When I first arrived at this prison camp, I dove into reading immediately. A flood of books started showing up, many of them passed along by other inmates. Most people just write their names in pen on the inside cover or page edges, but I decided to do something different. Since we can only keep five or six books at a time, I knew I’d be donating most of mine to the prison library. I thought it would be fun to mark each one with a unique symbol — something that wouldn’t trace back to me, but would leave a bit of mystery. It didn’t take long for people to figure out it was me.
One of those people was Ramazi Mitaishvili — or as everyone here calls him, “Doc.” He’s probably in his 50s or 60s, and he has this very classic European air about him. One day, Doc came up to me and asked if the books with the strange markings were mine. After I admitted it, he told me he appreciated my taste in literature — and then mentioned that he had written a book himself, originally published in Russia and later self-published in the U.S.
The book is called Joanna I: The Ways of Providence. It’s a blend of nonfiction and fiction that tells the true story of Joanna, Queen of Naples, during the 1300s. Doc explained to me that all of the historical events and people are real — he spent years acquiring official letters and documents from the era to make it as accurate as possible. The fictional part comes from his imagination: he filled in the gaps with dialogue and emotional insight to bring these historical figures to life.
Doc also pointed out something fascinating — how history changes depending on who’s telling the story. In Joanna’s case, much of her legacy was written by her enemies, including a corrupt Catholic pope. That skewed how she’s been remembered, often unfairly.
Without spoiling the book, here’s a quick summary:
Joanna I became Queen of Naples during a time when the Catholic Church held immense power in Europe. Her father passed the crown to her with the Pope’s blessing, and she was raised by her grandfather — a beloved and wise king. She learned the politics of court life early and ruled with both grace and cunning. Despite constant threats to her authority and her kingdom, she fostered one of Naples’ most prosperous periods.
She lowered taxes, improved infrastructure, brought in architects from Florence, planted exotic gardens, and supported scientific advancement. She even helped reintroduce Roman prose to Europe, which had once been considered mystical or taboo.
Unfortunately, when a new pope came to power — one known for being sexist and ruthless — he viewed Joanna as a threat. He excommunicated anyone who supported her and started a campaign to remove her from power and hand her kingdom to his nephew. It sparked a European-wide schism and civil war. Joanna, meanwhile, was fighting not just political enemies, but also personal heartbreak: she lost three husbands (two of them abusive) and both her children to illness. The one husband she truly loved, a fierce warrior, died after catching pneumonia from falling asleep in a cold bath.
While some historians judge her harshly, Doc presents her as a remarkable woman — smart, progressive, and deeply misunderstood.
Since this is a self-published book, it might be hard to find a copy unless you’re specifically looking. But if you’re a history lover like I am, especially when the stories are fleshed out with creative detail, Joanna I is well worth reading.
It reminded me of one of my favorite TV shows, Versailles. Doc says he’s trying to get the book turned into a series, and I think it would make a great one — right up there with The Crown or Marco Polo.
It is an enlightening, powerful story of a woman who ruled during one of Europe’s most complex and dangerous periods — and did it with dignity.
I give it 5 out of 5 stars.
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