Ned Hayes's Blog, page 84
September 19, 2014
TLC Book Tour - Book Club Giveaway
We’re really excited about Sinful Folk by Ned Hayes for your book club, so we’ve set aside dedicated space to tell you about the book.
Book clubs will love this story of redemption and hope
Sinful Folk
Sinful Folk by Ned Hayes,
with illustrations by Nikki McClure
Sinful Folk is the new historical novel from Ned Hayes, with cover and internal illustrations by New York Times bestselling illustrator and author Nikki McClure. Like Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent and Geraldine Brooks’ Year of Wonders, Sinful Folk retells history from the perspective of a forgotten woman who finds her voice. An inspiring story of tenacity, perseverance and courage, Sinful Folk is based on real historical events.
In December of the year 1377, five children burned to death in a suspicious house fire. The historical record shows that a small band of villagers traveled 200 miles across England in midwinter to demand justice for their children’s deaths. Two hundred miles. In that time, an unimaginable distance for villagers who lived their entire lives only a few miles from their birthplace.
Sinful Folk is the story of this treacherous journey as seen by Mear, a former nun who has lived for a decade disguised as a mute and fearful man, raising her son quietly in this isolated village. When her son is killed, Mear wakes from her complacent life and undertakes a desperate journey.
Endorsed by bestselling historical novelists such as Karen Maitland (The Owl Killers, Company of Liars), Ella March Chase (The Virgin Queen’s Daughter), Brenda Vantrease (The Illuminator, The Heretic’s Wife), and William Dietrich (The Barbed Crown), Sinful Folk is a breakthrough novel that stakes a new claim for women’s historical fiction.
Sinful Folk is an inspiring story of a woman’s perseverance and courage in a stark medieval world: a riveting and suspenseful story told with lyrical beauty and unwavering vision. “A pilgrim story worthy of Chaucer, delivered by a master storyteller” — New York Times bestselling historical novelist Brenda Vantrease.
What readers like you are saying:
…this is one awesome historical fiction book. –Sandy at You’ve GOTTA Read This!
Mear is one of the best historical fiction characters I have come across….Ned Hayes has definitely woven a gripping tale that will keep you intrigued the whole way through. –Stephanie at 100 Pages a Day…Stephanie’s Book Reviews
Ned Hayes’s latest is superb, guys! I mean really superb! There are so many things I want to note but I’m trying very hard to restrain myself because I think I’d prefer to leave some of the surprises for other potential readers to discover on their own….Sinful Folk has elements of mystery and suspense and an obvious careful attention to historical accuracy. Hayes sets the tone nicely and Mear does all the rest! Historical fiction fans take note, this is definitely one not to miss! –Heather at No More Grumpy Bookseller
Despite the dark premise, the novel reads quickly, with many exciting interludes, and I found myself racing through the story. Nikki McClure, the illustrator who did the cover design, provides small illustrated elements that open every few chapters, and they’re striking and interesting. — Audra at Unabridged Chick
Mear is a beautiful soul and one whose story I won’t soon forget. I felt such a intense connection to her in her strength of character and ability to forgive and forge on in her life. Hers is a story of overcoming adversity made even more admirable by the times in which she lived….Highly recommended! –Dar at Peeking Between the Pages
A page turner transporting the reader to an age where existing was a minute to minute task. Highly recommend Sinful Folk. Hayes is an author worthy of praise and your undivided attention. –Mal at Nightly Reading
I loved this story. The characters drew me in, and the author has such a talent for putting emotion into visual pictures, to give them real substance….It is a clever, interesting and touching story inspired by history, and the paranoia and persecution that surrounded those of the Jewish faith….This story is all about facing your past. Restrained and yet absorbing, this story may be dark and barren, but it isn’t bereft of hope. –Heather at Cerebral Girl in a Redneck World
More praise for Sinful Folk
*Starred Review* “Brilliantly conceived and beautifully executed, Hayes’ novel is woven through with a deep knowledge of medieval history, all conveyed in mesmerizing prose. At the center of the novel is Mear, a brave and heartbreaking character whose story of triumph over adversity is a joy to read. — BookList Print Review – Joanne Wilkinson
“Riveting, poetic… a rich medieval tapestry of a story… relentless, intriguing, very authentic… with bittersweet redemption at the end of the journey. Medieval fans should like this.” -Historical Novel Reviews, Print Review: HNR #68, May 2014
“An exquisitely written historical thriller… Told by a brave and charismatic narrator who will twist your heart-strings with her story from the first page to final startling revelation. An amazing novel based on a truly fascinating, unsolved mystery of the Middle Ages.” -Karen Maitland, best-selling author of The Owl Killers and Company of Liars
“A pilgrim tale worthy of Chaucer, evocative, compelling and peopled with unforgettable characters artfully delivered by a master storyteller.” – Brenda Rickman Vantrease, best-selling author of The Illuminator andThe Mercy Seller
“Brilliant, insightful, unflinching and wise. This spellbinding mystery will keep readers turning pages until the last sentence.
