Opening Chapter-- Esma OPENING SCENE: Introduces setting, tone, primary and secondary protagonist, and foreshadows primary conflict. Chapter 1 Opening Chapter-- Orhan Topkapi Palace, August 1804 I don’t know much About the world. But I know what I feel When I feel the current Of destiny Take me. I was summoned to the palace of Esma Sultan, the daughter of Sultan Abdulhamid II of the Ottoman Empire, in late summer of 1804, the season when the figs ripen. Though it was late summer to Europeans, to the Turks it was the season of fruition. I was assigned the role of has odabaşı, the male head steward of Esma Sultan’s palace, managing all business, political and house affairs for the Princess. In our Empire, the will of our Sultan and destiny chose our path, and so it was mine to land at the doorstep of Esma Sultan. I was twenty-two and had just graduated from Enderun, the most selective of the Palace Schools. And the most elite institution of our great Ottoman Empire. I was expecting an apprenticeship in diplomacy because of my high scores and unusual volubility in speaking so many languages. Some labeled me a genius; others were suspicious of my abilities. I caught the attention of the Sultan and the royal family when I first arrived to Topkapi Palace as a child. They raised me as their own and I had dreams of becoming a high-ranking pasha in the Sultan’s inner circle. But instead of steering me on a diplomatic course to serve our Empire, our now reigning sovereign, Sultan Selim III, chose this course instead: I would run the palace of a Princess. What was I to expect? I had not the faintest idea. My entire world until this moment had been entirely in the domain of men. I felt like a fish out of water. You think you know your path and then you realize that you know nothing. I knew the Princess from our days growing up when I was a young page for her father. She was three years older than me. But I had not seen her in years since the time that she had married the great admiral and moved into a palace of her own. Tragically, the great admiral died a few months ago and left young Esma a widow. First, they said he died in battle, and then from consumption. Some say she poisoned him. His death is still mired in mystery. But it certainly gave our Sultana her freedom. Since then, though, she has transformed into a figure of gossip and intrigue. Wild rumors conflagrated about her. Some called her deli or “the crazy one” for her independent ways. Others said she was no woman, but a man, donning pants, riding horses, and traveling around without the cloak we call a yaşmak. It is true that she spent time in the European quarters of Pera, but gossip spread that she rode around in her araba, her carriage, befriending foreigners. She was considered a Sultan herself, as heir of a ruling Sultan, so she did have freedoms that eluded other women. But the rumors still lingered. The worst of the lot was that she had insatiable desires, unleashed, and unbridled after the death of her husband, and had handsome men brought to her palace to satisfy her needs. After spending one night with her, the young men were never seen again. The rumor was that she had the poor souls drowned in the Boğaz, the Bosphorus Straight that faced her waterfront palace. I tried to ignore the rumors and suspected it was the highfalutin Ottoman ladies of her society behind them, jealous of her wealth, power, and independent ways, for she was one of the wealthiest individuals in the Empire, rivaling the Sultan himself. A powerful woman could also easily be at the mercy of men. Like the wheel of fortune, a woman could go up and down in power. Others may have found her affinity for foreigners unusual and eccentric and her influence in politics threatening. What I did know was that she was a faithful wife and pious woman, never missing Friday prayers. She gifted gilded holy book holders to our religious leaders and schools. The pious folks loved her. The poor folks even more. No woman gave more to the needy. I couldn’t imagine that she could have such a secret life. These were the least of my worries or those of the Empire, which was in turmoil both inside and out. The world was upside down, mostly due to Napoleon’s ambitions to conquer all of Europe. Last Spring, Britain and France resumed warring, while Russia and Austria joined forces with Britain against Napoleon. We were neutral, but always involved. Our sovereign was confused as France, Britain, and Russia all professed friendship, yet they all threatened to attack us. If tensions outside the Empire were not bad enough, tensions inside were worse. Everyone feared a revolt by the Janissaries. Once a military force, feared by the world, they had now degenerated into a wild band of ruffians. They refused to be trained as modern soldiers under the new French system, which our Sultan now favored and followed. The Janissaries hated the French and believed that Napoleon’s new war machine was the death of the warrior and a curse against God. Our Sultan Selim was left in a quandary as to how to fight our greatest threat—The Russians—without the right military or enough men to fight them. The Russians were the single greatest threat to our existence, because they had tried and failed for years to take Istanbul. Spiritually, they believed it was their holy Orthodox city and strategically, they wanted control over the Boğaz, the straight that ran through our city, which allowed them easy passage to Europe. I worried how much longer we could continue in this chaos, without someone conquering us.

Fifteen years before I was born, my mother became religious. She met my father, started keeping Shabbat and kosher, married him and had nine children. I’m the eighth child, the baby girl. I grew up in a house where McDonald’s was never on the menu, where dairy products (even certified kosher ones) weren’t allowed unless a Jew had been present from the time the cow was milked until it was packaged. My family celebrated every Jewish holiday with lots of guests and even more food. We spent weeks preparing for Purim, making a little factory line in our kitchen to package snacks for our friends and teachers. We spent even longer preparing for Passover, using the extra kitchen in our basement to make desserts a month before the holiday. We kept a two handled cup of water in a bowl under our bed so we could ritually wash our hands before leaving our beds in the morning, and wrote on the corner of every paper an abbreviation for “with the help of heaven” before starting to write. I knew what was allowed (friendships with girls, chocolates from Israel) and what was forbidden (TV, non-Jewish music, boys). This was all simply a part of life. Our Judaism came with very specific rules, and I — a precocious child who wanted everyone to like me — was more than happy to follow along. When I was 18, I moved to Israel to study Torah with almost everyone I knew. I attended Michlalah, one of the most prestigious schools for women’s learning. In my journal I kept at that time I wrote: “Today we read about the necessity of learning new things and immediately dividing it into parts in our head, whether it is a principle, a detail, etc., which is important to me because I am always learning new things, and I need to think about how they fit into the big picture, for example, if something comes along to contradict it.” At Michlalah, I learned and practiced how to think. While I was at Michlalah I took every course they offered on Jewish law, studying the texts in their original Hebrew. Once I read the text in black and white, there was no flexibility; I wanted to follow every law exactly. I began covering my legs, praying twice a day and not eating in the homes of anyone who didn’t keep Shabbat. When anyone asked, I would say that I was religious for two reasons. First: Because God wanted me to be. I believed God had commanded the Jews to keep the laws in the Torah, and that meant I needed to keep every rule described within it. Second: I wanted to be a good person. I was convinced that practicing Torah law — essentially following a rule book — would help me achieve that goal. But then something happened. In October of my second year in Israel, I started questioning my faith. My older brother was visiting, and one afternoon we spent time learning together. We discovered that in the Talmud it says that the sun revolves around the earth, so even though science says the earth revolves around the sun, one day we are going to learn that the Talmud was right. Made sense to me. A few days later, I was at my rabbi’s house, and to let him know how devout I was, I shared what my brother and I had learned. Immediately he jumped up and started looking for books in his library. “It actually isn’t the Talmud that says that,” he exclaimed, “it’s the Rambam!” He started pulling books off his shelf, showing me where the Rambam had discussed philosophy and science, and showing me how rabbis contemporary to the Rambam opposed his views, some even burning his books. I was reeling. The Rambam is one of the most important rabbis in Jewish history. He wrote the Mishneh Torah, a foundational book of Jewish law. There are religious Jews who use that as their primary text. Things weren’t adding up: Fellow Jews do everything this man says, but his peers thought he was wrong? Is the rabbi I follow also wrong? Who is right? What is God asking of me? My first reason for being religious — an unwavering belief that it was God’s will and not to be questioned — was now, in fact, in question. While I tried to make sense of my thoughts, I started looking for evidence of the second reason I was religious — to be a good person. I analyzed the religious leaders around me, and what I saw hurt me. They didn’t keep my confidences; they judged me harshly; they were inconsistent. They were regular people. I realized I couldn’t simply follow Jewish law to a T in the hopes that it would connect me to God and make me a good person. A few months later, I stopped being religious. At that time, I was a student at Yeshiva University in Manhattan. It felt like I was the only person in the 2000 person school that wasn’t religious. I wondered if I could continue to act religious to fit in — I mean, these were actions I had done my whole life. Why not just keep doing them, even if I didn’t believe anymore? But I was on a new path, and I had to follow it. I owed it to myself, even if it felt scary or lonely. Practicing Judaism was once described to me as having a script that tells you how to respond in any situation. There are rules for everything, from how to cut your nails to how to shower to how to put on your shoes. When I rejected the script, suddenly things I had done my whole life were so hard. I didn’t want to wear long black skirts — but what should I wear? I wanted to get married — but who was eligible? I was driven to community — but who exactly were my people? I craved choice and free will, but I struggled with it, too. I learned new ethical concepts. I cherished my intellectual freedom. I practiced thinking, this time deeply and fully for myself, and learned to tap my inner compass for directions rather than asking dead men in books to give me the answers. I did not feel connected to Judaism anymore. Five years passed. I was living in Miami and working at a hedge fund, when a friend asked if I would host a Shabbat dinner for her. Impulsively, I decided to observe the laws of Shabbat as well as I could. I bought my favorite foods, put on my favorite dress, set the table and lit candles while whispering a prayer for my family’s health and happiness. I hadn’t done any of those things in years. But when I completed the required steps to welcome Shabbat, it was like I had used a magic key to unlock a wellspring that showered me with peace and joy. I realized I wanted to connect to Judaism again. Over the past five years, I’ve spent my time reengaging with Jewish texts, communities, rituals and beliefs to find the magic hidden in my heritage, to discover the pieces of my religion that feel good to me — but this time, I’m doing it on my own terms....

The clock ticked away while Anna’s own heart had stopped. How could time keep going when she and the kids were stuck in limbo, huddled close, holding their breaths, sobbing softly, not daring to make even a minute movement that might draw attention to life in this room? Not one of the students even dared to text a parent as they waited for the inevitable shadow to pass the door, jiggle the handle, and start firing. The shots were too close to allow for any mistake, any fumbling, any sound. Anna prayed they had all turned their phones to silent but knew that fear and confusion meant someone probably hadn’t. While they had trained for this all their lives, real life is not training. Real life is much, much messier than training. The shooting had started only moments ago, and Anna hoped word had not gotten out to the community yet. “Please, God, please keep a phone from ringing,” she pleaded silently as her eyes closed. But she knew her luck wouldn’t hold out long - somebody on the other side of school probably was far enough away from the shots to get the word out. And then there would be sirens, texts and calls from parents, desperate firing as the gunman took the last moments of his life to take as many with him as possible. And Anna knew without doubt who the gunman was. She had been warning the school administrators all year. And she also knew who he was coming after. These students had the misfortune to be in class with the teacher who was most likely to die today. “Miss V? Miss V?” a student whispered. Monte, the class clown. Oh God, no, not right now. Her only thought could be how to save her students - she couldn’t deal with his nonsense right now. “Monte, please,” she pleaded quietly. “I can’t right now.” “No, no, Miss V, listen to me. I think we should go out the window.” A quiet buzz erupted from a few other students, but Anna shushed them. The shots were almost on their hallway. Maybe Ethan would think they were at lunch. But then she remembered the schedule posted next to her door in the hallway. “Shit!” was the only thing that came to mind. “Monte, that window is too tiny. Only a child could fit through it,” she whispered. Who the hell builds classrooms with tiny windows - or no windows? She sighed internally. “No, Miss V, we can bust out the part that doesn’t open. Then we could all fit.” Anna wanted to cry, but crying wouldn’t solve anything. She had to hold it together, just as she always had. “Monte, we can’t make a sound right now. He’s just around the corner and will hear that glass break, assuming we can even break it. Our best bet is to huddle in this corner.” “Miss V, I can’t stay here. This just isn’t right. That barricade isn’t going to hold him. And you know he’s coming here.” Anna closed her eyes and sighed. Monte knew just as well as she did who the shooter was. Just then, Anna heard shots so close that her ears rang. She covered them and sunk lower to the ground. The kids whimpered and more tears fell. A few of them called out for their parents as they sobbed. The screams of the wounded from next door pierced her soul. She couldn’t hear the clock now.

