Excerpt from a Dead Novel

Some fiction from me

As my first paid-exclusive post, I’m excerpting a section from the first novel I ever wrote. The novel as a whole never became quite good enough. I’d say this is by far strongest section, though, and it should make sense on its own.

There will also be commentary pieces and other content in the future for paid subscribers; don’t fear that you’re about to be inundated with nothing but my fiction. This excerpt is an homage, it’s a riff, it’s me working in a particular mode that’s about atmosphere as much as anything else. It was a lot of fun to do. Bonus points if you can tell me in the comments which two writers I was thinking about as I wrote it. I bet that will be fairly easy for a lot of you. I hope you enjoy it.

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Excerpted from Knife

When Maria Knife is 16, she’s at Saint Regula, a boarding school in Scotland. Hard up on the west coast, Regula is not too far from the Isle of Skye, but also not too near. She likes it OK. She’s been to lots and lots of schools. Her summers she spends wherever her father is building his dams—Iran, Nigeria, Finland, different places every year or two. Maria speaks French, German, and a decent amount of Japanese. She is petite, and serious, and poised, and pretty in an unplaceable way, as if whatever is appealing about her might dissolve with the morning mist. Her father tells her she’s a genius. Maria isn’t so sure. It seems like the kind of thing that demands further investigation. She’s an only child, and she realized a long time ago she couldn’t trust her father’s affections not to get the better of his objectivity. Peter Knife is very loving.

Regula sits on the grounds of a Norman keep long considered unassailable, as well as the Benedictine abbey that finally overwhelmed the castle with its prosperity. During the Second World War, Regula was home to an intelligence unit that remains shrouded in secrecy. Something to do with last-ditch defenses of Britain, or so Maria has heard. It’s not hard to see why all these redoubts chose what is now the site of the school. Regula is surrounded on three sides by sea cliffs no Viking or Nazi could dream of scaling. The only approach is along a narrow road, winding through an undulating boulder field and only recently paved, that leads from the tiny village of Dray Dram. It’s a half-hour’s bicycle ride for the fittest girls, in good weather. And there’s truly nothing in Dray Dram, save a deserted tea shop and old women who appear to believe that scowling is a Presbyterian sacrament. All faculty, staff, and students of Regula live on the grounds. It’s a nicely appointed school, albeit with the kind of austerity in diet and facilities you’d expect if you read the dour, medievally inflected application brochures.

Tantallon Castle, Scotland