Nicola Griffith's Blog, page 20

Menewood in the UK

Right now in the UK you can buy the ebook and audiobook of Menewood from a variety of stores and platforms. The bottleneck is the hardcover. As I don’t actually have a UK publisher, physical finished copies must be shipped via slow boat from the US publisher.

FSG’s UK distributor has already done that, sold through, and ordered more copies. ‘Most’ went to Amazon who have some stock right now—though I don’t know how long it will last. Waterstones have sold through their copies and have ordered more, though I don’t know how long it will take. Gardener’s (the UK equivalent of Ingram—they supply the independents) have also sold through and reordered. Everyone’s nagging Waterstones to change their website so you can at least order the book and expect to receive it not long after they do. But, again, how long that will take is a mystery.

As you can imagine this situation fills me with a hot, deep rage. My best book, not available in my own country. My best book, losing sales that it will never recover. My best book, unread. I would like to take an axe to some aspects of publishing and then hose the splinters with a flamethrower.

Why am I in this situation? Because UK editors are timid. I’ve been here before—with the Aud novels. No one would publish them. There were as many excuses as there were refusals:1

“Oh, The Blue Place is thrilling! But it’s too good for us—it deserves to go to someone who can sell it properly.”“What a brilliant book! But the author is clearly having too much fun for it to be literary, so not for us.”“Oh, we all loved it, but we already have one of those [lesbian protagonist] on the list.”“Our readers find violent female characters unlikeable. Sorry.”

There were many more like that—many more. Some of the editors very clearly liked the books but they either didn’t know how to publish/market/frame them, or they believed no one except them wanted to read about a lesbian who kills people and doesn’t feel bad about it. The editors had an essential disconnect between themselves as readers and their market: they didn’t trust their own readers. This is beyond infuriating: I had absolutely brilliant quotes from fabulous crime writers from the US and UK—Manda Scott, Val McDermid, Dennis Lehane—and great reviews from major journals. But were too timid.

The same is true for Menewood: the length frightens them. One publisher suggested I cut the book in two, and lose a significant percentage (she didn’t say how much but I got the impression it would be about 20%) of the larger half. I explained that this would not only change the book from one of character to one of action/adventure, but render Hild’s triumph unearned and possibly melodramatic, as well as ruin the shape of the novel. She dropped the book and walked away.

To a degree I can understand where these editors are coming from: cost of living increases and supply chain issues have been even worse in the UK than the US. And long books carry high list prices. But if you look at recent books that might appeal to my readers, they include mega tomes by Ken Follett and Samantha Shanon—which are selling brilliantly. Why won’t they take Menewood? It’s a mystery.2

So, if you’re an acquiring editor in the UK who would love to publish a brilliant novel set in the seventh century, get in touch. And, hey, perhaps you might like three sleek, contemporary novels of suspense to go with it…

These might sound unbelievable but, though in places I’m paraphrasing (it’s been more than 20 years and I don’t keep editorial letters), they are essentially true. ︎Or perhaps a literary work of great popular appeal… ︎

Character change in series novels

One of the challenges of writing a series of novels about the same character is managing reader expectations around character growth. At least it’s a challenge for me. For writers of some series—some bestselling lone-hero crime fiction, for example, or techno-thrillers—this is no problem at all: the protagonist simply never changes, at least in any meaningful sense. Readers of these series expect the main character to approach people and problem-solving in, say, Book Six exactly as they approached them in Book One; they prefer knowing what they’ll get for their money.

Before I go any further I want to be clear: I am not disparaging these books. I read and enjoy them myself. There’s a certain comfort in knowing what to expect, of seeing the protagonist behave exactly as themselves. At worst they’re reliable and at best they can be enormously pleasurable to read. I just don’t find them interesting to write.