Write to Pitch Assignment—Esma First Assignment: Write Story Statement Feminist Turkish princess (known to lure handsome men to her palace, and after one night, drowns them in the Bosphorus), breaks all the rules while trying to save her Empire during the most tumultuous period of Ottoman history. “She is not a woman, she is Esma Sultan.” Second Assignment: Antagonist Halit Güloğlu, former Janissary general and lover of Esma Sultan. Halit is the Janissary lover that Esma summons to her palace, but who does not show up. He is arrogant, strong-willed, handsome and tall, with fair features. He resists Esma repeatedly and is willing to go to the gallows in his defiance. Esma has a strong desire and pull towards Halit, which mystifies her, and she is determined to conquer him. Halit was brought to Istanbul from Serbia as a boy and rises through the ranks as a slave to become a Janissary general. Through his valiant efforts and merit, he is given his freedom and becomes a successful merchant. While a Janissary soldier, Halit had to fight against his own people during the Serbian uprisings. This has made him callous, bitter and impervious to the commands of others. During the British invasion of Istanbul, destiny and circumstances bring Esma and Halit together. Esma begins to trust him though they are often at odds. Orhan, Esma’s right hand man and head steward, does not trust him and warns Esma to be circumspect. Halit and Orhan are also at odds and in competition. When Orhan must leave and take care of matters abroad, Esma asks Halit to join her as her head steward. Though he is her antagonist, he eventually becomes her lover and closest advisor. Esma stops summoning men to her palace, after meeting Halit, but begins to have an unconventional harem of her own. Third Assignment: Break Out Title 1. Esma 2. Esma: The Book of Lovers 3. Esma: Butterfly of Shadow and Light Fourth Assignment: Who are your comparables? Genre: Women’s/Feminist Historical Fiction/Literary Historical Fiction Philippa Gregory (Women’s/Feminist Historical Fiction) meets Orhan Pamuk (Turkish Literary Historical Fiction) The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah Two sisters fight for the resistance in occupied France during WWII. We see the war through their eyes. Both risk their lives for their country, taking extreme measures, and my heroine is doing the same. The White Queen by Philippa Gregory This is the story of Elizabeth Woodward, a woman of beauty and exceptional abilities who becomes the Queen of England during the Wars of the Roses in the 15th century. Her courage, strength and great feminine power makes for a remarkable heroine and inspiring historical figure. I find her qualities and the style/voice of her first person narrative comparable to Esma. My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk This is a 16th century Literary Historical Novel set in the Golden Age of the Ottoman Empire that follows the miniaturist art court of Topkapi Palace. This book was loved by readers and critics alike and is a splendid example of Ottoman Empire literary historical fiction (of course it is nearly impossible to reach the literary acumen of Orhan Pamuk, but I believe his audience would enjoy reading Esma). The Nightingale and The White Queen happen to be two of my favorite historical novels because they tell the story of fearless women who sacrifice much and risk all to save their country and kingdom while facing the universal struggles and challenges faced by women. These empowered female characters are tested by history (one is a royal and the other are two common sisters) during a time of war. The writing is intelligent and poetic yet accessible. I’ve added My Name is Red as an example of Literary Historical Fiction of the Ottoman Empire. I believe my trilogy would appeal to readers of women’s historical fiction as well as lovers of Turkey, Turkish writers and Ottoman/Near Eastern history. Fifth Assignment: Hook Line and Conflict and Core Wound A beautiful, brilliant 19th century feminist Turkish princess, notorious for luring men into her palace and drowning them the night after, breaks all the rules of her society, and is at the helm of power as she tries to save her Empire during the most tumultuous period of its history. Sixth Assignment: Conflict in Three Parts Primary conflict: Esma and her Empire must face its existential threat as Russia and England plan to invade Istanbul. Russia believes that Istanbul is rightfully theirs as the true orthodox city of Christendom. Esma must mobilize behind the scenes with various diplomats, while managing a weak and feeble Sultan, to save her city and Empire. Secondary conflict: Esma clashes with her mother, who plots for her to take the throne and depose the reigning Sultan Selim, who is fond of the French and the West. Selim is Esma’s cousin, and she holds deep affection for him. Esma colludes with her mother and brother and supports the rebellion against Selim, which leads to his murder. She regrets this decision and ultimately helps her half-brother Mahmud come to power. Esma is caught between the traditional Islamic values espoused by her mother, brother and the Janissaries, and the Western ways of the Sultan and his court. Aside from her political involvement, Esma must battle her urges and desires, and though she stops summoning men after meeting Halit, she continually battles with him in love and power. She also must fight to recover the respect of the Janissaries and her people as she puts their needs ahead of her own. Inner conflict: Esma’s greatest conflict is her inner conflict. The turmoil of her resulting inner conflict leaves her with debilitating headaches. Esma must battle her physical desires and temper them with her need to be politically involved. She must also face the conflict of betraying her mother and brother, for the best interest of her Empire, when she decides to support her half-brother Mahmud, who takes the throne after the murder of the previous Sultan. Further, Esma grapples with the gravity of her prior actions as she transforms into a woman wholly committed to the salvage of her Empire. As the story continues, her pull and attraction for Halit, the defiant Janissary, intensifies as finds herself falling in love, something she has never experienced. One of her greatest inner struggles is that she is a pious, religious woman who seeks sexual freedom. Striving to remain faithful to Islam, she must enter a dark night of the soul and seek atonement while charting a course towards saving her Empire. She must also face feelings of shame and disquietude as she comes into owning her power. Seventh Assignment: The Setting. Istanbul, 19th century Ottoman Empire during the Napoleonic Wars. There are many flourishing cities in the world. But you’re the only one who creates enchanting beauty. I say, he who has lived happily, in the longest dream, Is he who spent his life in you, died in you, and was buried in you. Yahya Kemal Beyatli Istanbul: The city of Istanbul is the main setting, and the blue, dazzling Bosphorus Strait that runs through the city, its main character. The Bosphorus, full of rich symbolism, links the Black Sea to the Mediterranean, and Russia to the mighty womb of Europe. Esma and Orhan, as they alternate in their narration of the story, both speak of how the Bosphorus waters reflect not only their own state of mind, but the state of the Empire. There are several locations in Istanbul that play a key role in the setting. First there is Esma’s waterfront palace, the main location of Book I, in the village of Ortaköy, about an hour by carriage from Topkapi Palace. Next is Topkapi Palace, the imperial residence where the Sultan and royal family live, which faces both the Marmara Sea and the Bosphorus Strait. The characters also frequent the Sweet Waters of Europe, a quiet estuary on the countryside up the Golden Horn with grassy fields and calm blue waters where Esma owns a kiosk. We are also taken to various places in Istanbul, the coffeehouses, the main squares, the residences of Ambassadors in the European district of Pera (modern day Beyoğlu), as well as the neighborhoods of Sultan Ahmet, Eyüp and Galata. Rustchuk, Bulgaria: A secondary setting is in Bulgaria, primarily Rustchuk, an Ottoman city on the Danube River (modern-day Ruse). The governor of Rustchuk is a powerful noble, with the largest standing army in the Empire, who will collaborate with Esma to take over the city as chaos rampantly spreads (civil war breaks out, Russia threatens war again, and the English are on their way back to Istanbul). It’s a miracle that the Empire survives this period! Istanbul is brought to life not only with its mosques and minarets, the call to prayer and the mystical Bosphorus Strait, but also with Sufi poetry and the verses of the Qur’an that are woven throughout the chapters. In fact, verses of the Qur’an line the roofs of the palaces and buildings in the city, with gilded calligraphy. The city is known as one of the most spiritual and historic cities in the world and I do my best to capture its essence and magic. Sufi poetry is a huge part of all three books, for it is how we can understand the culture and spirituality of the Ottomans; their literature was poetry. I believe my love for the city, the city where my father was born and raised, where my parents met and attended university together (Bosphorus University), and my heritage, comes through in my portrayal of the city. The atmosphere/setting of the book is probably its strongest quality. Istanbul is a city that was once the center of the Christian world and then became the center of the Muslim world. The Ottoman Empire, one of the greatest Empires of the world, lasted 600 years, and it was the city of Istanbul that held the Empire together. Napoleon said that if the world was one state, Istanbul would be its capital. It is a city of endless fascination for readers and travelers. The following photos are: Esma Sultan herself, her palace, which still stands in Istanbul, photos of present day Istanbul, and drawings of Istanbul at the time of my historical novel (including the interior of a princess's palace).

Story statement - my protagonist must overcome trauma and the feeling of meaninglessness in her life to save herself and her students from a school shooter. The antagonist - Ethan is my protagonist’s student, a disaffected youth who has had a hard life. I haven’t fully fleshed out his background yet, but what I’ve written so far shows that he is the child of a mother who has overcome addiction and has suddenly become “a parent.” She is trying to interfere in his life and tortures his teachers too by standing up for Ethan when he doesn’t deserve it. His background of being around rough characters while his mom was an addict and how these other characters tortured him have made him difficult, surly, and angry. He deals drugs on his phone all day at school (I pulled this from my experience with a student) and is defiant. This causes conflict with multiple teachers, including my protagonist. My plan is that we will see Ethan somewhat bullied at school, but only by those who aren’t afraid of him. He’s the type of kid who puts off a vibe that intimidates your everyday bully: most kids are smart enough to identify a kid who they think would be a future school shooter and stay away from that kid. But not every kid is that smart. So I’m thinking I may need an antagonist for my antagonist - a kid who is either dumb or cocky and has no problem bullying Ethan. But I also have his mother who he defies and demeans and who still tries to protect her son from others - but not from herself. Breakout title - A Passing Shadow (from 1 Chronicles 29:15) Comparables - Mystic River by Dennis Lehane; Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver. I love Mystic River because it deals with characters who are driven by demons in their past, and there is a murder as a result of some generational trauma. This is what I’m going for. I don’t write as well as Lehane, and the way I’m structuring my novel is not the way he structured his. However, I feel like his novel and mine will both show how the effects of trauma can guide towards a tragic end. I also listed Demon Copperhead because I think my antagonist is a lot like these characters who grew up in tough circumstances that lead them to make tragic choices. Core Wound & Primary Conflict - A middle-aged teacher struggles to deal with a defiant student who has dangerous tendencies in order to save her students. Other Conflict: My protagonist struggles with a past trauma that causes her to wrestle with the meaninglessness of her life. But her past trauma makes her determined to save her students and in the process, she finds the meaning she has been seeking. She also struggles with a school system and society that puts teachers and kids in danger. The expectation that teachers will just deal with students who have threatened them will cause conflict between her and others. Setting - Right now, my plan is to make the school my primary setting. I haven’t sketched out much about the school, but it will be based on the multiple schools I’ve worked in. I do plan on some interesting secondary characters, including a love interest for my protagonist.

