Menewood by Nicola Griffith (MCDxFSG, 3 October, 2023. Cover art by Anna and Elena Balbusso.)
tl;dr
Menewood is an epic literary speculative novel of character set 1400 years ago and stuffed with people of every persuasion. If you like it enough to nominate it for an award, any award, you have my blessing.
Amusement and Exasperation
I've done exactly one award eligibility post before—last year, when readers were asking me whether, for award purposes, Spear was a novella or a novel. I answered because it was about word-count categories and those rules are usually spelled out clearly in genre awards. But now people are asking me how to categorise Menewood, this time in terms of identity and genre, and I'm feeling both amused and exasperated.
The amusement? Menewood is such a massive multi-modal monster of a book. The idea of trying to squeeze it into any single category makes me want to giggle—it feels a bit like watching a tiger trying to curl up in a shoebox.
The exasperation? I've been versions of this many times with many of my books: "Should we shelve Ammonite in queer fiction or science fiction?" "Should we nominate the The Blue Place for thriller awards or mystery (or lesbian fiction or noir)?" "We'll review Slow River as a psychological novel that explores the essential self..." "No, no, it should go in the Thriller and Suspense column: a novel of sex and industrial sabotage!" People are forever asking me to define my own work but that's not my job. My job is to write it. It's the reader's job to categorise it, if you feel the need. I'm willing to go as far as to say they're Novels. If pushed, Good Novels. The rest is up to you. If you want Menewood to be, say, Lesbian Fiction or Secret History or Speculative Fiction or Literary Fiction or Disability Fiction or Historical Fiction then, by all means, feel free to think of it (sell it, shelve it, nominate it, judge it) that way.
I love 'genre' in the sense that I delight in the kinds of books that are labelled that way. I don't love being asked to choose one label and hang it around my book's neck to the exclusion of all others. I've never been a fan of either/or. The whole point of what I write is to explore worlds in which those kinds of binary choices aren't required, and the people who would resist them if they were. (Well, okay, the whole point is to write a thrilling, thought-provoking and satisfying story about believable people doing interesting things in a fascinating place—the kind of book I like to read.)1 I've always preferred yes/and .
But Menewood's genre/category seems to be bothering people more than is usual so, okay, here are some thoughts.
Is Menewood SFF?
Two previous essays, Hild: Fantasy or History (2013) and Who Owns SF? (2014) cover most of my thoughts on how Hild and her story fit into SFF.2 Seriously, if you really want to know what I think go read them. On balance I'd say that, yes, I'm comfortable describing both Hild and Menewood as speculative fiction. They use the narrative tools of science fiction, read like fantasy, and require the kind of reading skills honed by years of reading SFF. And if speculative fiction is about what could really happen,3 and the Hild novels are about what could really have happened, then the difference is just a matter of tense.
Gary Wolfe, in his recent review of Menewood, also has some thoughts:
...which asked whether the novel itself could be read as some sort of fantasy. I even saw it described as "speculative historical fiction," which seems to me pretty redundant (how can historical fiction be anything but speculative?) [...] As dilemmas go, this one is pretty silly, but the question is likely to come up again with Menewood...
So, to get back to our original question, what does Menewood promise for the SF/F reader, and why are we talking about it in Locus? Apart from the distinct possibility that this may be the major work so far of a major talent, there's quite a bit. From the fantasy reader's perspective, seventh-century Northumbria is such a little-known corner of history that it feels as thoroughly estranged as any imaginary kingdom, and Griffith's decision to make extensive use of unfamiliar terminology adds to the estrangement [...] There are any number of points where characters mention wights, sprites, or fairies, but bringing them onstage would add nothing. (For that matter, does the insertion of Hild into real historical events make it a secret history?) SF readers, on the other hand, will recognize the importance of Hild's sheer competence throughout (she could outthink a Heinlein hero), as well as her fascination with how things work. We learn how to make parchments, dyes, and inks; what sort of land is best for grazing sheep for wool vs. sheep for milk, how to butcher a horse, even (quite literally) how the sausage is made (and in the hands of Brona and Hild, it can be weirdly sexy). If Hild showed us that close observation and inference could be mistaken for magic and vision, Menewood convinces us that the magic is embedded in history itself.