So when I write a series—the Aud books, or the Hild sequence—some readers will, inevitably, be disappointed. Readers who loved The Blue Place might not be able to stand Stay; some who loved Stay might find Always puzzling. Some, of course, love them all—love seeing Aud grow and change and alter her behaviour, handle a situation in radical new ways. And Aud does change, quite a bit, from book to book. Which means the concerns of the narrative change, and the prose, style, pace, theme and setting change to match. While some readers delight in this, others find it bewildering if not downright disturbing. If you’re one of the latter then I may not be the writer for you—this is just how I work. This has been true since the beginning: my first two novels, Ammonite and Slow River, are both SF but wildly different, not just in setting—far future on a distant planet vs day-after-tomorrow right here—but in scope and tone. Not coincidentally, many people who loved Ammonite did not get on with Slow River (though, interestingly, most people who loved Slow River also really liked Ammonite—but that’s an essay for another time).

This is doubly true when the first book in any series—The Blue Place, or Hild—is unlike anything that’s gone before.1 If a reader falls head over heels with this New Thing then the odds are that they’ll want to repeat that experience with the next book in the series. Only, well, when it comes to my books that just isn’t going to happen.2 And it’s one of the reasons I’m still debating whether to write more about Peretur and Nimuë.

So when it comes to Menewood I’m not surprised that some readers and critics like the book but nonetheless are slightly dissatisfied but can’t quite pinpoint why, other than a vague feeling that it’s just not Hild. Well, no. It’s not. It can’t be. In Menewood, Hild the woman has different lessons to learn from that of child Hild; different crises to handle; different people to relate to; different skills to draw upon. And the world at the beginning of Menewood is very different place from that at the beginning of Hild—partly because of the actions of Hild herself in that first book. But I understand some readers’ restlessness: they wanted to re-experience that freshness and newness and difference that’s inherent in not only discovering a whole world/era that’s new to them but in inhabiting the body and mind of a child exploring her own wonders of life, when everything she feels is new, everything she does and everyone she meets is for the first time.

Menewood, of course, has other delights that Hild doesn’t—and so I’m delighted but not too surprised that other readers and critics not only call out the differences between the two novels but find them thrilling.3

So if you loved Hild will you love Menewood? I think you might—in fact I’m betting most of you will. I also wouldn’t be surprised if, in future years, readers who found, read and loved Menewood before encountering Hild are shocked at how different the first book is.

No two readers are alike: the book they read and the way they respond will be different. How they approach reading a series will be different. For example, when I encounter a new book in a series I’ve been enjoying I read it immediately, and only then go back and reread the previous books.

So now I’m curious about Hild readers. How did approach Menewood? Did you reread Hild first? (Why?) Did you read Menewood and only then go back and reread Hild? (Why?) Did you reassess either books as a result? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Did you prefer one to the other? Did different modes of consumption—paper, digital, audio—between now and then, or between books, influence your response?

Will this change what and how I write? It depends what I learn. Mainly, I’m just curious. I’d love to hear anything you care to share even (especially?) if you think I might not like it.

1 A phrase I heard several times in commentary on The Blue Place, and Aud in particular, was sui generis.

2 It’s not just readers who sometimes get bent out of shape when I don’t turn in an exact copy of what’s gone before—agents don’t always like it, and some editors hate it. This is partly why my career has looked the way it has. Right now I have an editor and agent who like the differences. Long may that remain so…

3 Not surprised but a bit relieved, I admit: you just never know.

Seattle Holiday Bookfest today!

The poster has all the info, but just in case you need more, see my previous post.

Hild—A Historical Note

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby, that is, the anniversary of the death, at age 66, on 17th November, 680. St Hilda is regarded as a patron saint of learning and culture, including poetry. I celebrate the day because I’ve spent the last 20 years of my life thinking and writing about her life. When people who haven’t read Hild or Menewood hear that, the question that inevitably—I mean always—comes up is, Why? and I suppose on the surface a saintly royal abbess of Early Medieval Britain might not be expected to hold much interest for a 21st-century queer crip who has led the furthest life imaginable from ‘saintly.’