Remarkable.” – Ella March Chase, best-selling author of The Virgin Queen’s Daughter and Three Maids for a Crown
Purchase Links
Amazon | IndieBound | Barnes & Noble | Audible
Resources for Book Clubs
Discussion Questions
Books that Inspired Sinful Folk
Other Books Similar to Sinful Folk
Video Interview with Ned Hayes (via BookNote)
Video Interview with Nikki McClure
About Ned HayesNed Hayes first read Chaucer in graduate school, where he worked under noted medieval scholar Richard Emmerson. He has studied at Stanford University, Western Washington University, the Rainier Writing Workshop and the Graduate Theological Union at the University of California, Berkeley. He lives in Olympia, Washington, with his wife and two children. Sinful Folk is his first story set in the medieval era. He is now at work on a new novel set in the 1300s.
Find out more about Ned at his website, follow him on Twitter, and see what he’s pinning on Pinterest. You can also read more about the book at its website, follow news of the book on Facebook, get quotes from the book on Pinterest.
Click the button above to fill out out our super short registration form by September 30th for a chance to win a set of up to ten copies of Sinful Folk by Ned Hayes for your book club! We will randomly choose a winner at the end of the month. This contest is open to clubs in the US only (our apologies to friends in other countries).
Best of luck!
We LOVE Book Clubs!
Email: lisamunley@ca.rr.com or trish@tlcbooktours.com
September 18, 2014
BOOK QUOTE: “A bird calls, distant and wounded. The woods are...
BOOK QUOTE: “A bird calls, distant and wounded. The woods are still as death. Quick steam huffs in and out of Geoff’s open mouth. And with that, the dangerous moment seems past. We gather wood and help Tom build his fire. As I pick up spare twigs and dried bracken, I wonder how far our sounds penetrate into the black forest, and how far our shouts echo along the White Road. Anyone approaching along the road could find us here.”
September 17, 2014
“I can see her now. On the day we take the forest path to the...
“I can see her now. On the day we take the forest path to the deep stream beside the alder copse. There a plover calls in the deep woodsy stillness, and then a pair of martins dart across the over-grown path. Through the trees can be seen the thick and fast-moving line of flowing water, a steep bank beneath our feet and flowering at the edge of the water, the purple loosestrife and meadowsweet of spring.”
September 16, 2014
"There are good books which are only for adults.
There are no good books which are only for children."
There are no good books which are only for children.”
- W.H. Auden (via bibliobrit)
September 15, 2014
“Spring grew into summer, and the rhythm of my life now included...
“Spring grew into summer, and the rhythm of my life now included Nell. I learned that her secret lavender and mint beds were deep in the woods, out by the chuckling stream that disappeared underground. She gathered plants she needed every day, and she was as a child who gathers flowers in May.”
September 14, 2014
Reading can seriously damage your ignorance.
Reading can seriously damage your ignorance.
September 13, 2014
"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy...
"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy oak as some creature shuffles through the woods, and ancient branches snap. Out of the corner of one eye, I see the flash of colored feathers. It is a yellowhammer, black eyes flickering in a hedgerow, tiny breast plumped out in golden livery, streaked with colors rich and brown. It was calling in its winter song:
A little bit of bread and no cheese—
A little bit of bread and no cheese—
Moments later, the bracken flutters and the slight shadow of the bird darts into the woods. Deep in the forest now, I hear a low voice that wends back and forth, whispering in secret.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk
PHOTO: rehlesticaly:
September 12, 2014
"Stars steam away as a pale sun rises, hot coal dropped in a...
"Stars steam away as a pale sun rises, hot coal dropped in a watery sky. Light seeps across the forest as the reedy shrieks of wood fowl echo in the trees. The path from our village to the King’s Highway is a crooked line of mud rutted with cart tracks, a rough trough where the dirty snow is stabbed through by the hooves of feral sheep. To the east, that faint track leads up through the forest until it reaches, finally, the open country."
PHOTO: untitled by Arya Daryani on Flickr.
