely reaction (negative; dismissive--he was always skeptical about anything that could even vaguely be termed "romantic"). He was a lecturer in European literature, to which he presented an uncompro mising post-structuralist stance, as if books were just meat for the butcher's block, mere muscle and tendon, bone and cartilage, which required flensing and separating and scrutiny. For his part, Michael found my thinking on the subject of fiction both emotional and unrigorous, which meant that at the start of our relationship we had the most furious arguments, which would hurt me so personally as to bring me to the edge of tears, but now, seven years in, we were able to bait each other cheerfully. Anyway, it made a change from discussing, or avoiding, the subject of Anna, or the future.To begin with, it had been hard to live like this, on snatched moments, the future always in abeyance, but I had gotten used to it little by little so that now my life had a recognizable pattern to it. It was a bit pared down and lacking in what others might consider crucial areas, but it suited me. Or so I told myself, time and time again.I dressed with particular care for dinner: a devore silk blouse, a tailored black skirt that skimmed the knees, stockings (Michael was predictably male in his preferences), a pair of suede ankle-strap shoes in which I could just about manage the half-mile to the restaurant and back. And my favorite hand-embroidered shawl: bursts of bright pansies worked on a ground of fine black cashmere.I've always said you have to be an optimist to be a good embroiderer. A large piece (like the shawl) can take six months to a year of inspired and dedicated work. Determination, too; a dogged spirit like that of a mountaineer, taking one measured step at a time rather than panicking at the thought of the whole immense task, the crevasse field and headwall of ice. You may think I exaggerate the difficulties-- a bit of cloth, a needle and thread: How hard can it be? But once you've laid out a small fortune on cashmere and another on the silks, or there's a tight deadline for some nervous girl's wedding, or an exhibition, and you have not only to design and plan but to stitch a million stitches, I can tell you the pressure is palpable.We were meeting at Enoteca Turi, near the southern end of Putney's bridge, a smart Tuscan restaurant that we usually reserved for celebrations. There were no birthdays looming, no publications or promotions, that I knew of. The latter would, in any case, be hard for me to achieve, since I ran my own business, and since even the word business was something of a stretch for my one-woman enterprise: a tiny crafts shop in the Seven Dials. The crafts shop was more of an indulgence than a moneymaking concern. An aunt had died five years ago, leaving me a decent legacy; my mother had followed two years later, and I was the only child. The lease on the shop had fallen into my lap; it had less than a year to run and I hadn't decided what to do with it at the end of that time. I made more money from commissions than from the so-called business, and even those were more of a way of passing time, stitching away the minutes while awaiting my next tryst with Michael.I arrived early. They do say relationships are usually weighted in favor of one party, and I reckoned I was carrying seventy percent of ours. This was partly due to circumstances, partly to temperament, both mine and Michael's. He reserved himself from the world most of the time: I was the emotional profligate.I took my seat with my back to the wall, gazing out at the other diners like a spectator at a zoo. Mostly couples in their thirties, like us: well-off, well-dressed, well-spoken, if a bit loud. Snippets of conversation drifted to me:"What is fagioli occhiata di Colfiorito, do you know?""So sad about Justin and Alice ...lovely couple...what will they do with the house?""What do you think of Marrakech next month, or would you prefer Florence again?"Nice, normal, happy people with sensible jobs, plenty of money, and solid marriages; with ordered, comfortable, conforming lives. Rather unlike mine. I looked at them all embalmed in the golden light and wondered what they would make of me, sitting here in my best underwear, new stockings and high heels, waiting for my onetime best friend's husband to arrive.Probably be as envious as hell, suggested a wicked voice in my head.Probably not.Where was Michael? It was twenty past eight and he'd have to be home by eleven, as he was always at pains to point