I am gratified that The Domesday Book (No, Not That One) is being so well received. It appears to be in the Kindle charts around the world as a book of humour and of historical fiction. That it is not yet on the syllabus of University History degrees I can only put down to the controversial nature of its content.
It is such an academic work that it even has a map, the original of which hangs on the wall of the Scriptorium; just above the autograph of The Venerable Bede, which was sold to me by a rather doubtful chap in a market.
Meanwhile work continues on the interpretation of the next collection of Brother Hermitage manuscripts. From what I have deciphered so far, the good monk and his companion Wat are to be dispatched into the heart of the enemy to investigate some murder or other. I have thus imaginatively titled the work ‘Hermitage, Wat and Some Murder or Other.’
The rather pushy fellow who claims to be my agent says that I should come up with something more lively. He suggested “The Great Medieval Death Fest”, but I must confess I baulked at this, despite his assurances that it would “grab the audience” – which sounds both distasteful and unnecessary.
He tells me the ‘genre’ of medieval historical investigation is a cut throat business, often quite literally, and that I need to punch above my weight, whatever that may mean. I insisted that rigorous academic analysis would be more than sufficient, which he said was all well and good but was never very funny.
I know Hermitage and Wat do demonstrate some humour, but that’s hardly the point. He said not to worry as he would sort it all out in the edit.
I am ashamed to say the conversation became rather heated after that and I had to invite him to leave, which he appeared only too happy to do. He is never comfortable in the scriptorium, preferring the luxuries of soft seating, heating and the like.
I hardly dare tell the man that I have discovered yet another tale involving Hermitage, which appears to involve the Druids of all things. He will only get excited so perhaps I had better keep it to myself for now.
Howard
Warwick
February