September 11, 2014
9-11 Novel - a Dark Fantasy
((this is an EXCERPT from a book by my alter-ego, Nick Hallum, a dark fantasy novel set in the 9-11 era, with the War on Terror at the heart))
EXCERPT FROM
WILDERNESS OF MIRRORS
forthcoming
by Nicholas Hallum
NIGHT MUSIC BOOKS
New York, NY
September 16, 2001
After 9/11
The towers tumbled on the television over and over, the plane striking in silence, the plume of smoke and dust and explosion coming a moment later, and then the structure itself sliding apart, crumbling to bits.
He felt in shock as he watched the television. He had not turned it off for the last fourteen hours, since the moment he had first watched the towers fall, in stunned and horror-stricken disbelief.
What was worse, for Peter, was that when the first plane hit, he could feel a twinge behind his breastbone, as the djinn in the tall tower was first struck with division and then died a painful death. Peter remembered the moments he had touched the frame with the djinn inside – and when he had watched it dance in the smoky rain down the vast Manhattan avenue towards the building site.
More than half the shock he felt now was at that twinge of recognition, the feeling of death coming into him, reverberating in his knowledge. For he had not known that a djinn could die. There had been only rumors, ancient case files read by veterans and whispered about years later in drunken early morning confessions. Old Robinson Gale had something to do with a djinn death, said the rumors, sometime after World War II. Was it true? Had Gale killed a djinn? Was that the goal of the airplanes striking the towers?
Six days later, Peter watched as Tim Russert interviewed the Vice President on television. Dick Cheney, the man Peter had met the year before in Washington D.C. – there live on television. Peter was too sleep-deprived to really care. But he listened.
“I’m going to be careful here, Tim,” said Cheney. “Because I…. clearly it would be inappropriate for me to talk about operational matters…”
Peter’s attention drifted, but Cheney hadn’t finished. “We also have to work, though, sort of on the dark side, if you will. We’ve got to spend time in the shadows.”
Peter saw then, in Cheney’s set jaw and unblinking gaze, exactly what the man meant. Nausea rose in his throat at the memory of building that tower, of what he’d tasted that night. The dark side, if you will.
Peter stood up, shaking off his sleep. The television kept blaring behind him as he turned and stumbled through the kitchen. He pulled the bottle of Tequila out of the bar behind the counter. He took vigorous swallows, trying again to wash that nauseating taste from his throat, out of his mouth.
Cheney blathered on, but he hardly heard the man. “That’s the world we live in now, Tim. The world these folks operate in… so it’s going to be vital for us to use any means at our disposal.”
Peter glanced at the clock. It was almost seven p.m. Nearly ten o’clock on the East Coast. Military shuttles arrived at McChord Air Force Base here in Washington state at eleven p.m. every night from D.C., and would depart for the East Coast before dawn came again.
He slammed the half-empty bottle down on the counter. He couldn’t feel anything anymore from the alcohol except a terrible burning in his throat.
Peter retrieved his suitcase from under the bed and began placing carefully folded sweats and military-issue uniforms into the compartments. He would need shoes for outdoors, and desert gear. Possibly even a raincoat.
He was packed within the hour. He stood there afterwards fully dressed and prepped, his gray hair long, but combed and neatly parted. He waited then in the darkened living room, his fatigues and expedition boots lit only by the bright glow of the television as he watched over and over the news channels, waiting for more of a hint about (C)’s intentions.
The call for activation came forty-nine minutes later. As he had suspected, he was being sent to the Pentagon, and from there to Langley and points east.
Annapolis, MD
September 16, 2001
After 9/11
The SKYRISE briefing at 0400 hours was conducted in a vast hanger in Annapolis Maryland that looked to Peter like it could hold an entire Navy fleet, dry-docked and all. To one side, Peter was sure he could see something that looked like a nuclear submarine, but it was so far away and so shrouded in shadow, he couldn’t be sure. One corner of the huge facility was lit with a set of incandescent klieg lights, and in that corner stood the men and women who had been selected for the mission. Some were younger desk jockies, which concerned Peter. They were noticeably out of shape, pasty from desk cubicles and overweight from sitting too long. Analysts, on a field adventure? And then there were some hardened field agents, people with weathered skin and toughened physiques. But there were only a handful of them, and Peter was one of the fittest among them, despite his long gray ponytail. The fit ones were the oldest, all in their fifties or even early sixties. Experienced, but slow reflexes, out of service for decades some of them, by the look of the long hair and the beards he saw around him.
Peter glanced around, expecting to see – hoping to see – a seasoned SWAT team or Army Ranger team that would join them, supplement their mis-matched ranks. Why only desk analysts and over-the-hill field agents? Why no one from a current active duty corps? Perhaps this was the support staff group for the targeting mission personnel.