out. A quick dinner, a swift fuck: It was the most I could hope for, and maybe not even that. Feeling the precious moments ticking away, I began to get anxious. I hadn't allowed myself to dwell on the special reason he had suggested Enoteca. It was an expensive place, not somewhere you would choose on a whim; not on the salary of a part-time lecturer, supplemented by desultory book-dealing, not if you were--like Michael--careful with your money. I took my mind off this conundrum by ordering a bottle of Rocca Rubia from the sommelier and sat there with my hands clasped around the vast bowl of the glass as if holding the Grail itself, waiting for my deeply flawed Sir Lancelot to arrive. In the candlelight, the contents sparkled like fresh blood.At last he burst through the revolving door with his hair in disarray and his cheeks pink, as if he'd run all the way from Putney Station. He shrugged his coat off impatiently, transferring briefcase and black carrier bag from hand to hand as he wrestled his way out of the sleeves, and at last bounded over, grinning manically, though not quite meeting my eye, kissed me swiftly on the cheek, and sat down in the chair the waiter pushed forward for him."Sorry I'm late. Let's order, shall we? I have to be home--""--by eleven. Yes, I know." I suppressed a sigh. "Tough day?"It would be nice to know why we were here, to get to the nub of the evening, but Michael was focused on the menu now, intently considering the specials and which one was likely to offer the most value for the money."Not especially,"he said at last."Usual idiot students, sitting there like empty-headed sheep waiting for me to fill them up with knowledge--except the usual know-it-all big mouth showing off to the girls by picking a fight with the tutor. Soon sorted that one out."I could imagine Michael fixing some uppity twenty-year-old with a gimlet stare before cutting him mercilessly down to size in a manner guaranteed to get a laugh from the female students. Women loved Michael. We couldn't help ourselves. Whether it was his saturnine features (and habits, to boot), the louche manner or the look in those glittering black eyes, the cruelly carved mouth, or the restless hands, I didn't know. I had lost perspective on such matters long ago.The waiter took our order and we were left without further excuse for equivocation. Michael reached across the table and rested his hand on mine, imprisoning it against the white linen. At once the familiar burst of sexual electricity charged up my arm, sending shock waves through me. His gaze was solemn: so solemn that I wanted to laugh. He looked like an impish Puck about to confess to some heinous crime."I think," he said carefully, his gaze resting on a point about two inches to the left of me, "we should stop seeing each other. For a while, at least."So much for discussing larks. The laugh that had been building up burst out of me, discordant and crazy-sounding. I was aware of people staring."What?""You're still young," he said. "If we stop this now, you can find someone else. Settle down. Have a family."Michael hated the very idea of children: That he would wish them on me was confirmation of the distance he wanted to put between us."None of us are young anymore," I retorted. "Least of all you." His hand went unconsciously to his forehead. He was losing his hair and was vain enough to care about it. For the past few years I'd told him it was unnoticeable; then as that became a bit of a lie, that it made him look distinguished, sexy.The waiter brought food. We ate it in silence. Or rather, Michael ate in silence: I mainly pushed my crab and linguine around my plate and drank a lot of wine.At last our plates were cleared away, leaving a looming space between us. Michael stared at the tablecloth as if the space itself posed a threat, then became strangely animated. "Actually, I got you something," he said. He picked up the carrier bag and peered into it. I glimpsed two brown-paper-wrapped objects of almost identical proportions inside, as if he had bought the same farewell gift twice, for two different women. Perhaps he had."It's not properly wrapped, I'm afraid. I didn't have time, all been a bit chaotic today." He pushed one of these items across the table at me. "But it's the thought that counts. It's a sort of a memento mori; and an apology," he said with that crooked, sensual smile that had so caught my heart in the first place. "I am sorry, you know. For everything."There was a lot that he had to be sorry for, but I wasn't feeling