World Building In “Thornspell”
Yesterday I posted about “Encountering Fantastic Worlds”, which was something of a theme in one of my recent presentations to a local Friends of the Library group. And there is definitely more to come on the topic, including favourite worlds in both adult fantasy and also science fiction.
In the same library talk I also touched on bringing my love of world building into my own novels. In terms of Thornspell (Knopf)—which tells the prince’s story from the Sleeping Beauty fairytale—I mentioned an historical influence on place through the Middle European setting, as well as deliberately drawing on cultural references to legends such as Parsifal.
I also spoke of the importance of key places, such as the enchanted wood, the sleeping palace, and a second wilder forest called Thorn where a boar hunt takes place, in grounding the story’s sense of ‘world.’
Just to give tyou an idea, here’s the sequence from the novel that I read to introduce readers to the enchanted wood that is the primary ‘world’ of the Thornspell story. (It was fun doing the voices as well. 🙂 )
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~ from Chapter 1, The Silent Wood
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“The old western gate into the castle was long since walled up, but there was still the remains of a road that must have run into the forest once. It was little more than two rutted and stony wheel tracks now, but Sigismund followed it one day, making his escape from the castle by means of a mossy channel that had once been the moat, and a culvert under the outer wall. The road did not go far, petering out into a bridle path within a few hundred yards of the castle wall, and fading away altogether beneath the forest eave.
It was very dark and quiet beneath the canopy: a heavy, listening silence. There was no call of bird or insect, no whisper of a falling leaf – not even the wind stirred. Sigismund felt the fine hairs lifting along his forearms and up the back of his neck, and took a step back.
“Wise boy.” The voice that spoke was dry as one leaf skeleton settling on another. Sigismund whipped around, but saw nothing until there was a stirring between two, downbent hazel trees and a crone hobbled out. She must have been gathering firewood along the forest fringe, for there was a load of bundled sticks on her back and she had to twist her head to look at him. Her eyes were sharp and bright as a blackbird’s, but sunk into the weathered seams of her face. Sigismund thought she looked a little like an old tree herself, knotted and twisted with the years, although she moved more like the blackbird, coming close to him with a light, hopping step.
She was lame, he saw then, that was why she hopped. He stared, half shocked, half delighted, when he saw that she was puffing on a small, flat bowled pipe. A thread of smoke rose from it, curling into a question mark above the glow of orange embers.
“That load’s too heavy for you, Granny,” he said. “Let me carry it back to the castle, and the stable master will find a donkey to take you both down to the village.”
Light and shadow flickered across the seamed face like sun through shifting leaves, and her laugh was a cackle, dry as her first words. “Ye’ve a kind heart, lad,” she said, “for all yer lordly clothes, but don’t ‘ee worrit about auld ‘azel. I’m used to burdens, born to ‘em, ‘ee might say.” She chewed on the pipe stem, studying him with her head on one side – exactly like a bird, Sigismund thought, trying not to laugh. “Stay away from t’ wood though, ‘ee should.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why shouldn’t I come in here, if I want to?”
Her sidelong look was sly. “Does ‘ee want? Ye was goin’ backwards, last I looked.”
Sigismund had flushed then, a slow burn in the region of his ears. “I was surprised,” he said, with dignity. “That was all.”
“Nay,” she contradicted him, around the pipe, “wise. Forest’s dangerous t’ likes of ‘ee, root an’ branch alike.” Her voice changed then, making him think of earth and moss, and the leaves of years lying deep beneath the trees. “E’en yer huntmaster takes his hounds east, or south or north a-ways – no’ westward, no’ into this wood.”
Sigismund drew a deep breath in, feeling his eyes grow wide. “So what is in there?” he demanded. “Is it dragons, like they say, or simply basilisks and trolls?”
The crone cackled again. “Nowt simple about basilisks or trolls, lad, not if ‘ee meets ‘em. This wood’s no place for babes, so ‘ee get away back to yon cassle. ‘Tis close enough t’ wood for ‘ee, for now.”
Afterward, Sigismund was never quite sure how he found himself half way back to the castle before he realised that he had even turned around. He could feel the old woman’s blackbird eyes, but he did not look back. And although he watched for her from his lookout on the tower, he never saw her trudging back beneath the load of firewood.
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