The Pillars of the Earth (Kingsbridge, #1)

by Ken Follett

A lot of people were surprised by The Pillars of the Earth, including me. I was known as a thriller writer. In the book business, when you have had a success, the smart thing to do is write the same sort of thing once a year for the rest of your life. Clowns should not try to play Hamlet; pop stars should not write symphonies. I should not have risked my reputation by writing something out of character and overambitious.

My publishers were nervous. They wanted another spy story. My friends were also apprehensive. They know that I enjoy success. I’m not the kind of writer who would deal with a failure by saying that the book was good but the readers were inadequate. I write to entertain, and I’m happy doing so. A failure would make me miserable. No one tried to talk me out of it, but lots of people expressed anxious reservations.

By then I had developed the method of working that I continue to use to this day. I begin by writing an outline of the story, saying what happens in each chapter, and giving thumbnail sketches of the characters. But this book was not like my others. The beginning came easily, but, as the story unwound over the decades and the people grew from youth to maturity, I found it more and more difficult to invent new twists and turns in their lives. I realized that one long book is much more of a challenge than three short ones.

Eventually I figured out what was happening. This was a word-of-mouth book. It’s a truism of the book business that the best advertising is the kind you can’t buy: the personal recommendation of one reader to another. That was what was selling Pillars. You did it, dear reader. Publishers, agents, critics, and the people who gave out literary prizes generally overlooked this book, but you did not. You noticed that it was different and special, and you told your friends; and in the end the word got around. And so it happened. It seemed like the wrong book; I seemed like the wrong writer; and I almost didn’t do it. But it is my best book, and you honored it. I appreciate that. Thank you.

Waleran said: “My lord king, I thank you for being willing to reconsider the future of the Shiring earldom, and I will await your decision anxiously and prayerfully.” That was neat, Philip thought. It sounded as if Waleran was giving in gracefully. In fact he was summing up by saying that the question was still open. The king had not said that. If anything, his response had been negative. But there was nothing offensive about insisting that the king could still decide one way or the other. I must remember that, Philip thought: when you’re about to be turned down, go for a postponement.

Early in the afternoon the prisoners were given food. It was lukewarm leftovers from the dinner provided for the fighting men, but they fell on it ravenously. Philip hung back and let the others have most of it, for he regarded hunger as a base weakness that ought to be resisted from time to time, and considered any enforced fast to be an opportunity to mortify the flesh.

Aliena should have married Jack, of course. Philip could see that now, and he felt guilty that he had been so committed to his own plans for Jack that he had failed to realize what the boy really needed. Jack was never meant for the cloistered life and Philip had done wrong in pressuring him into it. Now Jack’s brilliance and energy had been lost to Kingsbridge.

Philip took great consolation from the story of Job. Like Job, Philip had worked hard all his life to do God’s will to the best of his ability; and, like Job, he had been rewarded with bad luck, failure and ignominy. But the purpose of the sermon was to lift the spirits of the townspeople, and Philip could see that it was not working. However, the story was not yet over.

“You refused him!” Elizabeth was thrilled. “You’re so courageous. I wish I was like you.” Suddenly she looked downcast again. “But I can’t even stand up to the servants.” “You could, you know,” Aliena said. “But how? They just don’t take any notice of me, because I’m only fourteen.” Aliena considered the question carefully, then answered comprehensively. “To begin with, you must become the carrier of your husband’s wishes. In the morning, ask him what he would like to eat today, whom he wants to see, which horse he would like to ride, anything you can think of. Then go to the kitchener, the steward of the hall, and the stableman, and give them the earl’s orders. Your husband will be grateful to you, and angry with anyone who ignores you. So people will get used to doing what you say. Then take note of who helps you eagerly and who reluctantly. Make sure that helpful people are favored—give them the jobs they like to do, and make sure the unhelpful ones get all the dirty work. Then people will start to realize that it pays to oblige the countess. They will also love you much more than William, who isn’t very lovable anyway. Eventually you will become a power in your own right. Most countesses are.”

Archdeacon Peter’s face was like stone. He was the worst kind of Christian, Philip realized: he embraced all of the negatives, enforced every proscription, insisted on all forms of denial, and demanded strict punishment for every offense; yet he ignored all the compassion of Christianity, denied its mercy, flagrantly disobeyed its ethic of love, and openly flouted the gentle laws of Jesus. That’s what the Pharisees were like, Philip thought; no wonder the Lord preferred to eat with publicans and sinners.

Remigius broke off. The church was silent, waiting. The old man sighed and resumed. “I wanted to take over his position and repair the damage. But God chose another man for that task.” He paused again, and his old face worked painfully as he struggled to finish. “I should say: God chose a better man.” He sat down abruptly.

Steven said: “We should write to the king saying we will elect whom we please!” After a moment he added sheepishly: “With God’s guidance, of course.”