Going right back to his earliest novels, The Return of John Macnab and the luminously odd Electric Brae, Andrew Greig’s books have been marvellous page-turners. That’s not only because of the plot – he’s no mere Jeffrey Archer or Dan Brown – but because of a conjunction of occurrence and consequence in the narrative. Things happen, and they matter, and the story unfolds in moments that feel connected and timeless.
As well as being a master of narrative, of course, Andrew Greig is a poet and his poetic ear and eye are well to the fore in his new novel, Rose Nicolson, in which we take a journey into the souls of Reformation Scotland and of the narrator William Fowler and the eponymous Rose Nicolson herself.
This poetic inflection can be seen particularly in the openings of chapters, where Greig paints an image, or a thought, or a problem, one which will give spine and shape to what comes next. Take this, for example:
The world’s wheel spins. The soft clay of the self spins with it, awaiting shaping hands.
The first sentence, on its own, could be thought trite, even cliched. But then comes the second, amplifying, sentence and we are led into the thematic core of the novel, its vital questions: whose are the shaping hands? how do they shape us? can we, should we resist? what say have we in the final outcome?
In the ensuing chapter, Will Fowler is attending his studies in St Andrews in 1575, a young man of independent mind, not yet determined on whether to be a follower of Plato or Aristotle, a Divine or a Humanist. He is invited by the Dean to assist with the removal and sale of a cache of items, bowls and platters and jugs, candlesticks and cups and, most significantly, wood-carved saints and a single chalice – symbols of Popery, in other words, and thus highly dangerous in Reformation Scotland. Will’s family are traders and it makes sense for him to help, but make no mistake this is dangerous. Will agrees, and the moment he does the world’s spin gathers him up and the shaping begins. What will be the outcome?
Rose Nicolson is a wonderful historical novel, with a
fine sense of place and history and characters who feel important, stories
which matter, events which are, at once, particular and timeless. It is a love
story, and is that not the oldest story of all, the one we all live ourselves,
some time, somehow? But it is also Will’s and Rose’s love story, and that is
unique and personal, infinite.