There are words that we hesitate to use when describing women writers. Nice is certainly one, and approachable might be even more questionable. (Who exactly is approaching, and what are their intentions?) Still, these are the words that inevitably come to mind when I think of the novelist Rebecca Makkai. I met her via email seven years ago, after I randomly sent her a message to ask if she’d written a story I remembered reading in an anthology in the early 2000’s. She hadn’t written that story, but that exchange led to her visiting my fiction class while on tour for her novel The Great Believers, an act of generosity that I still hope my students that semester were sufficiently grateful for. Like most of the reading public, I adored that novel, which went on to win on the Andrew Carnegie Medal and be shortlisted for the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize, and was recently included as one of The New York Times’s 100 Best Books of the Twenty-First Century. However, I felt even more drawn to her next novel, I Have Questions for You, the story of a podcaster drawn in to investigating the decades-old murder of a high school classmate at her New England boarding school. It is, among other things, one of the great literary mysteries. Recently I had the chance to talk to Rebecca about Alexandros Papadiamantis’s novel The Murderess, translated by Peter Levi, which she’d included as one of the selections in her Around the World in 84 Books project. (More on that below.) The plot of The Murderess revolves around the superfluity of girls and women in a poverty-stricken rural community in early twentieth-century Greece. In this environment, parents are expected to marry their daughters young and to give their new husbands extravagant dowries. Given these circumstances, the birth of a girl is looked upon as a tragedy, particularly to the main character, Hadoula, who comes up with her own dark solution to this societal problem. Why did you choose The Murderess by Alexandros Papadiamantis? I’ve been doing this project for the last year or so where I’m reading my way around the world in translation. It’s largely a memorial to my father, who was a literary translator among other things, but it also started because I realized that I was reading nothing except contemporary American fiction. I started in Hungary, and I’m going to end in Hungary, but I’m skipping countries like Italy, for example, since Italian literature in translation is widely available and I’ve already read a lot of it. I was making my way through southeastern Europe, and I realized that with Greece, I’d read a lot of ancient Greek literature, but absolutely nothing contemporary. Sometimes I ask people who are experts in the literature of that particular country what I should be reading, but here I just Googled modern Greek novels. This one sounded so weird and juicy, and I could tell it definitely wasn’t going to be dry. I also liked the suggestion of a folkloric element within the literary premise. Then in terms of picking it for this series, that’s a different question. My last novel, I Have Some Questions for You, is a murder mystery in a sense. When I was writing it, I was reading a good deal of literary crime fiction, including a lot of Tana French, but that was a while ago. I looked back through the list of what I’d been reading lately, and this one jumped out at me. It’s called The Murderess, so it seemed perfect. When I think of the work I’ve read in translation, I’m realizing now that most of it is in French, Italian, or Spanish. Does it seem that Greek fiction less likely to be translated into English? I’ve learned that we go through trends in translation. French tends to get translated a lot, but there’s also a lot of Scandinavian literature in translation. I think it began with a few key works like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, as well as a few literary novels that did really well, and suddenly publishers were saying, “Wait, what else is there from Scandinavia?” And then there are countries and languages from which there’s very little translated literature. It might be partly a matter of finding qualified translators—usually people are translating into their own language, so you’d need someone whose native language is English but knows that other language well enough to translate out of it. I’m not suggesting that Greek is obscure, but it may be a matter of publishing trends, or of the number of people actively working as translators from modern Greek. I always feel like I should be reading more modern literature from outside the U.S. and the UK, and when I saw on social media that you’d started this project, I thought, “I’m going to keep up with this and read every single one.” I’m embarrassed to say that this is the first one I’ve gotten to, though. I have people reading with me, but I don’t think anyone’s reading all of them. At some point I’ll probably go back and assemble all of them in one place, but the main thing right now is that I’m writing about them on my Substack. In your post on Substack, you say that you see social commentary in this novel. Did you see the novel as critiquing the way women are viewed in this community? There’s definitely a lot to say about both gender and money in this novel. If you think about a writer like Ibsen with A Doll’s House, or Flaubert with Madame Bovary, men sometimes have really interesting things to say about gender, and I’d say that Papadiamantis fits in that category. With Hadoula, it’s like she’s taking the gender constraints and financial constraints of life on this island and taking them to their most ridiculous logical conclusion. Like, “Well, this baby is expensive, so we might as well just kill it.” There’s a little bit of a Modest Proposal vibe there. We’re not meant to agree with her, of course, but she’s also not coming out of nowhere. The dowry system inherently suggests that different lives are worth different amounts, so she’s taking the social realities of Greek culture at this time and saying, “Oh, so this is the way things are. Then I’ll kill people.” There’s an element of satire, and satire doesn’t have to be funny. Satire can be like, “Let’s play this out and take it to the logical extreme.” And there’s also an element of fairytale here, or folklore. That was one thing I struggled with as I was reading this. I couldn’t quite get a handle on whether I was reading a social critique or a fairytale, but what I hear you saying is that they’re layered on top of each other. Yes, but I’d say that’s true of fairytales in general. If you look at “Little Red Riding Hood,” there’s clearly a message there about staying away from deceptive men. It doesn’t mean there’s some deep hidden meaning in every story necessarily, but there are reasons that these stories got retold and passed down. With “Cinderella,” you could say it’s about sticking things out, you’ll get what you deserve in the end. I’d say that The Murderess is definitely more pointed than that, but I feel like it has its roots in Baba Yaga stories. The main character doesn’t just murder once; in our modern parlance, she’d be a serial killer. Do you feel like we have enough psychological insight into the character to understand how she feels about the murders, or is that kind of psychologizing foreign to Papadiamantis’s style? We’re in her head, and we’re aware of the way she justifies the murders to herself, but at the same time, we’re outside of her thinking, “Oh my God, what are you doing?” I think literature through the twentieth century and into the twenty-first has gotten so close to the character, whether it’s first person or just a really close third. It’s rarer and rarer to have an omniscient narrator or an external narrator who has distance, so I’m always so thrilled when I find it. Through that move to closer points of view, I think that readers got acclimated to the idea of relating to a main character and walking in their shoes in a way. People started thinking that they wanted for a character what they wanted for themselves, including the morality that they would have for themselves, and they wanted the character to be redeemed at the end and to become a better person. That can be great, but it’s not the only way to tell a story. In this case, we’re put in the head of someone we fundamentally disagree with, and we’re thinking, “No, don’t do that. Don’t kill those children. Oh my God, stop.” It’s a technique that readers today are increasingly uncomfortable with, and they’re especially uncomfortable with female characters who don’t behave and may not even regret their bad choices in the end. As authors, we’re thinking, “Well, it’s not actually very interesting to read about perfectly virtuous characters, because it’s going to be someone very passive and the story is going to be pretty boring.” But I can’t count the number of times that someone has come up to me after a reading and said, “I love your book, but I have to tell you, this character wasn’t always easy to like,” as if they’re breaking it to me for the first time. I lived with this character for six years; believe me, I know she’s not easy to like. Right now I’m writing about a historical figure who was genuinely a pretty terrible person, and I feel like it’s going to be this social experiment. Maybe it will be easier for people to tell that I’m intentionally making them uncomfortable, intentionally putting them in the head of someone they disagree with, just as Papadiamantis does here. I found it particularly poignant to read this story in the context of current attacks on reproductive rights. What resonance do you think the novel has for a contemporary audience? When we read stories from the past of women making desperate, horrifying choices, they’re usually responding to a society in which women had far fewer rights than they do today. We didn’t have no-fault divorce, we had little access to birth control, we could not leave an abusive husband, could not choose not to have children, could not cut ties with terrible parents, etc. We see stories coming out of those societies of women murdering people, dying by suicide, turning to witchcraft, and it’s certainly not a coincidence. Some people have come up with this idea that when women stayed home, everyone was so happy, and they had all these kids and everyone was playing in the back yard having a great time. But look what they were writing. The subconscious of a society is in the literature, and even in the literature from the men, it’s telling us, “Oh no, she’s drinking the cyanide. She’s jumping in front of the train. She’s murdering the babies.” They weren’t happy. In these interviews, I often end up talking to writers about the distinction between literary and genre fiction. I wouldn’t call I Have Some Questions for You crime fiction, but it employs some of the tropes of the genre in a literary way. What made you want to go in that direction with your work? How would you define the distinction between literary and crime fiction (or is it just a question of marketing)? When I look back at my books, most of them have crimes in them. The first one is about a kidnapping, and the second one has identity theft, and I Have Some Questions for You is definitely written in the form of a murder mystery. At the same time, I wasn’t that interested in mystery as a genre. I’m not looking down my nose at it when I say that, but it just wasn’t what I was doing. Murder is a thing that happens in real life, and I wanted to consider the questions we would consider in real life: How do we reconstruct the past? How well do we really know the people we think we know? If someone is convicted of a crime, is that really the end of the story? I understood that I was entering into this space, with the expectations that people have for a murder mystery or crime fiction. I had to ask myself, “Am I rebelling completely against those expectations, or am I playing along and subverting them in some way?” One thing I decided is that I did want readers to have a solution to the central mystery by the end of the book. That doesn’t mean justice is served necessarily, but if you start out not knowing who did it, you’re going to end being able to answer that question. I think if I’d really wanted to rebel against genre, I would have ended without a solution. But I did want that arc, from uncertainty to knowledge. At the same time, I wanted to lead with character rather than leading from the framework of genre. Because it’s not my first book, it’s not getting shelved with mystery in most bookstores. If it were my first book, I think it would be in that section. And I love it when I hear that when someone comes into a bookstore and says, “I want a literary mystery,” that booksellers sometimes think of my book. Sometimes I’ll see posts that say, “If you like Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, you’ll like I Have Some Questions for You,” and I’m always really flattered, even though I think they have next to nothing in common. They’re both campus novels, I guess. They’re both set in New England and have a lot of snow. Good point. Snow and death. I do see what you’re saying about separating the conventional form of the mystery or thriller from the subject matter. We’ve come to associate thrillers in particular with a three-act structure, but there’s no real connection between the subject of crime and these conventions that have grown up around it. There are certain genres that are never going to relate to real life. Like a vampire story, or a zombie story—chances are good that you’re not going to interact with a vampire or a zombie. But if you think about a love story, most of us are going to experience a real-life love story at some point, or more than one. The romance novel is also a genre, but the two things aren’t necessarily connected. You can write a realist novel that contains a love story, but doesn’t follow the conventions or the beats that people expect from the romance genre. Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s love stories aren’t going to be shelved next to Emily Henry. Murder is similar—a genre has grown up around the subject, but it’s also a thing that happens in real life. If you start to write a vampire story, you’re necessarily entering this genre that precedes you, because you didn’t invent vampires. But with romance and crime, we’re in a different category, because it’s always going to be somewhere between real life and genre. When you read literature in translation, do you find that non-U.S. authors deal with these questions differently, or feel less indebted to convention? I’m seeing fascinating differences in writing mode that are really challenging things that I took for granted. I’m reading my way through northeast Africa right now, so it’s Arabic literature in translation, and I’m seeing much less of a reliance on scenes as building blocks, and much more freedom with summary and exposition. With students, I’ll often talk about scenes being the brick and exposition being the mortar around them. Every author is going to have a different balance there, but it’s hard to build scenes out of mortar. But I’ve had to reconsider that view when I read these books that are mostly exposition with a few summarized scenes. Is there anything you learned from this novel that you might apply to your own work, either in regard to structure or anything else? I think so. I’ve written a few short stories recently that feel a bit more like folklore or fairytale. I’ve been thinking of them almost like bedtime stories for grownups, and it makes me feel so much freer with summary and jumping around in time. It doesn’t have to be like, “‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he said and sipped his coffee and put it down on the table and forked another bite of pie.” Every time I read something that exists in a bit of a different reality, it pushes me a little away from those expectations. In The Murderess, nothing happens that isn’t feasible in the real world, but we’re skipping all the boring parts. There’s no interstitial backstory or anything like that. It’s just like, “Here she is, and this is what she’s doing.” And there’s something really delightful about that. I assumed that the novel would skate over the deaths, but it doesn’t: we see the babies that Hadoula murders being strangled and the older girls being drowned in some detail. Why do you think Papadiamantis lingers over those moments, and why doesn’t it come off as exploitative or unnecessary (if you agree that it doesn’t)? I think it’s partly because of the fairytale thing. Again, when we hear “Little Red Riding Hood” for the first time, we don’t react the way we would if we heard about a real wolf eating a real grandma. You know you’re in this slightly magical world where bad things might happen, and that creates a certain distance. How have the people who are reading along with the 84 Books project responding to it? It’s been really cool. Usually I’m the person who hears about the winner of this year’s Nobel Prize and I say, “Who’s that?” But I want to change that about myself, and I’m glad that I’ve been able to contribute in a small way to a broader awareness of global literature. Sometimes I’ll post about a novel and then I’ll hear from people who say, “That sounds so good, I just ordered it.” At book events, I get asked pretty frequently what I’m reading, and my recommendations have usually been these books in translation, and then people tell me they’re going to order this Turkish novel they’d never heard of before. I love being able to spread the word in that way. One of the books that I read last summer was this Palestinian novella by Adania Shibli, and then in October she got uninvited to the Frankfurt Book Fair. She was going to receive a prize, and then they decided it was too controversial to give it to a Palestinian author. Then I got a lot of messages from people saying, “I read this book because of your series, but I wouldn’t have even heard about it otherwise.” I think it’s good that a few more people know enough to say, “This was a bad decision, they should not have uninvited this author.” It’s a really important and beautiful book. And it’s not just writers who should be reading more broadly. I think it’s good for citizens in general, because as Americans we tend to think in such an insular way. The more aware we can have of what’s going on in the world, and of other literary traditions, the better. View the full article

