Lute

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But see, you are the expert here, because all other experts are gone. You know engines. You know your own boat. Can’t you just take another look at this one?” There are also several mysteries that are drawn out over the course of the story, and these added to the suspense. Why would Nina drop everything to move to a foreign country with a man she barely knows? What is the meaning of Hugh’s secret journal with its list of Lute’s families? And why is Nina having strange dreams about rituals and sacrifices in the woods? I wanted to find out the answers, and that’s one reason I had a hard time putting the book aside. Thorne also touches on some weighty themes, like the fears of motherhood, the feeling of being an outsider, and the responsibilities of being part of a close-knit community with plenty of secrets. I loved that these themes added depth to the story and made the characters more relatable. Lord Treadway is another intricately drawn character who develops in startling new directions. Grimdark enthusiasts will especially appreciate his gray morality as he grapples with his personal role on this brutal day of sacrifice. Jennifer Thorne brilliantly juxtaposes the character arcs of the Lord and Lady of Lute over the course of the novel. Hugh’s standing in the lane. He isn’t walking toward us, just waiting, hands on hips. Jo and Emma are nowhere in sight. Jennifer Thorne’s prose is elegant in its simplicity, embracing a quiet minimalism that only enhances its sense of horror. Lute is a stunning achievement for an author new to the genre. This is the type of novel that will haunt you for years to come.

Oh, that voice of hers—lovely, adorable, way too much for me right now. The pitch is so high, my brain feels like it’ll burst. I wonder if things are still the same in Florida. Strip malls extending their reach like concrete kudzu, theme parks whirling, playgrounds flash-drying in the summer sun. I feel a little pain behind one eye at the thought of my childhood home, flat and glaring, and then blink it away as I reach for my daughter. It matters which country. Finland surrendered to the Russo-American armies a month after the war began, the first big domino to fall.God, this terror. It’s always there, isn’t it, waiting for a reason to bubble over. From the moment he was born, I’ve had an endless store of fear held ready, just in case, and having a second child only quadrupled it. Just in time, two hands appear as if from nowhere and snatch her into the parking lot while she wiggles wildly. “You can’t fly, fairy princess. You haven’t got your wings yet!” We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Lute by Jennifer Thorne, out from Nightfire on October 4th. It’s the same damn fuel we’ve always used,” Hugh is saying. I reach for his shoulder, a calming touch, but he barely seems to notice. The mechanic gives me a respectful nod, wincing as if with a sudden headache as Hugh launches in again. “I don’t understand—”

Part of Nina’s discontent with her life on Lute is her scepticism about the island’s most famed tradition: ‘the Day’. The Day is an ancient, suspiciously mythic, celebration that takes place every seven years – an island-wide affair that’s part-anniversary/part rite. The Day is, supposedly, Lute’s karmic balance: its day of sacrifice. The day where the continuous pleasantry is balanced – or earned. Lute opens three days before The Day, and Nina is sensitive that the islanders are being even stranger than usual – including her husband and children. As soon as my eyes find the grove again, my relief at having a solid lead is laced with a wash of hot anger. “Why would he have taken off like this? For the grove of all places?” God, how many people are left here? I scan the horizon, and it feels more than ever like a desert isle, like we’ve been marooned. I like that feeling most of the time, the sense of having escaped the chaos and cruelty of the rest of the world, but today, it makes me cold down to my bones, like I’m swimming in a dark current of water. Drowning is the easiest hazard for me to imagine. All those years of picturing how my sister must have looked as they dragged her out of the swimming pool have made that image spring readily to mind. Nah, I should think not. Looks like a bloody-nosed beetle to me, as Lute as they come.” He grins, and his face explodes with creases. “I’m not using profanity in front of your daughter, Lady Treadway, that’s honestly what they’re called. I’ll snap a picture and find out for sure. That’s what they’re paying me for, after all.”

The Inside of Out

But as I mentioned earlier, there are some very odd elements that tripped me up. My biggest issue was trying to slot Lute into a particular genre and not being able to do it. The idea that there is a world war going on made this feel like a dystopian (“The press dubbed the past four years of global conflict the Water Wars , not World War III , like they’re holding out that name for another worse conflict to come.”) Because Lute is “safe” from the war, the story has a fantasy vibe as well, as if magic was responsible for Lute’s good fortune. Then you have the more contemporary story about Nina, who was born and raised in Florida, but met a British man and decided to leave her country to be with him. It turns out Hugh is Lord Treadway, from a titled family, and now Nina has become a “Lady” because they are married. This “Lord and Lady of the manner” storyline gave it a historical fiction vibe. And finally , you have the horror aspects on top of all this, with sudden, random and violent deaths that felt almost like a slasher film. That’s a bunch of different genres, and I’ll admit the combination sometimes gave me whiplash.

Is that what they’re paying you for?” I grin. “Not the paperwork and repairs and cataloging and protecting endangered birds and—?”Lute excels in its quieter moments. It is, ultimately, a story about Nina and her choices. As such, a great deal of the ‘conflict’ is introspective, as Nina contemplates her own past, and the journey she’s taken. The horror, such as it is, feels almost gaudy by comparison. The action scenes are mostly minimised, which is probably for the best. The overall vibe of Lute is folkloric, as befitting a woman’s search for belonging on a timeless isle. The island, despite its inaccessibility, is not a naturally claustrophobic space. Nor does Nina herself ever feel particularly trapped – instead, she’s more of a passive witness as her husband frets, clawing at the bars of his proverbial cage. Nina does not remain passive throughout; indeed, the great ‘conflict’ of the book centres around her decision on which part she chooses to play in the unfolding drama. The horrors of Lute are predictable (eventually, even to Nina): her agency comes from when she chooses to accept them, and what form that acceptance takes. Two estranged sisters must band together to solve a puzzle three millennia in the making in this female-heroine take on Indiana Jones. But panic starts to stir in my chest again, drowning out any irritation. Charlie is six. Charlie is missing. How could we have let this happen?

It was so lively up at the barrow when I moved to Lute and all those archaeologists and cheerful young students were here digging, cataloging, publishing, but they left when the war began, and now, apart from the grazing goats that have turned wild and overrun the place, it’s just the ancient grave it always was, silent and half-exposed. It looks like an open wound now. Desecrated. Jesus, that’s a strong word, but it does feel like the right one.

I wilt a little watching them go, like a child who hasn’t been invited to the party, but that’s not strictly fair. Just the other day, two of “the mums,” Wendy and Jenny, asked if I was coming with the kids to Sunnan now that the decision had been made to send them away. When I said we were leaving too, for our anniversary, they looked more disappointed than I’d expected. And in return, Lute enjoys prosperity – no matter how well or how poorly the economy of Britain, or even the entire world, happens to be doing. The weather is milder and even sunnier than anyone has a right to expect. There’s always enough food and no one goes hungry. Lute takes care of its own and its people take care of each other. And there’s peace – even in the midst of war. John is already nodding down the path, setting off toward the sound. “What did I tell you? Young historian. He’s gone straight for the area of outstanding…”