I’ve talked about this a lot. See, for example, this interview, or this essay, or—most recently—this interview. It’s all true; sometimes some parts of it are more true than others. But for me there are two driving factors in this ongoing exploration of Hild’s life and world:

I want to know who this woman was and how she was able to do such remarkable things at a time when we’ve been taught women were of no consequence. I’m writing to find out.I really want to change the outdated view of the past and put people who have been excised from history—women, crips, queer, people of colour, poor people—back where we belong. I want to recast the past, because that will influence the present and make possible the future. I want—like Hild—to change the world for the better.

So far I have two novels—big novels (between them already longer than the Lord of the Rings)—and a long way to go in remaking, rebuilding, recasting her life and world. But it’s a fascinating, often joyous task because Hild, at least the way I’ve conceived her, is an extraordinary—but absolutely possible—person.

Menewood is a very different book to Hild—it has to be, and I’ll write more about that another time—and my conception of Hild as a both a project and a person has changed radically since I first began.1 But for now I’ll leave you with this excerpt from the Menewood Author’s Note, and remind you that the name Hild is Oldl English for battle…

Hild’s family tree

Before you read the note you mind find it helpful to look at Hild’s family tree. (This is my work—if you want to use it, ask.)

Historical Note

Hild was real. Almost everything we know of her comes from a single document, the Ecclesiastical History of the English People, written by Bede, a Christian monk, about fifty years after her death.2 If we are to believe Bede—who was a careful historian but writing with an agenda and within the cultural constraints of his time—Hild was born circa 614 CE, probably in the north of what is now England, and died in her bed 66 years later as the Abbess of what is now Whitby. We know her mother was Breguswith and her father Hereric;3 Hereric was poisoned in Elmet (West Yorkshire). When she was about 13 she was baptised in York alongside her (great-) uncle, Edwin Yffing4, king of Northumbria, and was recruited into the church when she was 33. Of the rest of the first half of her life—including the years covered in this book, January 632 to March 635—we know only that she was “living most nobly in the secular habit.” We don’t know where, or doing what, or with whom.5
However, during the second half of her life, as abbess, we know “her wisdom was so great that not only ordinary people, but even kings and princes sometimes asked for and”—the part that made me sit up and pay attention—”took her advice.”6 In other words, the powers-that-be of seventh-century Britain, who took and held power with the sword, regarded Hild as smart and knowledgeable enough in their arenas to offer valuable counsel. We know she was also an efficient and well-respected facilitator and administrator—she hosted the history-changing Synod at Whitby—a teacher (she trained five bishops), a forward thinker (she saw the value in using vernacular literature to convey ideas), and made an indelible impression on others (she is still venerated as a patron saint of learning and education 1350 years after her death). Finally, she possessed a determined sense of fairness: the community she ran held all possessions in common and all were treated equally. As people rarely have complete personality changes in their early 30s, we can assume Hild had these qualities to a degree before she joined the church—and on that assumption rest the events of this book.
While we don’t know much about Hild the person, we do know something of her contemporaries and the bloody events of their time. It would take more space than I have here to detail which specifics in this story are documented (or inferred from material finds) and which purely fictional, but the broad outlines of wars and regime change are true.