In a summer when white supremacists have marched through the streets of Nashville, about three hours from me, it’s safe to say that a noir movie from 73 years ago is in some ways as relevant as when it was released. “Storm Warning,” from January 1951, is a movie that was never on my radar. I stumbled across it on TCM a while back and was intrigued by the idea of a noir treatment of the Ku Klux Klan’s crimes in a small town, with a cast that seemed unlikely: Ronald Reagan when he was still an actor, Ginger Rogers mostly after her career as Fred Astaire’s dance partner, Doris Day years before her fame as a star of romantic comedies, plus Steve Cochran and a good group of character actors. “Storm Warning” was, despite or because of its subject matter and offbeat casting, a flop at the box office. “Quo Vadis,” “Show Boat,” “The African Queen,” “A Streetcar Named Desire,” Alfred Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train” and “The Day the Earth Stood Still” were among the biggest hits of the year, grossing multiples of the $1-million-plus that “Storm Warning” made in ticket sales. Yet “Storm Warning,” like a lot of good films about important subjects, still has the power to move. That’s in part because director Stuart Heisler, best known for films like a big-screen treatment of “The Lone Ranger” TV series and Humphrey Bogart-led thrillers “Chain Lightning” and “Tokyo Joe,” does not shy away from graphic imagery of the Klan and its reign of terror: Robes and hoods, nooses and a tall burning cross are prominent. There’s some valid criticism that the film does not depict the Klan’s violence toward African Americans. I assume because it is set in a small town, the movie’s targets of the Klan were targets of opportunity: a nosy newspaper reporter and a few white people who dared speak up. In my own hometown in the early 20th century, the Klan harassed Catholics and schoolteachers because there were so few Black residents to victimize. “Storm Warning,” despite being forgotten now by many, remains a searing indictment of the KKK’s malignant and criminal presence at mid-century. (And, by the way, “Storm Warning” is a Christmas movie.) Pessimism that justice will be done – yet hope We all know the Klan from history books, documentaries and popular entertainment: thousands of Americans, many in influential positions, not only terrorized those different from them but also made as much money as possible in the process. “A Fever in the Heartland,” the book by Timothy Egan about the KKK in my home state of Indiana, documents this malignant grift well. So it’s really gratifying to see “Storm Warning” and its portrayal of small-town Klan members who are not only murderous but thieving. It’s also gratifying that even with Reagan as a square-jawed prosecuting attorney, “Storm Warning focuses on its female lead: Rogers as Marsha Mitchell, a dress model, traveling by bus from New York to a Southern city. The bus stops for 10 minutes in a Southern town, Rock Point, and Mitchell decides to let her boss go on ahead and catch a later bus so she can visit her sister, Lucy, who she hasn’t seen in a couple of years. Lucy lives in the town and has told Marsha about her wonderful marriage to Steve, a local truck driver. But as Marsha walks from the bus station to the bar and bowling alley where Lucy works, she hears shouts and fighting outside the jail. Around the corner, she sees that robed Klansmen have dragged a man out of the jail and plan to lynch him. When he gets away, they shoot him in the back. Marsha gets a good look at a couple of the Klan members when they take off their hoods, so when she meets up with Lucy and goes to her sister’s home, she’s shocked to learn that one of the men she saw was her brother-in-law, Steve. There’s not a long cat-and-mouse game that follows the revelation. Marsha – like any sensible person would – tells Lucy that she saw her husband kill a man. Lucy, played by Day as bubbly and enthusiastic, can’t believe it. She tells Steve, who tries to mitigate the damage by at first denying any knowledge of the incident and then minimizing his role in it. Meanwhile, prosecuting attorney Burt Rainey goes to the crime scene to talk to police who are haltingly investigating. The dead man is Walter Adams, a reporter who had come to town to investigate the Klan. Police had arrested Adams for drunk driving and the Klan pulled him from jail to lynch him. Rainey is, interestingly, bitter and pessimistic about the investigation. He knows that he won’t be able to get any witnesses – even sheriff’s deputies working in the jail – to testify. There’s a reference to the last lynching in town. Rainey knows the murder is the work of the Klan, which is led by “respectable” businessman and mill owner Charlie Barr (Hugh Sanders). But can Rainey find someone to identify the murderers, or even finger the KKK in general for the crime? A surprisingly bitter look at small-town America The most realistic element of the story is that Marsha is terrified of getting involved in the investigation into the murder she witnessed. She also wants to protect her sleazy Klansman brother-in-law to protect her naïve sister. Rogers is great in this deeply conflicted role. Reagan makes the transformation from reluctant to zealous to bitterly disappointed when his investigation is derailed by Marsha. A courtroom showdown does not go as expected, and the story’s climax is instead reserved for a truly frightening KKK cross burning and horsewhipping in the woods. “Storm Warning” is a surprisingly bitter look at small-town America in the post-war years. This isn’t a kind-hearted town with some bad elements. Except for a few people, the townspeople are corrupt and willing to stand by and allow terrorism. As a radio reporter says, this is a town full of surly and violent people who have embraced evil. From the start, with lying and violent townsfolk, to the climax, with sweet little girls at a cross burning, this could be the town we later saw in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” except aliens haven’t turned the town into pod people: racists have free run of the burg. Reaction at the time was mostly positive Newspaper film reviewers of 1951 seemed primed for “Storm Warning” and its exposeé of the Klan. Some wanted more of a focus on real-life Klan terror. “A terrific melodrama based on bigotry and robed rule,” Cleveland’s Plain Dealer said, adding that the movie was “a better-late-than-never screen attack on the Ku Klux Klan.” (The Plain Dealer reviewer, W. Ward Marsh, noted that the victim killed by the KKK mob at the beginning is “neither a Negro nor a Jew,” but goes on to note that by subbing a newspaper reporter into the role of victim suggests he was there investigating earlier crimes.) The Evening Star of Washington D.C. noted, “If it occasionally over-reaches itself, and it seldom does, put the mischance down to the authors’ own deep and justifiable anger.” The screenplay was written by Daniel Fuchs and Richard Brooks, the latter an eventual Academy Award winner whose work includes “Elmer Gantry,” “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” “In Cold Blood” and “Looking for Mr. Goodbar.”) Ray Sprigle was a journalist who won the Pulitzer Prize for a 1938 series in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette about the one-time Klan background of Alabama Senator Hugo Black, appointed to the Supreme Court by Franklin Roosevelt. In 1948, Sprigle “passed for Black” and traveled through the South. He turned that reporting into a book, “In the Land of Jim Crow.” Sprigle wrote about “Storm Warning” for Pennsylvania newspapers when the movie came out. “Here is no gentle entertainment to while away an afternoon or an evening,” Sprigle wrote. “Maybe it isn’t entertainment at all. … To me, at least, it came with the impact of a kick in the belly.” Noting the noir theme of the plot of the movie, Sprigle recounts how, during his time in the South, he reported from a town in Georgia where women’s groups had pushed through changes that allowed local Black residents to vote in an election. “A couple of days before the election, a parade of autos loaded with hooded figures traversed the Negro section. In the mailbox of each Negro home was dropped a small pasteboard replica of a coffin lettered KKK. Only a handful of Negroes dared vote.” Sprigle goes on to note, “’Storm Warning,’ of course, ignores the racial angle. These are white folks who are terrorized by organized bigotry and hatred.” “Maybe ‘Storm Warning’ isn’t a great picture,” Sprigle adds. “I haven’t seen enough pictures to judge. But it is a powerful and a compelling one.” He’s right. *** Keith Roysdon is a Tennessee writer who, while he was a newspaper reporter in Indiana, sometimes wrote about the Ku Klux Klan and its influence in small Hoosier towns. He won more than 30 first-place state and national journalism awards, including two for his four co-authored true crime books. He’s written more than 50 pieces for CrimeReads. His fiction has been published by Punk Noir, Cowboy Jamboree Press, Slaughterhouse Press and Shotgun Honey. View the full article

I like obscure pieces of information. I can sing the theme songs to Bonanza and The Big Bang Theory. I know what time the local landfill closes. I can quote Dylan Thomas, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Shakespeare. But there are many, many things I don’t know and that’s where librarians come in. The reference librarians at my local public library and at the nearby university library consistently make me look smarter than I am. I’ve learned about the formation of caves from a librarian, about tracing the provenance of a piece of art and how paper is made. I’ve had conversations about unified field theory and sourdough starter. I have yet to be able to come up with a query that a librarian wasn’t able to answer. That’s not really a surprise. Librarians are well-educated women and men with excellent research skills and—at least in my experience—an innate desire to figure things out. The librarians I’ve worked with seem to know a wide variety of people, from staff in the museum archives to scientists at the research council to up and coming local musicians. So I wasn’t surprised when recently a reader shared that she likes mysteries with a librarian as the main character because it just seems more realistic to her that a librarian could actually be successful as an amateur sleuth. I agree. I also took that comment as a compliment. In my Magical Cats Mysteries Kathleen Paulson is the head librarian at the Mayville Heights Free Public Library and she’s gotten tangled up in more than one mystery in her small Minnesota town. She’s smart, resourceful and compassionate. Is it any wonder people tell her things they don’t tell the police? In the most recent book, Furever After, Kathleen is trying to figure out how a valuable piece of artwork ended up hanging in her library and how it’s tied to the murder of an old nemesis. When I wanted to learn more about art heists, as usual, I headed for the library. Kathleen isn’t the only literary librarian who gets mixed up in murder. Here are seven “librarian sleuths” you might enjoy. Minnie Hamilton in the Bookmobile Cat Mysteries by Laurie Cass Minnie and her rescue cat, Eddie, travel around Chilson, Michigan in the bookmobile. (A job I wanted for a while when I was a kid.) Minnie cares about the people in her community and it makes sense that she’d get involved when something bad happens. She’s also clever and perceptive. And Eddie makes a great sidekick. Start with Lending a Paw. Jane Hunter in the Hunter and Clewe Mysteries by Victoria Gilbert Former university librarian Jane Hunter has been forced into early retirement. Eccentric Cameron Clewe is looking for an archivist—his own personal librarian—to inventory his collection of rare books. Jane is hired and discovers a body in her new boss’s library. Now the collector and the librarian are working to catch a killer. I love the way Gilbert takes the classic mystery tropes and updates them. Start with A Cryptic Clue. Sylvia Ashe in the Glass Library series by C. J. Archer This series is a mix of historical mystery and fantasy set in England in the 1920s. Librarian Sylvia Ashe not only learns she may be descended from magicians, she finds herself with a new job in the Glass Library, thanks to Gabe Glass, a consultant for Scotland Yard. The library holds the world’s greatest collection of books about magic. As Sylvia searches for answers about who she is, she also gets pulled into Gabe’s cases. Start with The Librarian of Crooked Lane Ann Beckett in the Village Library Mysteries by Elizabeth Spann Craig Set in the small town of Whitby, North Carolina, this series offers the charm of a small town, quirky supporting characters and a smart, resourceful amateur sleuth in librarian Ann Beckett. (And yes, there’s a cat.) Start with Checked Out. Jemima Jago in the Jemina Jago Mysteries by Emma Jameson I have a soft spot for British cozy mysteries. This series is set on the fictional island of St. Morwenna, in the Isles of Scilly just off the coast of Cornwall. When librarian Jemima Jago left the island years ago she promised herself she’d never come back. Never say never. Jem has a knack for finding out information no one else can and I love the descriptions of St. Morwenna, modelled after the real St. Agnes in the Isles of Scilly. Start with A Death at Seascape House. Rain Wilmot in The Lakeside Library Mysteries by Holly Danvers I may be stretching the definition of librarian just a little with this series. Rain Wilmot comes home to Lofty Pines, Wisconsin after the death of her husband, ends up reopening the informal library her mother used to operate out of the family’s log cabin, and very rapidly gets mixed up in murder. The books are as much about friendship and family as they are about catching a killer. Start with Murder at the Lakeside Library. The Bookmobile Mysteries by Nora Page Librarian Cleo Watkins is 75 years old and still very good at her job. She believes in good books, good manners and sweet tea. And how could you not like a character who drives a bookmobile named Words on Wheels and has a cat called Rhett Butler? Unfortunately, there are only three books in this series. Start with Better Off Read. *** View the full article