strong enough to say so. Memento mori; a reminder of death. The phrase ricocheted around my mind. I unwrapped the parcel carefully, feeling the crab and chili sauce rising in my throat.It was a book. An antique book, with a cover of buttery brown calfskin, simple decorative blind lines on the boards, and four raised, rounded ridges at even intervals along the spine. My fingers ran over the textures appreciatively, as if over another skin. Closing myself off from the damaging things Michael was saying, I applied myself to opening the cover, careful not to crack the brittle spine. Inside, the title page was foxed and faded.The Needle-Woman's Glorie, it read in bold characters, and then in a fine italic print:Here followeth certain fyne patternes to be fitly wroghte in Gold, or Silke or Crewell as takes your plesure. Published here togyther for the first tyme by Henry Ward of Cathedral Square Exeter 1624.And beneath this, in a round, uncertain hand:For my cozen Cat, 27th Maie 1625."Oh!" I cried, ambushed by its antiquity and its beauty. An intricate pattern filled the verso page. I tilted it toward the light in a vain attempt to examine it better.Michael had just said something else, but whatever it was flew harmlessly over my head."Oh," I exclaimed again. "How extraordinary."Michael had stopped talking. I was aware of a heavy silence, one that demanded a reaction. "Have you heard any of what I've been saying?" I gazed at him wordless, not wanting to answer. His black eyes were suddenly almost brown. Pity welled in them."I'm so sorry, Julia," he said again. "Anna and I have reached a crucial point in our lives and have had a proper heart-to-heart. We're going to give our marriage another go, a fresh start. I can't see you anymore. It's over."I lay alone in my bed that night, curled around the book, the last thing in my life that would carry a connection with Michael, sobbing. At last, sheer exhaustion overtook me, but sleep was almost worse than being awake: The dreams were terrible. I surfaced at two-thirty, at three; at four, retaining fragments of images--blood and shattered bones, someone crying in pain, shouts in a language I could not understand. Most vivid of all was a sequence in which I was stripped naked and paraded before strangers, who laughed and pointed out my shortcomings, which were many. One of these onlookers was Michael. He wore a long robe and a hood, but I knew his voice when he said, "This one has no breasts. Why have you brought me a woman with no breasts?" I awoke, sweating and shamed, a creature of no account who deserved her fate.Yet even as I loathed myself, I felt disoriented, detached, as if it were not me suffering the indignity, but some other Julia Lovat, far away. I drifted back into sleep, and if I dreamed again, I do not remember it. When I finally woke up, I was lying on the book. It had left a clear impression--four ridges, like scars, on my back.CHAPTER 2The doorbell rang. Michael crossed to the window and looked down. In the street below a man stood, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as if in dire need of a visit to the lavatory. He was dressed too warmly for the weather, in an old wool Crombie and cord trousers. From his bird's-eye vantage point, Michael could see for the first time that the top of Stephen's head was almost bald, save for a thin covering of comb-over which looked almost as if it had been glued down. He looked comically out of place in this part of Soho, where young men paraded up and down in muscle shirts, ripped denim or leather, and knowing smiles, and tourists got vicarious thrills by entering, if only for an hour or so, the cruising scene.Old Compton Street hadn't been quite so outre or lively when Michael first moved into the flat: He felt now, watching the tide of young life passing by outside, as if he were looking through a window into someone else's party, one to which he was too old and straight to be invited. Especially now that he was back on the narrow path, playing the good husband."Stephen!" he called down, and the balding man lifted his head, shading his eyes against the sun. "Here!" He threw his keys out of the window. "Top floor."Not just his keys, either, he thought ruefully as they left his hand, but Julia's, too. He supposed he should return them to her now that it was over. But it just seemed so... final.The arrival of Stephen Bywater interrupted his thoughts."You could have come down to the shop," he said accusingly, wiping the sweat off his forehead.From the Hardcover edition.