The book’s first main battle, usually referred to by historians as the Battle of Hatfield, is dated by Bede to Oct 12, 632.7 Edwin of Northumbria and his son, the ætheling Osfrith Yffing, are killed by the combined forces of Penda of Mercia and Cadwallon of Gwynedd at a place Bede names Hæðfeld, usually taken to refer to what is now Hatfield Chase near Doncaster. Eadfrith Yffing, another son and ætheling, is captured and later killed by Penda. Edwin and Osfrith are dismembered and their heads and limbs staked out on the battlefield. Over a year of chaos follows, with the thrones of Deira and Bernicia variously claimed by Osric Yffing (a cousin) and Eanfrid Iding (eldest son of a rival dynasty, living in exile among the Picts). Both are slaughtered by Cadwallon, who was “utterly barbarous in temperament and behaviour. He was set upon exterminating the entire English race in Britain, and spared neither women nor innocent children putting them all to horrible deaths with ruthless savagery, and continuously ravaging about the whole country.” This time “remains accursed and hateful to all good men…hence all those calculating the reigns of kings have agreed to expunge memory” of the whole thing from their kinglists.
The second main battle, often called the Battle of Heavenfield, occurred at an unknown date in 634. Oswald, son of Æthelfrith Iding (the king of Northumbria who was killed by Edwin), returned from exile in Dál Riata with a small band. The day before the battle he raised a cross at a place “called in English Hefenfeld.” Then in a surprise attack Cadwallon died just south of Hadrian’s Wall by Deniseburna, what is now Rowley Burn. Oswald became king of Northumbria.
Bede’s version of Hæðfeld needs only a little fictional intervention to make sense. Essentially, the combined armies of Mercia and Gwynedd march up the most convenient Roman road from their respective territories to Edwin’s—even 200 years after the tax-and-maintenance structure of Roman occupation collapsed, these roads were the best routes for rapid troop movement—to invade. They are met by Edwin’s army where the Roman road crosses from disputed territory at the edge of Lindsey and Mercia into Edwin’s territory. Edwin loses. Penda and Cadwallon march north to claim Northumbria.8
On the other hand, the Battle of Heavenfield/Deniseburna, as written, makes no sense to me whatsoever. According to Bede, Oswald Iding, half brother of Eanfrid Iding, “mustered an army small in numbers but strong in the faith of Christ; and despite Cadwallon’s vast forces, which he boasted of as irresistible, the infamous British leader was killed at a place known by the English as Deniseburn.” Oswald was an ætheling in exile in Dál Riata (what is now the western seaboard of Scotland and north-eastern Ireland—a long, difficult journey to Hadrian’s Wall). If he had a warband at all it would have been a small number of personal followers. Cadwallon, already a proven commander, had a victorious army and had been accumulating men and materiel for over a year; he was also based in territory he knew very well. How could Oswald travel so far and arrive not only in good enough shape to beat an enemy who heavily outnumbered him but unnoticed enough for his attack to be a surprise?
There are accounts of Oswald and this battle not only from Bede but also Adomnán (writing a little before Bede), and the compiler of the ninth-century Historia Brittonum. They couldn’t make the battle make sense either—or for some reason were offended by what really happened—because to differing degrees they all lean on divine intervention to explain it.
I prefer a more satisfying explanation: a combination of a smart, knowledgeable, observant, influential, persuasive and charismatic royal whose counsel on the dynamics of power was sought by kings (who at this stage were little more than warlords), and the fickle nature of the landscape. In my version of history, the deciding factor is not divine intervention but Hild and the weather.
Is this what really happened? It could have. It makes sense of all the disparate pieces we have and none if it contravenes what is known to be known.9 But in the final analysis Menewood is fiction. I made it up.

1 See, for example, this post from 12 years ago.

2 Her name is mentioned in the calendar of St Willibrord (a Northumbrian monk living in Utrecht in the early 8th century) and her death is noted in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles

3 We don’t know Breguswith’s origins. Hereric, though, was of the royal house of Deira—see the family tree I made—so it is probable she was from another royal dynasty. Given future marriage connections, I suspect either East Anglia or Kent. For reasons that will become clear in a future novel, I opted for Kent.

4 I use ‘Yffing’ as a family name for Edwin (and Hild’s) dynasty but this is not how it would have been used in the seventh century. Similarly, I doubt anyone in Hild’s early life used the world ‘Northumbria’.