First 1500 words, Chapter 1 The dead never yielded the Queen’s March. Rebekka sensed them watching her. She sensed their restlessness, a false life quickened by an ancient duty that time twisted into resentment and hatred. Rebekka believed in ghosts. She had little choice in the matter. Close to two centuries ago, her thrice-great-grandmother launched decades of wars here—first against the Ogani empire, and again, when she turned on her husband to found the queendom Rebekka now ruled. Six generations of warrior-queens forged links in the chains that bound the dead here. Soldiers who fell during centuries of war fought eternal battles in the march, lurking amidst the Pinewood and taking up residence in the ruins of bygone structures—now overgrown and amounting to little more than crumbling foundations. Rebekka bore the weight of her ancestor’s chains as her soldiers approached the March’s entrance. The column advanced in relative silence, exhaustion weighing on them like a millstone. Boots squelched in the mud. Leather creaked under strain, and metal links clinked lazily with each stride. Like a spear tip, the vanguard thrust ahead. Rebekka and her wardens followed on horseback. Their destriers’ heavy hooves pounded divots into the mud. The wardens’ shadow acolytes rode palfreys, trailing behind their masters’ mighty warhorses. The rear guard trudged along behind Rebekka’s retinue, their boots sinking in the pitted perils heavy horses left behind. Rebekka shifted in Asher’s saddle. He nickered, stamping straight-legged in the mud. She leaned in and pat him on his neck. The heat of him warmed her hand, even through her leather gloves. She listened to the deep sound of his powerful chest during each breath. Rebekka glanced at the warden riding a few feet to her right. “I feel the significance of this place keenly, Itri,” she said, sitting up again. “Your Highness?” asked Warden Itri. “How many have died in the March?” said Rebekka. “Tens of thousands over the centuries—hundreds of thousands? Did they know what their deaths would purchase?” Warden Itri paused, gazing at the March’s entrance. “Nations are birthed through blood, Anamin,” he said, using the queen’s honorific to address Rebekka. “Like all creatures, a nation must feed—” “Warden Itri quotes your father, but there is more to the lesson, Your Highness,” said Warden Oteka. He nudged his destrier closer, to ride on Rebekka’s left. “Blood alone did not birth Dineos. Make no mistake, Dineos must feed on blood now and again, but blood cannot sustain a queendom.” Oteka deepened his already Dunnish accent, slowing his words to mimic her father’s cadence. “A realm sustained by blood alone is tyranny and must survive on the love of your people.” Oteka’s imitation pulled Rebekka’s cheeks into a smile. The memory was a good one. Her father, King Adisu, had trained Ote alongside Rebekka. Ote meant no malice in his imitation of her father. He loved her father as much as she did. “Well spoken!” said Warden Bront. Warden Itri gazed up at the sky. “Anamin, we must make speed in order to make it through the March before mistfall—” “Your Highness, this is your first ride since giving birth. Perhaps we should camp?” said Warden Oteka. “There is no shame in—” “I am fine, Ote. I have been too long away from Ayrus,” said Rebekka. Her heart thumped at the mention of her baby. Warden Oteka harrumphed. “Apologies, Anin, but we are losing daylight. The weather does not help. What is one more night?” Warden Bront snorted a laugh. “An aching back, cold feet, and salt wages—some thousand gold, I’d wager.” He pulled a wineskin from his waist, pulled the stopper, and took a long draught. “Aye." Warden Rose raised her voice to be heard from the rear of the group. “There is time enough to finish the crossing and cross again before mistfall.” She clicked her tongue. Her destrier bobbed its head, quickening its steps to pass among the group. Now within conversation range, Rose craned her neck, smirking at Oteka. “You worry too much—” “So says the source of our delay,” said Warden Oteka. Bront coughed a laugh, leaning over to spit a mouthful of wine. “He’s got you there, Bramble,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He retrieved a pouch from his kit and pulled a pinch of rust-leaf from it, sticking the leaf in his mouth. “If our Warden of Thorns hadn’t spent overlong polishing that tarnished armor of hers, we wouldn’t have to spend the gloaming battling wraiths!” A few of the shadow acolytes drew in sharp breaths. Not one of them had seen more than fifteen cycles. Bront delighted in terrifying the shadows, but it was all part of a cycle. One day, the shadows would learn the value of fear, and if they became wardens, visit the same torment on their own acolytes. Bront chewed the leaf before stuffing it in his cheek. Then he spit a mouthful of rust-colored liquid on the rain-soaked ground. Rebekka sighed. “It’s still daylight, Warden Bront. We’re not battling wraiths yet,” she said, adjusting her hauberk. The armor lay heavy on her chest. She needed to feed her baby. Her breasts had grown swollen and sore with her absence from him. “You have more to fear if I miss another supper. Keep pace.” Rebekka peered up at the sun, glowing through grey clouds as it journeyed westward. In the east, Khet’s moons, just visible and floating in diffused pools of light, heralded the coming mistfall. A raindrop splashed upon her cheek. Then another. Soon droplets pattered on leaves, and on leather, and tinked against naked metal. When Rebekka turned her eyes ahead toward the road, they caught the movement of two figures approaching along the column on horseback. Oteka watched as well. “I am uneasy, Anin. The March has claimed many during mistfall—” “Nonsense. Travelers’ tales,” said Warden Rose. “There are no lingering dead here. It’s just a bit of fog and the howl of the sea caves—” “Come now,” said Itri. “You offend the dead.” “Spirits or no,” said Bront. “I must agree with Bramble. Another night is a night and a day of provisioning on top of the gold.” “To Pyt with you, Bront,” said Warden Rose. “Easy, Bramble! I agreed with you.” “I would rather be wrong—” “No more delays,” said Rebekka. She removed her glove and reached beneath her armor, massaging her breast. Her gambeson was damp with sweat and milk. She withdrew the hand, wiping it on her leg and slipping it back into her glove. “I don’t want to be away from Ayrus another night.” The two figures rode counter to the column. As they drew near, Rebekka glimpsed their warden’s armor. “Ah,” said Itri, craning his neck. “Warden Ayla approaches,” he said. “No doubt with tales of haunts within the March,” said Bront. Rebekka rolled her eyes. Warden Ayla came within earshot, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth and calling out, “Your Majesty, the way seems clear,” dropping his hand and lowering his voice as he drew near. “But there are—” “Spectres!” Warden Bront blurted. Warden Ayla shook his head. “Dragon sign. It’s a big one—” “Oh ho! Even better, Ayla! I knew I liked you.” Bront took on the air of a child on Harvest Moon. “A swamp dragon this far north?” asked Itri. “Not a swamp dragon,” said Ayla. “The proportions do not fit. The beast is too long … too wide.” “Some beasts are longer and wider than others,” said Bront. He spat rust again, chuckling to himself. “There is no shame in it—” “A plains-dragon,” said Oteka. “Could be. Larger than a Carter’s wain. I cannot be sure when it passed. The rain makes it difficult to tell, but no more than half a day.” Warden Itri furrowed his brow, blinking. “How in Pyt would a plains-dragon get here? And without attracting notice—” “Ah, but the small folk claimed to see one,” said Bront. His smile stretched from ear to ear. “The tales sprouted up and down the mountain border. I thought them weirdling tales … not worth mention—but gods! They’re true? I would love to take the beast’s hide. Large enough to clothe me, my horse, and my shadow besides, head to hoof—” “Bront speaks true,” said Oteka. “I thought the stories were just fancies spreading among young folk seeking renown.” Rose grinned, turning to Ote. “So camp and feed the dragon, or risk mistfall and battle your wraiths, Ote.” “Taunt me as you will, but there are other dangers in the March. Ghosts and dragons, the least of them. The magpies will tell you—” “Bront, place the spear-men at the front of the column,” said Rebekka. “Hopefully the beast has moved on, but if I must fight it, I would rather my eyes open and aware. You and Ayla lead them.” “Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Bront. Then he glanced at each of his fellow wardens and grinned before jabbing a heel into his destrier and thundering off to gather his spear-men.

1) The Act of Story Statement: Rebekka must risk everything to escape her captor, return to her newborn child, and uncover the treason that threatens her rule. 2) The Antagonist Plots the Point: Braga, the Ogre King: the inciting antagonist, a mercenary who captures Rebekka and holds her hostage. He initially plans to kill her, but he later becomes a complex figure with whom she shares a complicated relationship. Driven by revenge for the felling of his father’s empire by Rebekka’s ancestors, Braga is both a physical and emotional adversary. Ayeron: Rebekka’s husband: a dangerous antagonist through his acts of betrayal. Motivated by ambition, he orchestrates assassination attempts against Rebekka, seeking to claim the throne. His willingness to conspire with Braga to achieve his goals makes him a duplicitous and treacherous foe. Graupel, the Winter Wolf: alpha of her pack and a savage and cunning antagonist who hunts Rebekka and her allies. She delights in tormenting her prey and is driven by her primal instincts. Though later transformed into an ermine and begrudgingly bonded to one of Rebekka’s allies, Graupel remains manipulative and seeks to regain power, making her a persistent threat. Oleg: a brutal poacher who crosses paths with Rebekka. He is driven by self-pity and jealousy. He displays a willingness to exploit, manipulate, and harm others for his gain. Oleg’s violent tendencies pose a direct threat to Rebekka’s survival. 3) Breakout Title: The Narrow Place Lament of the Fallen Crown of Shadows Crown of Mist 4) Comps: The Bloodsworn Saga by John Gwynne: Like my novel, this series focuses on fallen powers, great empires, and lost magic. Both worlds are dark, gritty, and dangerous, with an epic scope and complex character motivations driven by personal survival and legacy. The Bone Witch by Rin Chupeco: Both The Bone Witch and my novel are steeped in dark, forbidden magic, with protagonists grappling with their legacy. Tea’s magic in The Bone Witch comes at a significant cost, paralleling the sacrifices tied to magic in my novel. Emotional depth and themes of betrayal resonate strongly in both stories. The Broken Empire Trilogy by Mark Lawrence: Lawrence’s trilogy features morally complex protagonists navigating brutal, violent worlds filled with betrayal. Like Jorg, Rebekka faces tough choices and sacrifices to achieve her goals. Both Lawrence’s series and my novel explore the dark side of power and the lasting consequences of historical conflict. 5) Logline: In a world of fallen empires and treacherous magic, a betrayed queen, determined to prove her strength and independence, must navigate dark forces and political intrigue to reclaim her queendom—making bitter sacrifices and battling enemies both ancient and new. 6) OTHER MATTERS OF CONFLICT: TWO MORE LEVELS: Rebekka’s inner conflict intensifies as she grapples with her responsibility to her son, Ayrus, and her complex feelings for Braga, a man she once viewed as an enemy but with whom she now shares a profound bond. This internal tug-of-war is triggered when she must leave Braga behind on the mountain to return to her son, torn between her duty as a mother and her growing love for Braga. This conflict stirs feelings of guilt, anxiety, and deep inner turmoil. Scenario: Rebekka faces a pivotal decision—whether to remain with Braga or return to Dineos to fight for her crown and protect her son, Ayrus. Both choices carry immense emotional and political stakes, heightening her anxiety. By staying with Braga, she risks abandoning her duties as a mother and queen. While her bond with Braga strengthens, remaining with him would mean forsaking her son and potentially losing her claim to the throne. Braga embodies the power and strength she admires, which conflicts with her fear of being seen as dependent or weak. Returning to Dineos, however, forces her to confront the dangers she escaped—Ayeron’s betrayal, court intrigue, and threats to her life. She knows that returning to court could cast her back into a position of vulnerability. Yet her son’s safety and future rest on her leadership. Trigger: Rebekka is compelled to flee upon learning that she is pregnant, with her belly beginning to show. The urgency of the situation forces her to solidify her decision, heightening the internal turmoil she faces. Reaction: Fear and guilt flood her mind. She realizes that no matter which path she chooses, the consequences are permanent. Her anxiety builds as she contemplates the possibility of losing her son and her crown—or losing the man she has grown to love. At the heart of her struggle lies a fear of being seen as vulnerable or incapable of facing these dangers alone. In this moment, Rebekka’s internal conflict emerges from her need to prove herself as a strong, independent leader while trying not to abandon the people she holds dear. This dilemma strikes at the core of her identity, amplifying her anxiety as she chooses to return to her son, even at the risk of losing Braga. 7) Setting: Khet is a world with a history spanning thousands of years, and the novel is set in the Queendom of Dineos during the 12th century of this age. Four generations before the novel begins, Rebekka’s ancestors, Volkira the Conqueror and her husband Sandyr, overthrew the Ogani Empire. Their victory sparked a fierce dispute over the crown, leading to The Maidens’ War, where families were torn apart—mothers fought sons, sisters fought brothers, and wives fought husbands. Volkira won and imprisoned Sandyr in a tower, but their love endured. Despite the conflict, they remained deeply connected. They had a daughter, the second in a line of warrior queen matriarchs. The Maidens’ War left a lasting impact on Dineos, a nation still young—built upon the ruins of the Ogani Empire. The blending of Ogani ruins with new Dineos architecture symbolizes the ongoing tension between past and present, reflecting Rebekka’s internal struggles with legacy and identity. This tension is also felt across the sixteen demesnes of Dineos, where the reverberations of the Maidens’ War can still be seen in political and social dynamics. Cracks in the stability of Dineos are beginning to show. The demesnes are in conflict, and the losing faction of the Maidens’ War still vies for power. Half-men (Amadi) are treated as outcasts, and many are forced into indentured servitude alongside the diminutive race known as ineks, as well as the few surviving Ogani within the queendom’s borders. Geographically, The Spine, a mountain range running north to south, splits the continent. To the west lies Dineos, and to the east are the Wilds, a vast expanse of steppe-lands inhabited by nomadic Amadi tribes (half-men), who frequently war among themselves. The ruins of the ancient Ogani capital are also in the Wilds, adding further layers of historical significance to the landscape.