Bookclub Guide

1. Separated by nearly four centuries, Julia and Cat are tied together by a book of patterns and a passion for embroidery. "You have to be an optimist to be a good embroiderer," Julia says. "A large piece (like the shawl) can take six months to a year of inspired and dedicated work. Determination, too; a dogged spirit like that of a mountaineer, taking one measured step at a time rather than panicking at the thought of the whole immense task, the crevasse field and headwall of ice" (page 4). Does Julia possess these qualities when you first meet her? Does Cat? How would you describe the two women and in what ways are they similar or different? Do you think Julia is right or can a person develop these qualities by practicing the craft?2. Both Julia and Cat have strained relationships at the beginning. What causes them to have tense interactions with the people around them? How does that change by the end of the novel and why?3. The parallel stories of Julia and Cat are told mostly from their point of view. But at times the narrative shifts to other characters. Why do you think the author does this? Would the book have been as effective if the author had limited the story to the two heroines’ point of view?4. Why is Julia so fascinated with Cat’s journal? What drives her to retrace Cat’s steps all the way to Morocco? When Julia discovers that Michael has followed her, why does she flee? Do you believe her when she says she is afraid of Michael, or is it Anna that she fears?5. Cat begins to see her captor, Al-Andalusi, as a complex human being when he tells the story of his family’s persecution by the Spanish Inquisition. An educated and cultured man, Al-Andalusi takes care of his community. Yet he is also capable of great violence and cruelty. What does it mean to be civilized, what does it mean to be a savage, and can a person be both? Does your view of Al-Andalusi change once you know his story? How does he compare to the other aristocrats and adventurers who deplore barbarism despite their own acts of cruelty and cowardice? Do you agree with Khaled that "one culture’s hero is another culture’s villain" (page 309)?6. Cornwall, London, and Rabat are all described in vivid detail. How does each setting reflect the inhabitants and their values?7. Discuss the societal attitudes toward women over time and across cultures as depicted in the book. How have expectations for women changed since Cat’s time and how have they stayed the same? Did anything about the portrayal of women in Morocco, an Islamic country, surprise you?8. What is the significance of Cat choosing the Garden of Eden for her altar cloth design? How does the story of the Fall differ in the Christian and Islamic religions?9. Every character, no matter how pious, is flawed. Some are oblivious to their moral failings while others are ashamed of them. What is the book’s message about flaws and forgiveness?10. How do you feel about Cat’s decision to choose Al-Andalusi over Robert? Is Cat, as Robert says, a fallen woman, or does she find redemption in her new life?11. In their courtship, the two couples confront stereotypes and prejudices about each other’s cultures and religions. Did you find your own perceptions of Christianity and Islam challenged?12. The plot is set in motion by the discovery of a lost book of embroidery patterns. But the embroidery book is more than a physical object. How does the author develop the embroidery motif in the language and the structure of the novel? Does that enrich your experience as a reader?13. The supernatural is a force to be reckoned with: ghosts are manifest in physical objects; chameleons are thrown into the fire to ward off the evil eye; witches and Gypsies prophesize. Why does the supernatural play such a prominent role?14. In his suicide note, Andrew asserts that history is doomed to repeat itself: "There is nothing we can do to change our fates and it is madness to think we can shape our lives" (page 66). Do you believe in destiny or do you believe you control your own fate? By the end of the book, has Julia set a new pattern in motion or is she repeating an old pattern?15. In the song that Idris and his grandmother sing about the gifts of beauty, books are the tenth gift. What is special about a book? What is the significance of the title for this particular book?

Editorial Reviews

"A remarkable view of Barbary pirates and their times, and an engrossing romance of clashing cultures and wonderful characters." Diana Gabaldon, #1 New York Times bestselling author "This is such a lush book! It transported me to another time and other places, enticing me into an exotic, turbulent world in which past and present are seamlessly woven into a mesmerizing story." India Edghill, author of Wisdom’ s Daughter"What a tangled web Jane Johnson weaves with the opening of a book of old embroidery patterns! Two heroines cross paths across centuries. Unworthy lovers, treachery, ghosts, and pirates march through the streets and seas of modern day England, 17th century Cornwall, and Morocco as each woman tries to find what is most important to her. Discovering one’s authenticity is a story in which time doesn’t matter, and Johnson stitches the threads of both stories into a lovely, enticing whole." Karleen Koen, New York Times bestselling author of Dark Angels“An unashamedly escapist page-turner that will be enjoyed by fans of Kate Mosse and Philippa Gregory.” Daily Mail (UK)“Wildly yet convincingly romantic...Johnson weaves together the two women’s lives, exploring issues—love, desire, ambition, and guilt—that transcend time. Beautifully narrated...and a delectable adventure of the heart.” USA Today“This is beautifully written, first class escapism.” Mail on Sunday (UK)