5 I suspect that while Bede admired what Hild achieved, he did not wholly approve of how she lived. The (very few) other women he bothers to name in HE are admired for being “holy virgins” or “consecrated virgins” or—in the case of one queen married for more than once, the second time for 12 years—having “preserved the glory of perpetual virginity.” Hild is a conspicuous exception.

6 The original, “quaererent et invenīrent”, translates literally as “would seek and would find.” I read it as would take, but it could equally be would accept or would receive.

7 Dates are disputed, depending on the source, the calendar they used, and their translator. Some argue the year of Hatfield was 633 or even 634; some sources suggest the date of Oct 14. 

8 The only thing that does not make sense to me is why Cadwallon stayed in Northumbria but Penda did not, and why he harrowed the north: destroying everything and making no attempt to build a base of power.

9 But, oh, we know so little! Having said that, if anyone tells you that they know—that it’s perfectly obvious—that seventh-century women never were and never could have been warriors, feel free to laugh. There is so much data that over the last ten thousand years women have hunted and used weapons in armed combat that I honestly don’t know where to start. Perhaps with this article in Science or this post on my research blog

Mysterious Galaxy event now on YouTube

As promised, here’s the link to the event I did last month with Karen Joy Fowler for Mysterious Galaxy. Enjoy.

Ancillary Review of Books on Menewood

First, there’s a short review:

“Lush, textured…another gem of a book. To better understand this history, after all, is to better understand the present, which grows from the stories we tell ourselves about our past. Menewood is, at its core, about people, that people of all kinds have always been here, and that they lived complex, joyous, difficult, challenging, rewarding lives, just as we do.” 

Misha Grifka Warder, Ancillary Review of Books

Empathy, Violence, Protection, and Caretaking the Past: Review of Nicola Griffith’s Menewood

That’s followed by a much longer interview. It’s essentially verbatim, a transcript of a Zoom conversation, so this is me raw and unfiltered:

“I essentially write to find out, and I write to change the world as well. Doing these books is kind of doing both. I am recasting history so that people like us can belong there. If we belong there, then of course we belong here, and therefore we will belong in the future. It’s my way of trying to change the world, one reader at a time.”

Nicola Griffith Ancillary Review of Books

We Belong in History: Nicola Griffith on Menewood, Historical Fiction, and Diversity

At some point I’ll compile a list of reviews, interviews, commentaries and online conversations. Meanwhile, enjoy this.

Building a world worth living in

I’ve talked before about the video criticism of Raf Blutaxt: his magnificent, encyclopedic analysis of Arthurian retellings, and his insightful commentary on Hild.

And now he’s discussing Menewood. Two things in particular struck me about his commentary and I’ve expanded the with my own thoughts here:

Hild’s basic stance to the world in Menewood is about building for the future instead of fighting for the past. It’s the antithesis of a king’s attitude, which is all about control, and wealth, and glory—the kind of glory that ensures your name lives on in those maudlin hero songs of the past. Hild goes through some terrible things and her old world is destroyed. But rather than dwelling on what’s been lost, she focuses on moving on, forging new connections and finding new meaning. Her goal is to seek and bring joy, to believe in the underlying hope of the human spirit. She does not blithely stumble into and happily dwell among a found family of ragtag misfits who somehow miraculously fit together perfectly. No. Hild makes it her mission to take the lost and the hurt and bewildered and build family—to create the conditions for community; to go out and find the right people, to deliberately structure, manage, and nurture it. And to then protect it. Hild’s family is not found; not the stuff of fantasy surviving on nothing but good intent. Hild’s family, her community, is built. It is sustained. It is earned.

A king’s key verbs could be kill, control, take, and break. Hild’s are love, change, share, and make. That’s how to build a world worth living in.

In one week: Holiday Bookfest!

What is it?

Two wonderful Seattle authors per table in a large room with their latest books in front of them—lovely people like Claire Dederer, Alice Wong, Deb Caletti, Timothy Egan, Erica Bauermeister, Kenji López-Alt, Ken Jennings, and so many more I can’t list them all. And me, of course. Tom from Phinney Books says, “It’s two fun and fairly frenzied hours that bring Seattle’s fabulous readers together with some of Seattle’s most beloved writers.”