For those who weren’t there, who didn’t live through the transition, it may be impossible to understand what it was like. Even for those who were, enough time has passed that perhaps the memory has dimmed under the successive tides of Sherlockian enthusiasm. But the fact is that 1974 is a watershed year in the history of Sherlock Holmes. The Great Detective went mainstream with the debut of Nicholas Meyer’s novel, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. We now live in a Sherlockian universe permanently transformed by this single volume, a pastiche that inaugurated the modern Sherlockian age. The Seven-Per-Cent Solution: Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., written by Nicholas Meyer, was first a novel, published in 1974, and then a motion picture, released in 1976. Meyer’s novel presents a heretofore-unpublished manuscript offering an alternative account of events found in “The Final Problem” and “The Empty House.” It recounts Watson’s heroic efforts to rescue his friend from a harrowing descent into drug addiction and madness. After learning from Holmes about his enemy, Professor Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime, Watson discovers that the evil genius is nothing more than the Holmes brothers’ timid, childhood mathematics teacher, against whom Sherlock has recently begun waging a campaign of persecution. After a consultation with Mycroft, Watson and the elder Holmes devise a plan to get Sherlock to Vienna, where Watson enlists the aid of Sigmund Freud, whose pioneering work with cocaine addiction, and more recent work on the unconscious mind, not only saves Holmes from his addicted state, but also reveals the dark secret shared by Sherlock and his brother. It being a Sherlock Holmes novel, there’s an external mystery as well, one that draws Holmes, Watson, and Freud into a chase whose goal is to prevent World War I. Presented as the true account by Dr. Watson of what really transpired between Holmes and Professor Moriarty, this work of pastiche spent forty weeks on The New York Times Best Sellers list (thirty-four of them in the top five). Take that in for a moment. Not forty weeks on the mystery list, or some other sub-category. That’s right, a Sherlock Holmes pastiche spent the better part of the year as a runaway best seller on the list that really matters. Publishers Weekly ranked The Seven-Per-Cent Solution as the ninth bestselling novel of 1974, where it competed with other blockbusters like Centennial by James A. Michener; Watership Down by Richard Adams; Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John le Carré; and Peter Benchley’s Jaws. Just to make the point as clearly as I can, the only Sherlock Holmes stories to rival The Seven-Per-Cent Solution for popular success (and cultural impact) are the original publications of the canonical stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. That after forty years the knowledge of this may have faded is understandable, particularly to newly minted Sherlockians of the last decade or so. (For instance, Zach Dundas, in his otherwise outstanding survey of the whole history of Sherlock Holmes, completely misses the significance of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.) The full history of Sherlock Holmes must include the history of the culture that grows out of the original sixty stories, a history which has generally been understood as a succession of “eras” defined by highs and lows in the cultural popularity of Sherlock Holmes. The hallmark of these highpoints are spikes in the writing and publishing of Sherlockian titles by major publishing houses (small Sherlockian publishers have always been there during both boom and bust times), major film and television productions, regular Sherlockian articles in the press, as well as references to Holmes in news and magazine articles, and most important, new Sherlockians and a corresponding flowering of new Sherlock Holmes societies. Like a series of incoming waves, each crest represents an historic high point. These high watermarks are generally thought of as coming about once a decade. Conventional wisdom cites them as: -The 1940s: Following the closing of the Canon and death of Arthur Conan Doyle, the 1940s constitute the first era: a time when the Baker Street Irregulars formalized its organization and the first generation of scion societies appeared across the country. It’s often called the first Sherlockian Golden Age. -The 1960s: This decade saw Douglas Wilmer and Peter Cushing on television in England, a major motion picture in the theaters (A Study in Terror), and, most significantly, William S. Baring-Gould’s Annotated Sherlock Holmes, which is seen as the most prominent manifestation of this peak period. -The mid-1970s: The boom-time triggered by the publication of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution is generally thought to have lasted to the end of the 1970s. -1984–1994: The era of Granada Television’s Sherlock Holmes series, starring Jeremy Brett. The series’ debut in 1984 sparked a decade of Sherlockian enthusiasm that lasted until the series’ close in the early 1990s. -2009 to present: Starting with Robert Downey, Jr.’s, first Sherlock Holmes film in 2009, and taking off with the popularity of the BBC’s series Sherlock and CBS’s Elementary, the latest Sherlockian Golden Age is widely believed to be underway. But this is wrong. The era ushered in by The Seven-Per-Cent Solution never actually ended. Since 1974 we’ve been living in the modern Sherlockian Age. * For readers who, even at this point in reading this account of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, either don’t remember or just don’t get how huge this book actually was, consider this. The novel debuted in July 1974. It entered the top ten of The New York Times Best Sellers list in September 1974. It debuted in theaters as a major motion picture in on 24 October 1976. That’s barely enough time, from the moment the book was published to its appearing in theaters, to actually make the film. The popular explosion that was The Seven-Per-Cent Solution brought the book to the screen in record time. Despite having had a frustrating experience with International Famous Agency over the book’s publication, Meyer was still represented by them. His International Famous agent at the time was Kevin Sellers. Meyer refers to him as a “junior agent.” Sellers was the son of Arlene Sellers, who was partnered with Alex Winitsky. Sellers and Winitsky were producers, best known for financing films like Swing Shift, Don’t Look Now, and Papillon. Sellers and Winitsky then took the project to Universal Studios’ Ned Tannen, who was at that time head of Universal. Tannen had read the book. “I remember he told me what a kick he had gotten out of it,” recalled Meyer. The terms of the sale had one major proviso: Nicholas Meyer would write the screenplay. “That was the only condition under which I was willing to part with it,” said Meyer, “and no one seemed to have any objection.” Meyer had a couple of reasons for this demand. The first had to do with how he felt about the majority of Holmes films. “In Hollywood then, the people who make Sherlock Holmes movies never read the original Sherlock Holmes stories. I think the only person who ever read them was Billy Wilder,” he explained. The second reason had to do with the actual mystery in The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. “The writing of the screenplay was an interesting experience,” he remembers. “I felt the book was a great story about Sherlock Holmes. But I also felt that it wasn’t the world’s greatest mystery. I think putting Holmes together with Freud was terrific, and having them solve a case together was terrific; but I didn’t think the case was necessarily terrific. So, I regarded the opportunity to write the screenplay as a chance to improve the mystery. I’m not sure I did that, but I certainly tried.” Meyer had additional thoughts on making changes in the plot from page to screen. “The other thing I thought of, in connection with that mystery, was that when you go to see a film version of a mystery novel you have read, you aren’t going to be surprised. If you have read Presumed Innocent, you know the wife did it when you see the movie. So I thought, ‘Okay, given that I really don’t think the mystery is all that great in the book, here’s an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. We can have a better mystery, and people who have read the book won’t know what’s coming.’ So that’s what I did.” Looking back on the screenplay from the vantage point of forty years, Meyer’s opinion of the film’s script is a bit surprising. “I’m embarrassed how wordy it is. Way too talky. I think I became a much better screenwriter after I started directing. I became much more aware of the relationship and the ratio of words to pictures when I did Time After Time. So I find, in retrospect, that The Seven-Per-Cent Solution is a fearfully talky movie. The only saving grace is that, by and large, it’s good talk. I just wish there was less of it.” Meyer has a special talent as an adaptor of other people’s work, but quickly learned that it isn’t as easy when the material you are adapting is your own. “The Seven-Per-Cent Solution was relatively early in my career,” he observes, “and it was me working with my own material. I’ve listened to many authors talking about adapting their own material, and they have a great deal of difficulty in being ruthless. It happens with directors too. You can have a shot you really love, and it was very hard to get . . . it’s a beautiful shot. But if you discover it doesn’t belong in the movie, you have to accept that it has to go.” Meyer’s early inclination to wordiness wasn’t because he began his career as a novelist, but instead is due to his time in college at the University of Iowa. “I was a theater major, and so I started out with a sort of stage orientation. That means dialogue. As a beginning screenwriter, I started out writing tons of dialogue because I thought it was like a play. But in screenwriting imagery dominates dialogue, and if it’s too talky it doesn’t feel cinematic. You have to be ruthless. I have learned since that time to write very, very spare stuff . . . descriptions, dialogue, everything. It is just the bare minimum of what you need. Certainly with my own stuff, I never had the feeling that it was so wonderful that it was incapable of improvement.” Despite feeling that The Seven-Per-Cent Solution screenplay is far too verbose, the young screenwriter, having completed the first draft of the film, was even then trying to cut it down to size. In pursuit of that sense of ruthlessness in editing, Meyer wanted to cut what is, for fans, one of the most beloved scenes in the film. Having inserted it at the last minute into the novel following a dream, Meyer wanted to cut the tennis scene! Fortunately, it stayed in. “When you re-watch a film you have made, you are sort of re-watching home movies of your life,” says Meyer. “All you can see are the things that you did wrong. All I could see for a long time when I saw The Seven-Per-Cent Solution movie was how verbose it was. I remember arguing with the director, Herb Ross, about this very thing, saying, ‘You have to cut this! You have to cut this!’ And he was protesting, and he had the last word.” You can see evidence in Meyer’s archives of his attempt to prune the screenplay. There are three drafts: 11 March 1975: The first draft. For fans of the film who find the “talkiness” of the film to be a virtue, you can see what Meyer is getting at. Long passages of dialogue are imported directly into the script. 25 June 1975: This is the “final” draft that went into production. You can clearly see a general tightening of not only dialogue but the action as well. 25 June 1975: This is an actual script used during the production of the film. It is rife with pages of different colors representing changes that were continuing to be made even after shooting started. Different colors mean different days and different changes, and there are many different colors. A comparison of the changed pages to the corresponding pages in the unchanged final version shows that, right on through the production of the film, Meyer was cutting and tightening the script. “We did cut a lot of stuff,” he confirms, “not only stuff in the script, but also stuff during editing. Originally, like the novel, we started in the nursing home in Hampshire, and we ended the movie there too.” Indeed, these scenes are in the script’s first draft. “But the film had too many endings. There’s the locomotive chase ending. The duel ending. Then the hypnosis ending. Then the Danube ending. And then the Watson-in-the-nursing-home ending . . . too many endings! So we lopped off Watson in the nursing home at the end, and therefore there was no point in having it in the beginning.” Robert Duvall, however, disagreed. The beginning and ending sequences with his aged, wheelchair-bound Dr. Watson were some of his favorite scenes: “I felt sort of betrayed. I felt it was a better movie with those first ten minutes. But unless you own your own company, you have no power.” “I still think if I were to write it today it would be a much better script. I could achieve the same effect with a lot less talking.” To this day, Meyer thinks about cutting The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, and not just for an overall verbosity. From a storytelling point of view, he has one particular scene in mind. “At the end of the movie,” Meyer reminds us, “Freud asks to hypnotize Holmes one last time, saying, ‘There is another portion of your mind to which I would also like to say farewell.’ That is when we finally learn the whole secret of Holmes’s traumatic childhood, and who Professor Moriarty really was. And then Freud has a speech, which was in the novel, and is also in the movie. He says, ‘It becomes clear. Now we understand his distrust of women, well recorded by you, doctor; his choice of profession, detective—detector of wickedness, punisher of injustice—he makes a laundry list of revelations. And then Watson says, ‘You are the greatest detective of them all.’ I said to Herb Ross, the director, ‘We should cut the speech.’ He said, ‘What?!?’ I said, ‘Well, we’re just repeating what the audience has already just seen. And look at what Alan Arkin is doing with his hands . . . he’s interlacing his fingers . . . “It becomes clear.”’ All you need is ‘It becomes clear,’ the hands go together, Watson saying ‘You are the greatest detective of them all.’” Meyer’s plea fell on deaf ears. Ross refused to make the cut. “To this day I fantasize about having a shears and just slicing out that speech!” As Meyer mentioned, the director of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution was Herb Ross. “Herb began life as a dancer and choreographer,” recalls Meyer. “He then drifted into movies as a choreographer in musicals, like Funny Girl.” By his late twenties Ross had enjoyed success as the director of the musical House of Flowers on Broadway, as well as working as a choreographer for Otto Preminger’s Carmen Jones. As a motion picture director, Ross carved out a niche as an efficient director, with his best-known films being Play It Again, Sam; Funny Lady; The Turning Point; Footloose; and Steel Magnolias. “Herb was married to the most famous dramatic ballerina that America had ever produced, Nora Kay,” Meyer remembers. “She retired on their honeymoon, and threw her toe shoes out the window of their Volkswagen as they cruised through the Black Forest. From then on she largely oversaw the management of his career.” Meyer had a good working relationship with Ross. “One of the things that was really nice about working on the film was that Herb was so deferential and so inclusive of me as creator of the book and the screenplay. It was remarkable.” Indeed, Ross treated Meyer as more of a collaborator and sought input from the screenwriter on numerous items in addition to simply the script, including music, casting and editing. One example came in the original screenplay. Meyer recalls, “On the first page it says ‘Music by Bernard Herrmann.’ Seeing that, Herb went out and hired Bernard Herrmann! But then, sadly, Herrmann died before he could do the movie. But that’s the kind of fidelity Herb had to the source material. If I put it in the script that’s the way it was going to be. I lost a lot of battles with Herb to cut material from the film, but I won a few battles too,” he adds. Casting With script in hand, things began to get very real. It was time to cast the film. Meyer’s dream choice to play Sherlock Holmes was Peter O’Toole. “He was the one person in the world I wanted to see play Sherlock Holmes.” O’Toole, an outstanding Shakespearean actor with appearances at the Bristol Old Vic and the English Stage Company before moving to the big screen, was a real, honest-to-goodness movie star. Lawrence of Arabia; Becket; The Lion in Winter; Goodbye, Mr. Chips; The Stunt Man; My Favorite Year. Yes, a real movie star. Herb Ross said no. Ross had directed O’Toole in Goodbye, Mr. Chips, and the two “did not get along.” That was the end of that. And so, while the role of Sherlock Holmes remained undecided, Ross and Meyer set out to cast the other parts. Sigmund Freud The casting of Sigmund Freud was perhaps the most straightforward of the three main characters of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. As Meyer remembers, “I suggested Alan Arkin as Freud, Herb thought that was a good idea, so we got Alan Arkin.” Arkin had a long list of television and motion picture credits by the time he was cast as Sigmund Freud, including a comic turn in The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming and as the terrifying villain in Wait Until Dark. Dr. John H. Watson “This was not a Sherlock Holmes story. This was a story about Sherlock Holmes. With that in mind, I was trying to get people to look at these characters in ways different from the way we’d gotten used to seeing them—and misunderstanding them—because of Hollywood.” So said Nicholas Meyer when the discussion of casting Watson began. Watson was, for Meyer, crucial to put right. “I felt that Nigel Bruce, as charming as he might have been, was not the Watson I read in Doyle’s stories.” Getting that Watson—the Watson you could believe actually wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories—was the goal. “I thought,” said Meyer, “that Holmes is very vain. He doesn’t want the admiration of a buffoon, but instead wants the admiration of a regular person. And you want to believe Watson could have written the stories. I never believed that Nigel Bruce—Colonel Blimp— was that person.” Meyer’s full account of the casting of Robert Duvall as Watson deserves to be told in its entirety: Movie stars do not audition. They “meet.” They’ll come and sit down and talk to you. Herb Ross had offices at MGM, and on that particular day, he was having a fight with his wife, Nora Kay. It was a telephone battle, and they were hanging up on each other all morning. I don’t know what their fight was about . . . they were never consequential . . . but he didn’t make a move without her. It was with this going on in the background that Robert Duvall came into the office to chat with Herb and me about playing Dr. Watson. It was the same day that he was “meeting” to star as Woody Guthrie in Bound for Glory, and so he came in inexplicably in the character of Woody Guthrie! He had the full Okie accent, he was wearing a brown buckskin fringed jacket, and the entire time that Herb and I were sitting there bewildered, staring at each other over his shoulder, he was speaking with this outlandish twang. Finally after fifteen or twenty minutes, he just got up and said, “Well, I’ll be gittin’ along now, and, oh . . . by the way, I brung you this tape of me talkin’ like Dr. Watson.” And then he puts this cassette tape down on the desk and walks out, leaving us sitting there thinking, “What the hell was that?” Then, we listened to the cassette, and out comes this Oxbridge speech of this entirely different person! You could not believe it was the same person! I said, “That’s it! He can do it.” And Herb said, “Well, wait a minute. Let me play this for Nora.” So, he gets on the phone (I’m on the extension) and he says, “Nora, can you tell this person isn’t English?” Then he plays the tape. She says, “Herbert, who is that? Is that Mel Brooks? If you want to throw this film in the toilet go ahead and pick that person.” He was devastated, and I’m thinking “Oh no, I’m going to lose my movie star!” I think if a great actor wants to play something, try and make it work! Then Nora goes on, “Don’t take my word for it. Talk to Sam.” Sam was Samantha Eggar, her English actor friend, who later ends up playing Mrs. Watson in the film. So we call Samantha, and ask her if she can tell this person isn’t English. She says, “Well, it’s frightfully good, but he’s trying too hard, isn’t he?” Now Herb is really unsure. On the fence. I ask him if we can call one other English person, and this time I want to ask the question. So now we call an executive at 20th Century Fox who had an English secretary. This time I rephrased the question, saying, “We’re having an argument here. Is this accent South African or Australian that we’re listening to?” And then I played the tape. Her response was, “Well, that’s neither. That’s Oxbridge. That’s BBC English.” And that’s how Robert Duvall got the role of Dr. Watson. Duvall himself says of his work to master the accent: “When I got over there I constantly worked on the English thing. I observed people. I listened to people in restaurants, on the streets. Everywhere I went I took a tape recorder so I could check myself.” The casting of an American received criticism from Holmesians in Britain. In retrospect, these comments undoubtedly had little to do with the quality of the performance. “A lot of English people said they didn’t like the Dr. Watson in the film, saying they can tell he’s not British. I didn’t lose any sleep over it. I thought Duvall was great,” said Meyer. The young Nick Meyer learned a valuable lesson in screen acting from the veteran film star. Having cast such a big name in such an important role, Meyer didn’t understand Duvall’s performance. “When we would watch the dailies, I couldn’t see Duvall doing anything,” he remembers. “I was getting kind of anxious, and I said, “Can’t we get him to emote? He’s just delivering lines without doing anything.” So Herb talked to Duvall, who became prickly and said, “Well, what do you want me to do? Make faces?” So we sort of backed off, and then, when we stuck all the pieces of film together, Duvall walks away with the movie! That’s real movie acting and he knew exactly what he was doing.” Professor Moriarty If reeling in an actor with the stature of Robert Duvall was exciting, the casting of Laurence Olivier as Professor Moriarty had Meyer walking on air. “When Herb Ross turned to me one day and asked, ‘What do you think about Laurence Olivier for Professor Moriarty?’ I was about ready to jump out of my skin! I was so excited. But on the outside I’m playing it cool and saying, ‘Hmmmmm . . . yeah, sure, that might be good.’” “Excited” was an understatement. Olivier was a childhood hero of Nicholas Meyer’s. “From the time I saw him in The Beggar’s Opera and then Henry V, he was my idol,” said Meyer. “The idea that I would ever have him in a film of mine . . . I was just knocked out. The man who introduced me to Shakespeare, who revolutionized everything for me. ” Cast him they did. In six months’ time, Olivier was scheduled to work for three days on the set at Pinewood Studios, where interiors were being shot. “Oh, my God,” worried Meyer. “He’ll never live to be in the film.” Olivier had just recently had a serious illness prior to his role in The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. “Or I’ll never live to see it if he does,” Meyer alternately feared. “I have all these crazy scenarios about what is going to go wrong, until the day at Pinewood Studios when, there I am, face to face with my idol, with the man who changed my life. Talk about shaking hands with your dreams! I just couldn’t believe it. When he left after three days I took the canvas-backed chair of his that had his name on it and kept it.” It was a magical three days for Meyer, who fondly remembers his hero on the set of his movie. “It was very close to the end of Olivier’s career, and he’d been ill so you had to be very careful with him. When he was supposed to be in Holmes’s cocaine-induced hallucinations looking like a reptile, he said ‘I shall do my Richard III face!’ And by God, he did! Scary!” Meyer remembers talking about Sherlock Holmes with Olivier, who asked “Did he really take cocaine?” When Meyer told him he had, Olivier’s response was, “Well, I don’t think my father would let me read that one.” (Olivier’s father was an Anglican clergyman). Sherlock Holmes There was still the question of who would play Sherlock Holmes. Nick Meyer’s thoughts on screen Sherlocks are interesting. “I think Rathbone was an excellent Holmes. Peter Cushing was good, if a little too small. I had a great weakness for Ronald Howard.”30 Over the course of several weeks, Ross and Meyer had considered a number of actors. “Then one day Herb asked me what I thought of Nicol Williamson,” remembers Meyer. “At that time Williamson was taking Broadway by storm playing Hamlet.” Indeed, critics were hailing the Scottish-born actor as the Hamlet of his generation. “That’s how he got the role.” Having a reputation as a Shakespearean stage actor actually was a factor not only for Ross and Meyer, but for Williamson as well. “I guess one of the reasons I’m playing Sherlock Holmes is a reaction against taking on so many classical roles in the past,” he said in an interview with film critic Rex Reed. “I was offered the role in Billy Wilder’s version a few years ago, but the script was corny. This one has great excitement and color, and I’m playing him as a hopeless romantic. I’m playing him with a light touch, but the movie is not a caper or a spoof. I’m sort of a quizzical Leslie Howard.” He adds, “It’s something I’ve always wanted to play.”31 Despite a professed desire to play Holmes, Williamson does admit a lack of familiarity with the source material. “I have never seen a Sherlock Holmes movie or read the books. Everyone else in the world seems to have seen and read them except me. If you ask the man in the street who Sherlock Holmes was, he’ll say, ‘Oh, well, wasn’t he the famous detective?’ Or he’ll say Holmes ran around with Dr. Watson and lived in Baker Street.”32 To this day, feelings are mixed about Williamson’s portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. The mercurial, ginger-haired actor gives an outstanding portrayal of a man racked by drug addiction, and yet. “I think he’s a terrific Holmes,” says Meyer. “There’s only one problem. I think at the end of the day he’s not a movie star. I think that’s why he usually doesn’t make the cut when people talk about their all-time best Sherlock Holmes list. But he’s terrific.” Reflecting further on Williamson’s Sherlock Holmes, Meyer says, “Years ago, the Lone Ranger went on tour. It was a Wild West show, and they did rope tricks, and things like that. But at the end of each show, the Lone Ranger unmasked. And it was a disaster. There were kids yelling down from the balcony, ‘That ain’t him!’ And of course it wasn’t, because we all know who the Lone Ranger is. We all know who Hamlet is. And we all know who Sherlock Holmes is. It’s us. And that’s why there cannot be a perfect Hamlet. There cannot be a Lone Ranger underneath that mask, and there cannot be a perfect Holmes. No matter the portrayal, Holmes’s personality is the dominating feature. I’m not sure Nicol’s personality was dominating. His art was dominating, but not his self.” Director Herb Ross’s thoughts on Williamson’s portrayal were succinct: “There isn’t one single thing in it that will remind anyone of Basil Rathbone.” Early publicity Once all the pieces were in place but before production actually began, the Press Department of Universal was already cranking up the public relations machine to promote the film. One unique action, which showed the studio’s desire to tie the film version of The SevenPer-Cent Solution to the phenomenally popular book, was to send copies of the novel to potential reviewers and critics. The book included a card inside the front cover, which read: “Why are we sending you a copy of ‘The Seven-Per-Cent Solution’? It’s elementary!” It then went on to point out: “Herbert Ross will begin shooting the film version of Nicholas Meyer’s #1 best seller book.” It outlined the cast, mentioned the producers, and concluded: “If you wish any special photographic or editorial material on ‘The Seven-Per-Cent Solution’” contact the Press Department of Universal Studios in Hollywood. The power of the novel’s popularity, which had propelled an amazingly fast journey from page to screen, was an asset that Universal definitely intended to exploit. Shooting The Seven-Per-Cent Solution With the script completed, director in place, and casting wrapped up, there was nothing left but to make a movie. Shooting began in October 1975. The majority of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution was shot in four major locations. Interior scenes, including 221B Baker Street, Professor Moriarty’s flat, and Sigmund Freud’s home were shot in England’s Pinewood Studios. Situated about twenty miles west of London, Pinewood is a production facility for everything from a 30-second television commercial up to the latest summer blockbuster. Familiar film franchises that call Pinewood home include James Bond, Superman, Alien, Tim Burton’s Batman series, and Harry Potter. The second major location was also an interior one. Established in 1886, the Queen’s Club, a private sporting club in West Kensington, London, was chosen for the infamous court tennis match. In real life, the club hosts a prestigious annual lawn tennis tournament. The two other standout locations for shooting were Wales, where the thrilling railroad chase that comes toward the end of the film was shot, and Vienna. Of the four main locations, Meyer was present at all but the tennis match at the Queen’s Club. Being present on set for the filming of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution was for Nick Meyer like attending film school. “There were a number of aspects to the making of the film that were entirely dreamlike,” said Meyer. “This included simply seeing the handiwork from my little Laurel Canyon house make this journey all the way to England and Vienna.” It was a total immersion into filmmaking: set design, lighting, cinematography, direction (especially watching Herb Ross, who Meyer credits with teaching him to be “observant,” work with actors), seeing how actors learn and rehearse lines, evaluation of “dailies,” and film editing. Meyer recalls, “There were filmmakers involved in this who were real idols of mine. Ken Adam, the production designer, who became a good friend, and who is now Sir Ken Adam. His influence was enormous. His credits and résumé are just extraordinary.” Indeed, Adam’s credits include work on Around the World in 80 Days (a favorite childhood film of Meyer’s); Barry Lyndon; Sleuth; Dr. Strangelove; Goodbye, Mr. Chips; and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but he is best known as the production designer of the incredible sets seen in the James Bond films of the 1960s and 1970s. “Another person who made the experience dreamlike was Oswald Morris, my favorite British cinematographer,” recalls Meyer. Morris, who photographed The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, had a long, storied list of cinematic credits. His work can be seen in Moby Dick, A Farewell to Arms, The Guns