THE BOOK OF I

The debut novel from a much-heralded Scottish playwright.

There are many ways to go about writing historical fiction. Two of the most common are situating the reader in the past by using archaic language and imagery—or language and imagery that feel archaic—and helping the reader find commonality with characters situated in the past by letting them speak and behave in ways that feel familiar. Each of these stylistic choices has its own pleasures and pitfalls. Greig has chosen the latter path, and the resulting story is a small treasure. The “I” of the title is the island now known as Iona, the tiny dot of land off the Scottish coast where St. Columba founded an abbey in the sixth century. We first see the holy isle through the eyes of a Viking called Grimur as the ship he’s aboard approaches the shore. The resulting raid is a real disappointment. Killing unarmed peasants and monks who desire martyrdom is no fun, and the only treasure Grimur finds is the best mead he’s ever tasted. But his deep appreciation of that mead will leave him so incapacitated that his fellows will bury him on the island before they leave. When he crawls out of his premature grave, Grimur will find that the only other human inhabitants left on the island are Una, the mead-maker, and Martin, a monk who hid himself in the latrine during the raid. Left alone, these three survive by forming a community in which they help each other achieve what they need. Grimur finds peace and family. Una experiences life without an abusive husband. And Martin finds purpose as the lone steward of Christian faith after the raid left the abbey without inhabitants. If this sounds tidy or precious, it is neither. The story is messy in the ways that being human is always messy. And it’s messy in ways that make the ninth-century Hebrides feel real.

A bloody and beautiful sojourn in the distant past.