A group of people were approaching out of the gloom, and Peter stared expectantly into the darkness. Perhaps these were their saviors – the ones who would really perform the mission – the ones they would be supporting. But as they came closer, his heart sank. It wasn’t a set of hardened battle Rangers at all. The men moving forward wore ranks of ribbons, in formal dress uniforms – except for one old bald man in a bland suit, who led the way. A civilian with expertise or orders to share. These were the briefing staff, the ones to give them their orders. They were, in fact, the ones they’d been waiting for. The men around him were, in fact, the ones who would be committed to the field. His heart sank.
As the group moved closer, he saw that the old man in the bland suit was, in fact, Cheney himself. His hair had disappeared entirely now, and his face was a little more war-worn than last he’d seen the man. But he hadn’t changed, it seemed. Cheney was, as always, blunt to the point of rudeness. He started talking before the men around him had even come to a halt.
“Men,” he said. Then he saw the single woman in their midst, and inclined his head with that enigmatic grin. “And ma’am.” Then he paused, looked at all of them, met their eyes.
“I have heard from some – ” Cheney gestured at a group of military men standing to his right. “That we should not engage in this type of pre-emptive action, and especially not in the unorthodox action we are about to ask you to engage in. But I disagree. My response has always been – ‘Tell me what terrorist attacks you would have let go forward, because you didn’t want to be a mean and nasty fella – are you going to trade the lives of a number of people because you want to preserve your honor? Or are you going to do your job, and do what’s required?”
“Today, I ask you to keep first and foremost your responsibility to safeguard the United States of America and the lives of its citizens. You will be wondering why you were selected for the most critical mission after this terrorism attack. We are sending you – all of you, even the ones who have never done field work before – because this mission requires a particular kind of expertise, and those who have that expertise have never been needed in an active deployment of this magnitude before. You are on a specialized mission for the Circle. You are here to take their chief agent of destruction from their ranks. Not an assassination, oh no, not at all. This is a mission of recruitment and enticement.”
A tingle came over Peter. Everyone here had been selected for their affiliation with the Circle. It came over him that he had never known there was much in the Circle beyond Angleton, Gale, and himself. There was more to the picture, much more. But who – or what – would they be recruiting?
“To recruit this entity, you will be prepared to offer everything we can offer – we are willing to offer much more than Saddam has ever been able to offer. We want this thing on our side, and to get it here, we are willing to sacrifice. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” came a resounding call, the sound echoing for long minutes in the recesses of the hanger.
Peter hesitated. He recalled the ancient Chinese texts he’d read at Yale. The single victim at the border, to secure the kingdom. What exactly were they offering to this entity? What did they have to give?
The colonel stared down at the floor like a bashful child. “Saddam Hussein al-Takriti spent years trying to nail down a djinn to serve his country’s needs. He did everything he could to bend it to his will: whole villages wiped out in sacrifice – nearly all the Marsh Arabs wiped out in the swamps of Eastern Iraq. It looks like he nearly succeeded when we sailed in.”
Fatigue weighed Peter down, he could hardly concentrate. He heard the rest in scattered words and phrases.
“The entire world is our combat zone now, open for free fire.”
Finally, someone spoke up, some young female lieutenant with a chip on her shoulder: “With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure I agree.”
“Oh really? Our people on 9-11 in New York were in a combat zone, and they didn’t even know it. We will take our power to them. A pre-emptive strike. They’re in our combat zone now – they just don’t know it yet.”
When Peter next blinked his eyes open, he realized the colonel was speaking quietly just to him and a man with a beard close at hand. Everyone else had left the room.
“Peter? Mr. Fisher?” Peter roused himself and nodded, trying to appear attentive. “Look, I’m trying to tell the two of you that we found out why the 1991 attempt with Professor El-Amin here didn’t work.”
The colonel looked over at the man with the beard. “You were surrounded by steel – cold iron – and you really had no bargaining chips – nothing to pull their attention away from what Saddam was providing every day.”
The professor opened his mouth, about to interrupt, but the colonel continued brusquely. “This time you are going out with no steel, no iron, and you’re not trying to draw them out – you’re not trying to attract it to you in any way. Instead, you are going in – you’re going in as bait into their jaws. And you’re taking bargaining chips with you.
“We are?” said Peter. This was a surprise to him.
“The professor here you’ll be working with – have you met Mahmud El-Amin? – this academic here, will brief you and this time he’ll be empowered to really make this happen.”