of Navarone, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, Oliver!, Scrooge, Fiddler on the Roof, Dracula, the original Moulin Rouge, and The Man Who Would Be King. “This was pretty heady company,” adds Meyer. “I also became good friends with Joel Grey while working on the film,” said Meyer. “He plays Lowenstein, who, the footnote in the book and film credits informs us, may be fictitious!” Readers undoubtedly will recall Joel Grey from his Oscar-winning role in Cabaret. When asked what his most memorable moments are of the production of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, Nick Meyer cites two: shooting the train sequences, and shooting in Vienna. However, his feelings about both experiences are quite different. Shooting the train chase “The biggest charge of actually filming the movie had to be those trains!” remembers Meyer. “We were with a railroading club who had the trains.” The trains were provided by the Severn Valley Railway, a group of about seventy largely unpaid railroad enthusiasts who volunteer to do everything: promoting the organization, maintaining stations, rebuilding bridges, and most fun of all, maintaining and running the vintage rolling stock. The Severn Valley Railway runs a full-sized, standard-gauge railway line of regular, vintage steam-hauled passenger trains along an approximately sixteen-mile line. Their fleet includes eight steam locomotives and twenty-five diesel locomotives. “Chasing back and forth on these locomotives was just so much fun,” remembers Meyer. “These trains couldn’t go very fast, but we could under-crank the camera just a little bit to speed them up slightly.” The Severn Valley Railway has made appearances in numerous period film and television productions, and has served Sherlock Holmes in other productions as well. In 1977, their trains can be seen in the joint British/Canadian television production of Silver Blaze, starring Christopher Plummer.33 One of Severn Valley Railway’s trains can also be seen in Robert Downey, Jr.’s, 2011 film Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, most memorably when Mary Watson is pushed off the train into the water as it passes over a bridge. Readers may have also seen the trains appearing in the 1987 production of Agatha Christie’s 4.50 from Paddington, starring Joan Hickson as Miss Marple, and the 2005 feature film, The Chronicles of Narnia. “Just being on these trains was, for me, a big deal,” recalls Meyer. “One of my earliest, most profound influences was Jules Verne. Not only did I read all of Verne, I was weaned on Disney’s 20,000 Leagues under the Sea. Then, after that, I went and saw Around the World in 80 Days on my eleventh birthday. The influence of this movie, which actually persuaded me that making movies was what I wanted to do with my life, cannot be overstated. There was a scene in Around the World in 80 Days when the paddle wheeler, Henrietta, crossing the Atlantic back to England in time for Phileas Fogg to win his wager, runs out of coal. At this point the imperturbable Fogg uses the last of his funds to purchase the ship, and then dismantles her for fuel. They burn everything. Well, I need not tell you where that wound up!” Racing back and forth across Wales was a high point for Meyer, “until something brings you down to earth, like getting a coal cinder in your eye when you are wearing contact lenses.” Shooting in Vienna Perhaps the location that leaves the most lasting impression upon viewers of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution is the city of Vienna, the destination of Watson’s plot to introduce Sherlock Holmes to Sigmund Freud. As happy a memory as the train filming was for Nicholas Meyer, Vienna was a completely different experience. “I was there for shooting in Vienna . . . what a strange place I found that to be. I found it distressing. It was not a friendly place. Even Robert Duvall, who is not a Jew, found the company there extremely dour. It wasn’t the image that tourists might see.” Vienna, the capital and largest city of Austria, is the cultural and political center of the country. When most people think of Vienna, music and culture come to mind, conjuring up a sort of fairy tale image. The cultural tradition includes theater, opera, classical music, and fine arts. Often called the “City of Music,” Vienna is associated with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Joseph Haydn, Ludwig van Beethoven, Franz Schubert, Johannes Brahms, Gustav Mahler, Robert Stolz, and Arnold Schoenberg. Meyer’s experience was different. Of Vienna and his time there he says, “They sell the image of Johann Strauss, and Mozart is claimed as an Austrian. But technically Mozart was from the Grand Duchy of Salzburg, which was not part of Austria as a country during his lifetime. I think what troubles me is that after the war Austria portrayed itself as Hitler’s first victim. However, when you look at the newsreel footage you see that they weren’t his first victim. They were his first ally.” It is true that, in 1938, the Austrianborn Adolf Hitler received a triumphant reception upon his entry into Austria following its annexation into Nazi Germany. “It just felt weird to me being there, and I’m sure it’s just one impression, and it was 1975. Maybe by now it would be a much different experience. But I do remember hearing ‘The Horst Wessel Song’ at midnight, sung by a bunch of young guys in trench coats marching down the middle of the Graben. It was chilling.” In addition to art and music, Vienna is also known for its association with Sigmund Freud. And that, after all, was why the film crew was there. In addition to the scenes of arriving at and departing from train stations, catching cabs, and chasing Joel Grey through the streets, there were, of course, scenes in and around the home of Sigmund Freud. Freud’s address in Vienna was Berggasse 19. It is now the Sigmund Freud Museum. Freud lived and worked there from 1891 to 1938.35 Following the annexation of Austria by Nazi Germany, rising antiSemitism, and, ultimately, the ransacking of his flat by the Nazis, Freud departed Vienna for London on 5 May 1938. But he was indeed there in 1895 when the events of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution are set. As Meyer recalls, “The exterior of Berggasse in the film is not Berggasse Street, which at that time had a lot of car dealerships in it. Instead it was shot on a nearby street that still had cobblestones and was otherwise a match.” However, while most of the scenes within Freud’s home were shot on a soundstage at Pinewood, some interiors were filmed in Freud’s actual building. “Upon arrival, when Toby the bloodhound is leading Holmes and Watson up the stairs to the flat,” Meyer recalls, “those are the actual stairs.” Evidently for Alan Arkin, playing Freud in Freud’s home was memorable for another reason. As Nicol Williamson recounted at the time: “Alan Arkin, who has been in Freudian analysis for nine years, got claustrophobic and couldn’t breathe when we were filming locations at Freud’s actual house in Vienna.” Filming was completed in twelve weeks on a budget of $4.2 million. With footage in the can, post-production began. William Reynolds, whose endless credits include The Sound of Music and The Godfather, edited the film. The score was composed by John Addison, who had won an Oscar for Tom Jones (also best picture for 1963). And of course, there was one additional piece of music that was created especially for The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. “The Madame’s Song”—sung with gusto by Belgian actress and New York club doyenne, Régine—was written by composer and lyricist Stephen Sondheim.37 (Regine’s performance was subsequently dubbed by British singer Georgia Brown, who also played Frau Freud in the film). The song was later retitled “I Never Do Anything Twice” and rerecorded for the album Side by Side by Sondheim. Finally, the film was ready to release. Distributed by Universal Studios, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution debuted on 24 October 1976. _____________________ Excerpted from “Together Again for the First Time: Forty Years of the Seven-Per-Cent Solution” by Steven T. Doyle, printed in The Baker Street Journal: 2015 Christmas Annual, printed by the Baker Street Irregulars. Copyright 2015 by the Baker Street Irregulars. Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram From Hell, a sequel to The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, by Nicholas Meyer is published by The Mysterious Press. It is available to order here. View the full article

I’m surrounded by cursed objects. Not literally—I’m not one of those famous paranormal investigators/collectors that lock notable cursed objects in their basement to keep the outside world safe and then must warn their children’s friends that coming over to play might expose them to said curses (I’m not making this up…also, my daughter will not be attending that sleepover). While not overly superstitious, I’m just cautious enough to relegate the cursed objects I encounter to the fiction on my bookshelves. Unless of course some aggrieved occult practitioner got their hands on my Magic 8 Ball when I wasn’t looking. “Magic 8 Ball, are you cursed?” A quick shake and the answer materializes from that murky black 8 Ball water. “Not likely.” Not likely but not impossible. [Walks Magic 8 Ball out to the trash bin] Okay, I’m back. What were we talking about? Fiction. Stories. Yes! So many wield cursed objects to frighten us with cautionary tales but also to examine the inner thoughts, shortcomings, and fears of the (sometimes unwilling) victims. From cars that turn teen boys’ American dreams into nightmares, to jewelry that’s as fashionable as it is frightening, to the strangest item in my list: a dead man’s suit. While the particular mechanism for smearing bad energy from one possessor (not owner, because who really owns anything but trouble in a cursed object tale?) to another varies, the results remain pretty consistent: chaos. My latest novel, Ruin Road, traverses territory occupied by each of these great novels. Cade Webster, a big Black boy, wishes that people stop being so scared around him while holding a “replica” Super Bowl ring attained from a creepy pawnshop. The wish comes true, but everyone Cade encounters from that point on loses their fear of not just him, but of everything. Chaos ensues. Cade’s ring is an apt accessory inspired by the choices of all the writers and horrors mentioned here. I can’t wait for you to read it but the authors below set a high bar. Will you like what I’ve done? I’m tempted to ask the Magic 8 Ball sitting on my desk. Wait…didn’t I…? Never mind. All’s good here. Let me give my cheesy, handheld oracle a little shake and see what surfaces from that infinitely black water inside. What could go wrong? With that in mind, lets get into a few of my favorite cursed objects and the books in which they lurk. Stephen King, Christine It’s only right that we start with America’s Boogeyman, Mr. Stephen King himself. When it comes to automotive evil, the first name has to be from the 1983 novel Christine (adapted to film by the one and only John Carpenter in the same year). The 1957 Plymouth Fury draws the affection of pimply faced teen Arnie with his cooler buddy Dennis there to narrate the horror. There are sacrifices related to hamburgers—a reason my mom had a strict no eating policy in her car. Revenge on bullies via vehicular homicide. And the magical means by which Christine repairs herself post murders (given the price of auto insurance I respect this aspect of the curse quite a bit). This is classic obscure occultism where the whys and hows of Christine’s powers are only hinted at, but they’re good guesses, with a creepy denouement. Uncle Stevie couldn’t leave well enough alone, though, so I want to mention King’s other creepy car, the titular vehicle of 2002’s From a Buick 8. While more cosmic than occult, the “Buick” is the burden of a group of state troopers who posit it might be a pressure valve between our world and some vastly stranger dimension. Dangerous curiosity and mysterious disappearances make the Buick a tempting get around vehicle for the macabre among us. Joe Hill, Heart-Shaped Box Moving on, but not too far given the authorial lineage, my next cursed object is a dead man’s suit from Joe Hill’s 2007 novel Heart-Shaped Box. Aging rocker Judas Coyne finds a ghost for sale online and jumps at the “opportunity” to own an apparition. When his purchase arrives as a haunted suit packed into a heart-shaped box I probably don’t need to tell you Judas gets way more than he bargained for. Hill’s a fantastic author known for prose that feels both lush and lean. Not surprising given his dad wrote books like Christine and From a Buick 8 (yep!). This book is atmospheric with spot-on pacing that seamlessly takes it from a supernatural siege to a cross-country chase to vanquish the angry spirit. Someone once said “the dead drive fast” but it is Hill’s conceit that they can also dress mighty fine while doing it. F. Paul Wilson, The Tomb Speaking of objects that radiate malice while serving looks, there’s the sought after pair of magical necklaces from F. Paul Wilson’s 1984 novel The Tomb. Admittedly those necklaces only account for a tiny bit of what’s happening in this novel as it’s part of an incredibly deep mythology that also introduces Wilson’s most iconic hero, the urban mercenary Repairman Jack. Jack would go on to star in over a dozen novels, but it’s this one where we see him juggling a complicated love affair with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, fighting monsters, and becoming enthralled in a cosmic battle with Wilson’s take on Lovecraftian old ones known as “The Otherness” for the first time. It’s absolutely thrilling stuff and set me on a journey of annual auto-buys as each new Repairman Jack novel hit stores. But, lest we get caught in a realm of eternal torment that would so please the Otherness, let’s escape the 80s for more recent wicked wares. Scott Leeds, Schrader’s Cord For your reading and listening pleasure, I will recommend Schrader’s Chord, the 2023 debut novel from Scott Leeds. Schrader is a—long vanished/presumed dead—composer who dabbled in occultism. He created four records that, when played simultaneously (utilizing four different record players activated by four different people to guarantee the sync—thus protecting the vast majority of the streaming generation from the danger here), generate his chord, a sound that opens a gateway between the realms of the living and dead while cursing those who played the records to very specific deaths. Now, I don’t care how you read, but this one sort of demands you go audiobook, don’t you think? Does that sound risky? Maybe. But if you’re not synced up with three friends you’ll be fine. Probably. Grady Hendrix, How to Sell a Haunted House Another 2023 novel that’s totally worth your time is Grady Hendrix’s How to Sell a Haunted House. The title may lead you to believe the house is the cursed object here…not so. I won’t spoil what object houses the malignance here, but I will say this book demands you considering the implications of touching certain “holes” and that right there is enough to have you scrutinizing the shadowy recesses of your own home beyond the final page of this frightening tale. Tananarive Due, The Good House Since we’re talking houses, the former Realtor in me can’t let you go without showing you the piece of prime real estate that is Tananarive Due’s The Good House. While you may be familiar with Due’s 2023 juggernaut The Reformatory, her 2003 novel about tragic circumstances surrounding protagonist Angela Toussaint’s family home may have slipped under your radar. Correct that; swing by and take a tour. It’s got a great (cursed) foundation. Massive (cursed) square footage. And a fresh coat of (cursed) paint. All offers entertained. *** View the full article