If you’re reading along in a book set in the Middle Ages, and a character is described as paranoid, does that bother you?
It rubs me the wrong way a bit, I have to admit. It is an ancient Greek word, meaning “madness”. The problem is not with the word itself, really, but with the concept attached to it. The English word paranoia carries a modern framework with it: a mind turning against itself, an irrational and intractable terror. It is technically a medical condition defined by a name and a diagnosis. Now, we commonly use the word more loosely than that, to be sure. But the word evokes that diagnosis and the whole theory of cognition and emotion that lies behind it.
I used the word to casually describe the fears of my protagonist, Agnes, in first draft of The Silent Bell, my cozy Camelot mystery set in Oxford in 1250 AD. She was afraid that she was seeing non-existent danger around every corner; she was, in fact, afraid of being paranoid. But medieval society did not possess that mental framework. Agnes’s fears are, justifiably, directed at real threats: accusations, ostracism, what a court might do to a girl like her, and the old trials by ordeal that the Church had abolished just a few decades earlier. If I were to assign her a word focused inward on the mind, it would be an anachronism.
So I had to go deeper:
Her fingers had knotted in the straw. Under them, her own skin had gone tight and dry, like bark in a hard frost.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop thinking about it. You’ll go mad.
It wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t. Arthur was a just king and a fair man…
She lifted her head from her knees.
She did not know. But at least, she could turn away from raw fear, towards something that might be solved.
That was the rule I followed throughout the revision process. Do not simply ask yourself if there is evidence that a word was in use. Ask yourself, too, whether it surreptitiously introduces a way of thinking that did not yet exist. Words like strategy were removed from the list. And momentum, too. Hassle didn’t stand a chance. In their place came words such as kirtle and coffer, wicket and gaoler, as well as the Church’s canonical hours (Terce, Compline) alongside ordinary terms for morning and evening, ensuring the reader could keep track of time without needing a glossary.
(Of course there is a glossary, but nevertheless…)
And then there is the language that no one in Oxford actually spoke. The fae in this book have their own language, Āoslāmi; and I created it from scratch: its sound system, its grammar, and an ancestral language that preceded it, so that the words would have a history. You will hear it in names, in a song or two, and in spells cast at pivotal moments.
…But the point of all this is that the book is finished.
The Silent Bell is a cozy mystery story rooted in the Arthurian legends. Camelot is dropped into the streets of thirteenth-century Oxford, where a young apprentice of Merlin uncovers a murderous conspiracy. It will be available starting November 10th. In the meantime, I am looking for advance readers.
What you get: a free copy of the finished book, in EPUB or PDF format, right now — about five weeks before it becomes available to anyone else.
What I ask: if you read it and enjoy it, an honest review on Amazon or Goodreads around the time of publication. If you don’t like it, there is no need to leave a review or provide an explanation. I would prefer an honest three-star review over a polite but insincere five-star.
Who it’s for:
- Readers of cozy mysteries who don’t mind a touch of magic.
- Readers of Arthurian fantasy who don’t mind a murder.
- Anyone who has ever read a historical novel and felt uncomfortable when someone said “okay.”
Request your advance copy here → https://booksprout.co/reviewer/review-copy/view/325524/the-silent-bell
If you’d like more information first, the book’s page can be found at axonfirings.com/the-silent-bell.
Thank you! And to everyone following the conlang journey here: you’ve been the heart of it all from the beginning. More to come soon.
