This is a delightful study of the tropes and sequences used in the medieval mass, with biographical information about many of the persons behind these liturgical compilations and, in addition, some information about the structure of the mass and its performance. A trope was a devotional verse inserted into the Kyrie and other liturgical chants, and the sequence was the extended prose added to the singing of the Alleluia that introduced the reading of the Gospel on Sundays and feast days. They were an opportunity for cantors and choirs to display their singing skills.

The first chapter begins the story with the Office hymns of Ambrose, which used allusions as well as direct quotations from Scripture, and arose in opposition to the hymns of Arian congregations. Ambrose and his followers would take themes and images from the Bible, such as the Sun of Righteousness, and let them unfold into fresh poetic forms to enrich their churches’ worship. An Office hymn in each Office was specified by St Benedict of Nursia, and the fact that these hymns were an integral part of the Rule of St Benedict meant that they not only survived but flourished and spread as Benedictine monasticism extended its influence throughout the medieval West. A second chapter looks at the bishop of Meaux’s opposition to the early tropes and sequences, but since many of the tropes were by this time over two hundred years old, this attempt to curb them was like Canute trying to turn back the waves. Blakesley argues that by this time the tropes and sequences were a genuine poetic form, enriching devotion and leading to meditation and intercession. They were also linked to drama, beginning with Quem quaeritis at the mass on Easter Day. The ninth-century creativity, Blakesley argues, was part of the Carolingian Reform, and he discusses the work of Benedict of Aniane and Amalarius of Metz. The tropes and sequences, though, were part of the promotion (through royal chapels) of the Roman rite, which came to displace the Gallican rite. The poetic compositions were, of course, to be sung, and Blakesley notes that Amalarius was sensitive to the relationship between liturgy and personal devotion, and the cantor is touched inwardly. Important in the Carolingian reform was Walafrid Strabo, and he is cited as testimony to the devotional quality of the poetry.

The Carolingian reform provides a prelude to the chapter on Notker’s sequences at St Gall. Notker was a master at composition of sequences, and he left an account of how he came to write them. Blakesley is at his best when he quotes from the sequences, and then expounds them, showing the biblical allusions and the rich devotional piety of the words – Laudes Deo concinat, Psallat Ecclesia and Natus ante saecula amongst others. Blakesley concludes that Notker’s poetry is never a quest, and never asks for things, but delights in the bond between heaven and earth.

Further chapters explore the Winchester Troper, Paris Fashions and the poetry and ecstasy of Hildegard of Bingen and Elizabeth of Schönau. Some of the verses of Hildegard’s ‘O ignis spiritus’ might make for a good Preface for a eucharistic prayer on creation – poetic without the banality of ‘All things bright and beautiful’. Hildegard’s poetry is also a reminder that the poet and the mystic often are one and the same. The Winchester Troper witnesses to an exuberant English development, with sequences that were rhythmical and rhymed throughout. In a chapter on Paris Fashions, Blakesley observes, regarding the sequence on the Holy Cross, that for the literate medieval Christian, regular sequences would have served a double function – the rhythmical verses made them easily memorable, and they were a resource for individual meditative prayer. John xix.34, the water and the blood, enabled the medieval Christian to find baptism and the eucharist in the Holy Cross. Blakesley also describes the use of allegorical interpretation of the ritual of the mass, and the poetry of the passion, all allowing sight and sound to teach devotion. The example is given of how at St Mary’s York, at Pentecost, the altar was censed by seven monks in white copes, and someone (probably an abbey servant) waited for the Office hymn to begin before either releasing a real dove or lowering a representation. One presumes those with ornithophobia preferred the latter. The final chapter addresses directly the title of the book – how liturgical worship was understood as sharing the worship of heaven, with the communion between earth and heaven being portrayed in one way by Jerusalem et Sion filiae, and another in the Victorine sequence Rex Salonem.

Blakesley is at his best when he expounds the poetry of the sequences. He addresses a much-neglected topic, and he makes accessible material which is often confined to specialist erudite studies. This is a wonderful introduction to this genre of devotional, and an invitation for the reader to investigate further. Some of his bibliography and references are a little dated. For example, he cites Baxter’s study on the Sarum use, but makes no mention of the recent extensive studies by John and Sally Harper, and no mention of the recent work by Nathan Ristuccia on Rogation. In view of the title, With angels and archangels, it is surprising that no Sanctus tropes are discussed. That said, this remains a very readable introduction to liturgical poetry. It is another example of the richness and creativity of the medieval period, which was kept alive in a new iteration in the Lutheran musical tradition, but only reappeared in most of English-speaking Protestantism with the hymns of Wesley, and the overthrow of metrical psalmody by hymnals in the nineteenth century.