Musical Interlude: Brandi Carlile

The Shadow of the Wind

I have just this minute finished reading The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. Like The Swan Thieves, it was recommended by my publisher as something I might enjoy based on my forthcoming release in February. 

Hidden in the heart of the old city of Barcelona is the 'cemetery of lost books', a labyrinthine library of obscure and forgotten titles that have long gone out of print. To this library, a man brings his 10-year-old son Daniel one cold morning in 1945. Daniel is allowed to choose one book from the shelves and pulls out The Shadow of the Wind by Julian Carax.  

But as he grows up, several people seem inordinately interested in his find. Then, one night, as he is wandering the old streets once more, Daniel is approached by a figure who reminds him of a character from The Shadow of the Wind, a character who turns out to be the devil. This man is tracking down every last copy of Carax's work in order to burn them. What begins as a case of literary curiosity turns into a race to find out the truth behind the life and death of Julian Carax and to save those he left behind. A page-turning exploration of obsession in literature and love, and the places that obsession can lead.

It was the last thing I read last night, and the first thing I picked up this morning. Perhaps not since The Lovely Bones have I devoted myself to reading at the expense of pressing things I ought to be doing. I stopped last night only because I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. 

I won't even go into it, it was that good. It is something ingeniously special and masterfully written. Wonderfully original and mesmerisingly complex, full of mystery, poetry and profoundly real characters.  

Snapshot of Rwanda

A snapshot of the beautiful country I live in. Just re-listed myself on CouchSurfing this week.

Long, Long Ago...

Art by Jen Delyth

The past few months have been chaotic. Relocating back to Rwanda, setting up a company, writing reports and catching up with friends.

Finally I have a couple of weeks to myself and I am settled into a lovely house with a garden, vegetable plot, a nice view and my own, quiet, office. The perfect setting for my mind to return to writing.

I've tentatively started on my next novel, a story of long, long ago. I've written about the 1930s in Australia, the 1850s in Iran, and now I'm tackling the Iron Age in Ireland. Retelling an ancient legend in a modern way. 

It's a story I have always loved, and one which lends itself very well to a new approach, but it is also one that requires a great deal of research. The further back in time you go, the harder that research becomes, especially when exploring the Tuatha Dé Danann, whose stories intertwine but rarely follow a coherent timeline.

The fact that so little is written or know is, on the one hand, quite helpful. It leaves a large amount of space for poetic license and filling in the empty gaps with imaginative subplots. On the other hand, it means that what is written is often quite academic, and the danger of blundering into an impossibility become quite high, as mentioned in my post on Celtic candlelight.

Back when I was researching Angorichina, I really used to enjoy this part of the process: looking at old photo archives, reading medical journals and personal accounts. Rosy Hours, too, was fun to investigate. However, I'm not enjoying it quite so much this time. It's such a distant age that there is very little to look at beyond academic articles, museum artifacts and Time Team documentaries on YouTube. There are no photographs from the time, or personal accounts. The timeline is confusing, the characters ambiguous, and the language and its etymology hard to interpret. The romanticism that makes this an attractive age for a setting seems lost beneath weighty resources.

I will spend a few weeks going through as much as I can. To me, the best fiction isn't real, but it could be real. I like to stay as close to what is known as possible to give the story, and its characters, a world that is plausible; to allow them to live in such a way that seems natural to them. But beyond a certain point, it is the story, rather than history itself, that must take hold. We are, after all, storytellers, not historians. Our skill lies in breathing magic back into dry academia.

I shan't blog the process in the way I did with Rosy Hours, as it's likely to prove fairly similar, but I will post the occasional update and excerpt.

Let us lose ourselves in the Feast of Age and the aos sí.

Banned Book Week

All this week, 21st-27th September, has been Banned Book Week, where the world celebrates all the stuff it's not supposed to even know about.

For those who feel like being rebellious, here's some funky fun to get your nose into:

• Banned Books Week website (and Facebook page)
• Banned Books Org
• 10 Banned Classics
• List of Banned Books by Government

Also - age rating on books, and why I think that's tosh.

Gaiman on Pratchett

An interesting read, Neil Gaiman talks about his friend Terry Pratchett.

I want to tell you about my friend Terry Pratchett, and it’s not easy. I’m going to tell you something you may not know. Some people have encountered an affable man with a beard and a hat. They believe they have met Sir Terry Pratchett. They have not.

I was lucky enough to see Pratchett talk at Cheltenham in 2012.

Visible

Good morning 23rd September.

I cut into this onion the other day - brought a tear to my eye.

#BiVisibilityDay