Peter glanced over, and the Islamic man with the beard nodded solemnly. He spoke in a quiet voice. “They will listen to this, if it is given with surety, and in the tongue they speak.”
The colonel clenched his jaw, as if in dislike of what El-Amin had said. “Look, gents, don’t trust in any ‘tongues’ – if this thing chooses to come out to you, then I’d advise you to retreat to the tanks that will be there with the Stryker patrol.”
“How will we – ?” Peter began, but the colonel continued, unperturbed.
“You’ll go in on a camel. We’ve got bargaining chips to offer, but your companion, Professor Mahmud El-Amin here – he will be making all those offers, negotiating.”
“I speak Arabic.”
“Yes, but this is an archaic form, that stopped being used about 3,000 years ago. El-Amin here is an Arabic scholar at al-Azhar – the famous university in Cairo.”
“Three thousand.” Peter said it slowly, not sure if he had heard right.
“Yes sir.”
“On day 3, if all goes well, we’ll extract you.”
“With a helicopter?”
“No, we’re worried about putting something into the air that close to the entity. We’ll be sending in a tank battalion. If you give the ‘go’ signal, then American forces will exfiltrate you out through the Kuwait battleline.
“By Day 3, I’d advise you to retreat to the tank and Stryker scout patrol front line. There will be a Delta Force contingent there, and they’ve been told they are here to retrieve you and an artifact that may have WMD capabilities.”
“What about the professor here – Mahmud El-Amin?”
“Oh, of course.” The colonel swallowed, hard. “Yes, of course, him too.”
Washington D.C.
October 5, 2011
Secure Briefing Hanger
Peter was struck, as he looked at the Vice President, how much smaller he appeared in person than on a television screen. On screen, his face always seemed about to sweat, and an element of scorn seemed nearly ever-present, as if behind the scenes, he really was that Dark Force that the Democrats loved to hate.
But here, in person, the Vice President was shorter than he was, and he seemed nothing more than an unusually driven and focused elderly grandfather, his hair gone now, his face a little wrinkled with cares, and his eyes looking out from behind broad glasses, more sad and world-weary than malicious.
Dick Cheney had seen a lot in his time serving the United States of America, and without quite realizing it, Peter found himself asking the Vice President about his experience. At first, the man’s answers were guarded and evasive. But slowly, he seemed to warm to Peter’s hesitant questions, and after a time, Peter found himself in a sort of conversation with the man that even Gale only, ever, called (C).
“What branch did you say you serve?” said the old man.
“The NSA,” Peter replied. Then looking at him, he thought better of his answer. “The Circle,” he nearly whispered. “The – ”
The elderly man held up a hand. “No, no, I heard. No need to repeat. So, you know the inner workings of SKYRISE. Yet you were asking about why we do what we do.”
“Yes, sir,” said Peter.
“Well, look at it this way – the United States is the oldest stable government in the world. Like Rome, in its time. Stable for the ages, indivisible before God.”
“But…. But, what about France, China, or even – ”
Cheney put down his drink, to wave a hand at Peter’s comments in the air, to wipe them away. “Since 1776, France has had multiple revolutions, destruction and restoration of monarchies, a European empire and a puppet government run by the Nazis. And that’s even before you get to the socialists and their upheavals and near-coups.”
“So you mean government as an organization,” said Peter slowly.
“Much more than that. A governing principle. Look at China, to cite your other example. China has gone through endless paroxysms and birth-pains. Cultural revolutions, internal genocides, party struggles. Not a single consistent governing principle. Not a single consistent governing element.”
“You mean – ”
“Of course.” Cheney blinked at him. “Of course I mean that. We in the United States, have suffered nothing in the way of internecine warfare or revolution since the 1800s, when the Civil War tore us open – and at great cost – we used that tragedy to build the first home for one of them here. The first palace for another entity. The first obelisk in Washington in that time was the tallest building, as you know – and it is still the tallest freestanding stone structure known to man, or to the others.”
Peter shivered, remembering a day from his childhood, a time when he could not walk up the steps that others walked, when he could not move from fear.
But Cheney was still talking, and he gave his attention to the Vice President once more.
“… that obelisk welded our nation together – and part of its power is found in the currency that unites us today – the image on that bill reflects its power. In fact, that linking image creates a great web of sustenance.” The old man turned and picked up his glass from the side-table, giving that sideways smile that so many of the media mistook for a malevolent sneer. “Now, of course you don’t see Him much outside the obelisk – but his power reverberates everywhere American dollars are spent. We united ourselves by sacrificing to him in the War Between the States – and in return, he guards us still.”
Richard Cheney raised his glass to the heavens, toasting the invisible.
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