Gary Wolfe, Locus, 22 November, 2023
I could also argue that the Hild novels, like everything I've written, are focalised heterotopias—which to me place them squarely in the realm of fantastika.
Is Menewood Historical Fiction?
Yes. Next quest— No, wait.
Obviously, yes, Menewood is historical fiction: it's set beyond living memory and everything in the book could have happened—there are no impossible things, no anachronisms, and nothing contravenes what is known to be known—the material culture and human behaviour is realistic.4 What I want to address is readers' perceptions of what was possible or realistic in the seventh century, particularly in terms of power and agency relating to gender, race, religion, colour, disability, and sexual orientation.
I ran into this a bit with Spear—which, no question, is fantasy fiction because although it's set in a milieu whose events and material culture are historically accurate there's the undeniable centrality of legend, not to mention the mythic Tuath Dé. Rather than devote half a blog post to the subject I'll refer you to my essay for Historia on the perils of outdated notions of history:
[Spear] is a blend of historical realism, legend, and fantasy. Paradoxically, the element that I consider the most important facet of its historical realism is the one that many readers may regard as the most fantastical.
[...]
In terms of historical realism, the book's material culture, such as building materials, weaponry, food, livestock, textiles; the physical and cultural milieu, such as travel logistics, climate change, social structure, religion, and ethnogenesis; and the language – with the major caveat that I've substituted early Welsh for Brythonic and had to essentially guess regarding Asturian names – is as accurate as I can make it.
Many readers would largely agree regarding which elements of the book to assign variously to myth, legend, or realism. But stale historiography – reliance on outmoded and outdated understanding of the past – may lead to one important area of disagreement.
Most artistic representations of the legend – literature, film, visual art, and music – are of wholly white, straight, cisgendered, and non-disabled people. But in Spear disabled, queer, Black, poor, female and gender nonconforming people exist. Because we have always existed. We are here now and we were there then – present in every corner of society in every era, part of every problem and its solution. No story without us is historically realistic.
Nicola Griffith — History, historicity, historiography and Arthurian legend. Historia, 22 May, 2022.
It's possible I might run into the same outdated notions with Menewood, but I hope not. I suspect the greatest obstacle to the book's eligibility for UK awards will be its availability, or lack thereof.
Is Menewood Queer/Lesbian/Bisexual Fiction?
Yes.
Oh, you want more?
Hild was shortlisted for both the Bisexual Book Award and the Lambda Literary Award for Bisexual Fiction. That felt a little odd—not because young Hild wasn't bisexual but because I'm not. It felt the way I might feel if I wrote a novel about a trans character and it was nominated for a trans fiction award—as though I were taking up someone else's space.
In Menewood, although Hild is technically bisexual she's really sexually attracted, and connected, to women. She's not interested in sex with any man who's not Cian. So although technically, yes, Menewood would be eligible for a bisexual book award, if I had to pick one or the other—and if you're being submitted to the Lambda Literary Awards you do have to choose—I'd plump for Lesbian Fiction. Or maybe LGBTQ+ Speculative Fiction category. Hmmm. I wonder how the LGBTQ+ History category is defined...
Is Menewood Criplit/Dislit?
Yes. At least in the sense that a) its author is disabled and b) it easily passes the Fries Test—with many more named disabled characters than Spear. And Spear, of course, won the Society of Authors inaugural ADCI Literary Prize. However, Hild, although she suffers life-threatening physical injury in Menewood, isn't scarred/impaired enough to be treated as different because of it; in that sense she herself is not disabled. And while I would welcome being nominated once again for the ADCi Literary Prize—it would be an honour—I also hope that next year there will be enough excellent books by disabled/chronically ill authors that the prize goes to a brilliant book whose main character/s is disabled.
Is Menewood a series novel?
Finally, a simple answer: Yes, Menewood is part of the Hild Sequence. But as I have no idea when I'll finish the sequence, I have no idea when/if you'll be able to nominate it. But, yes, there will be more. And meanwhile, if you're the kind of reader who generally doesn't like to start a series until it's all finished you don't need to worry about that here: each novel can stand on its own.
Conclusion
Awards are wonderful! I love them. If you want to nominate Menewood for an award—in any genre or category—please do! I'd be delighted. Just don't make me choose.
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