All the DetailsDate: Saturday, November 18, 2023Time: 2:00 – 4:00 p.m.Place: Phinney Center, Blue Building, 2nd floor, 6532 Phinney Ave. N., Seattle Website: https://www.phinneybooks.com/holiday-bookfest-2023Facebook event page: https://www.facebook.com/events/693663025681991/Author readings every 15 minutes:2:00 Kenji López-Alt2:15 Nicola Griffith2:30 Ken Jennings2:45 Sonora Jha3:00 Claire Dederer3:15 Erica Bauermeister3:30 Jane Wong3:45 BFI YouthThe youth tutoring center BFI hosting Bookmaker’s Space, where kids can make and take home a mini-zine and writers of all ages can contribute to the Comically Large Book that will be written during the eventThe Books to Prisoners program will have a table in the lobby collecting good used books. “What we can always use are some fiction categories (fantasy, horror, urban, paranormal romance, men’s adventure) as well as coloring books for grownups, national geographics, travel, sports, fitness, and self-help of all kinds.” Hardcover or softcover.The Bestest Bookfest

This is a lovely daytime holiday event stuffed with local authors and their books all in benevolent holiday mood (because we get free cookies and cider beforehand ) and a portion of the day’s profits will be donated to BFI and the PNA. So I hope you’ll mark your calendars and come and spend an insane amount of money on signed, personalised books for yourself and all your friends—all while basking for two hours in the company of people who read and write, sell and share, talk about and cherish books.

A book that could be sung…

I’ve posted here before about an extraordinary 4-hour video that is an analysis of Arthurian retellings. That video was by Raf Blutaxt, who has now done a 31-minute video all about Hild.

It’s interesting and—not surprisingly, seeing as it’s all about my book—I enjoyed it. But what really struck me was something he says near the end, that Hild “is a book that could be sung.” For me that’s a great compliment. I’ll look forward to his analysis of Menewood.

November cat, with flowers

I often think of Seattle as being very like Leeds, climate-wise. Both have mild maritime climates—due to the Kuroshio Current here and the Gulf Stream there. Both have a line of peaks to their west—though the Olympics are much higher than the Pennines—which shelter the cities from the worst wind and much of the rain. They feel the same. So every year as the days get shorter I’m amazed by how long the flowers on our deck stay in bloom.

Here’s what our kitchen deck looked like yesterday morning:

1. Fuchsia2. Salvia ‘Flaming Lips’3. Fuchsia, orange begonia, more fuchsia4. Jasmine, yellow begonia, flame fuchsia

Image descriptions. 1. Two pink and purple fuchsia blossoms handing before a wall of green. 2. Red and white ‘Flaming Lips’ salvia in a basket 3. Blue and terracotta pots with orange begonia, flame-orange fuchsia, purple petunia, and different—pink and purple—fuchsia 4. Big bright blue pot holding jasmine, yellow begonia, and a variegated vine

This just doesn’t happen in Leeds. And what makes the difference is latitude: Leeds is a hair off 54° N—about the same latitude as parts of the Aleutians or Denmark and Poland—whereas Seattle, at 47.6° N, is much farther south. This makes a huge difference in terms of light.

Right now Leeds is getting about 25 minutes less daylight a day than we are. By the solstice, that difference will be over an hour—which is a huge percentage. Here in Seattle Anna’s hummingbirds are year-round residents; they wouldn’t survive in Leeds.

So I’m going to enjoy these flowers while I can—and try to remember to take pictures of the still-astonishingly luxuriant Salvia in the front garden.

Meanwhile, here’s a picture of George guarding the remaining snapdragons.

George, Dragon Defender—a big short-haired tabby sitting on a deck in front of a pot of salmon-coloured snapdragon