Columba’s Bones

Polygon’s Darkland Tales series – which began with Denise Mina’s Rizzio and has continued through Jenni Fagan’s story of the North Berwick witch trials (Hex) and Alan Warner’s tale of Bonnie Prince Charlie (Nothing Left to Fear from Hell) – has proved remarkably consistent in quality and entertainment. For its fourth volume, Columba’s Bones, it departs from the practice of selecting experienced novelists and turns instead to a debutant, David Greig.  Greig, of course, is already well known as one of Scotland’s best dramatists (Midsummer and The Strange Undoing of Prudencia Hart are two of my particular favourites) and already has some history with history (in its mythic form) with his Macbeth sequel Dunsinane. “I found it to be a huge advantage to have written plays,” Greig has said of his debut, especially when it comes to the restrictions of the novella form, adding:

“I tried to avoid writing dialogue… I didn’t want people to say, ‘he’s just done a play’.”

Elements of theatre can be seen in the control Greig has over his material, from the single setting (the island of Iona) to the limited number of characters – which allows their varied natures to stand out.

The novel opens, however, with scene that would be unlikely to transfer successfully to the stage: a Viking attack on Iona in which most of the inhabitants are murdered and the buildings burned down. There is no disguising the brutality as the Abbot is torn limb from limb for not revealing the hiding place of Columba’s bones. Greig’s focus, though, is one of his central characters, Grimur, whom he quickly humanises:

“Grimur struggled through soft beach sand… He was already out of breath. He’d started too fast.”

Grimur is a man who knows he is past his best – “anything he would ever achieve had been achieved already.” As the others interrogate the monks, he heads for the smithy where, after killing the smith, he tastes the best mead of his life, made by the second of Greig’s characters, Una, the smith’s wife. The next time we see Grimur he is being carried from the smithy by his comrades before being buried.

Meanwhile, Greig’s third character, a young monk called Martin, is hiding in the privy – that is, down among the shit. After the raid is over, it is decided to abandon the monastery and the island, but Una and Martin refuse to leave:

“I spent a night alone amongst filth… The Lord Jesus kept me strong. In return I made a promise to him that I would serve Saint Colm.”

And so, Martin, Una and Grimur (don’t ask, just read the book) live together on Iona, knowing that eventually the Vikings will return. Grimur rebuilds the church and Martin completes a copy of the Gospels which was being produced by the monks – though only because Grimur encourages him to do so:

“This is your fate. Woven into your story… Even a pagan like me can see that. The task is given to you by your god.”

Iona becomes a haven, as it does for a young woman, Bronagh, who comes to live as an anchoress, and both tests and strengthens Martin’s faith. Greig treats Christianity sensitively in the novel – it is not a Christian book, but it is, at times, a spiritual one, with all the characters reflecting (in action as much as thought) on the purpose of their lives. It is filled with songs and prayers, and, symbolically at least, Iona is a holy place. Of the Darkland Tales so far, it is the furthest removed from our time, and Greig captures both the religious fervency of the monks and the gleeful violence of the Vikings. At the same time, in its presentation of a moment of calm in the storm of the world, it is perhaps the one most likely to speak to us, offering us “a miniature of the world.” The Vikings do return, and Greig delivers the dramatic conclusion we would expect from a writer of his skill, as well as revealing one trick he has (almost literally) kept up his sleeve. While it does not perhaps end with a miracle, it does at least end with hope.

Tags: columbas bones, David Greig