The Mistral has loads of different fantasy elements woven into the storyline, what was the initial inspiration behind this vast world?
It has, and always has been, about the Mistral. The idea of two World Winds, connected but irrefutably distinct, was my initial prompt upon which this helter-skelter matchbox pyramid of narrative character and magic has been constructed upon. It was also the original title, which we diverted away from to some others that never stuck (including some literary pitches from me that my agent and editor were less than enthusiastic about). We returned to The Mistral, because that’s what it was. A story about an enlightened world with magical elements and advances in technology that allowed it to step beyond the trappings of what we might call medieval or feudal.
But this world, enlightened certainly, was still ordinary in many ways. The people bickered and fought, treachery and loyalty were still prevalent and the quest for power is not something that can ever be truly forgotten. But what set it apart, was a divinecurrent of energy, observed as sheets of light, that flowed across the continent, making this ordinary world, far from it. I love the idea that magic could be entrenched in the peoples psyche as a constant, like wind or rain or seasonal change. Equality and egalitarian ideals that so often struggle to take root in our world, might be levelled through the presence of magic. The world would still fight, but it would be because of what they believe and do, rather than arbitrary facts and elements of ourselves that cannot be changed and are, in the end, meaningless. The fact that this was possible because of a magic element, rather than it spite of it, is why I love fantasy so much.
How do you balance large-scale worldbuilding with intimate character moments?
With incredible skill and pure instinct (just kidding it’s an absolute f**king nightmare). This is my debut on two levels. It’s my first published novel. But it’s also the first novel I’ve ever written. Period. Because of this, the scope present in the manuscript I first sent to my agent, and then subsequently (one massive edit later) to my editor before signing with Penguin Michael Joseph, was somewhere slightly larger than immense, skirting the titanic. Saturated with ‘things’, devoid of stakes or coherency. Full of situations rather than plot. How many cool mechanics from a fantasy world does one need to insert into a novel? The answer is somewhere around…much less than what I originally did. I began a long and laborious (for my editors), journey of stripping away the superfluous. It was a continual revelation for me, one of ‘slapping the forehead’. I’ve been a script editor for over a decade in TV, Film and Theatre; I know that without characters to demonstrate the world, the action, the plot, the emotions, the anything, nothing matters. And yet with the novel, I’d decided that XXX (insert sick mechanic I was desperate to showcase) was more important than what my characters were hoping to achieve and what they would be willing to do for it.
If I was going to give some advice, it would be this. Create your world, lay out every single idea that have, and mesh them together into something so cohesive and legible, you can’t help but think of it as a universe that exists…somewhere. Then, take your character, the one ice skating around your head at rocket speed, and tie them to something concrete. A location, a role, a device if need be. Anything to ground your ‘cool idea’ in the only way you can reliably convey meaning. Through character. That’s how it happens, how you get people to read on past the twenty-minuteexplanation of your awesome magic system, and remain hooked upon your manuscript. In my work as a Script Editor, I have always found that people rarely care (ultimately) for the things that happen. They care about the people the things happen to.
How did you approach building the political tension between Terrius and Eron?
Despite all evidence to the contrary, even the maddest people are reluctant to commit to war. Real war, with big armies and total conflict and the loss of life and resources on both sides that it always, always breeds. Instead, they engage in endless sanctions, skirmishes, posturing, insults (veiled and direct) economic assaults upon trade, and literally anything else to force settlement of some kind. If they do feel compelled, it’s always because of two things.
Ideology, and the irreconcilable clash of two conflicting perspectives. Or money (which could also look like power).
Neither Terrius nor Eron are perfect. Far from it. Both engage in self-righteouspromotion of self, backed by moralistic certainty, and clothed with religious security. It doesn’t matter that one is a Matriarchal Autocracy, and the other is a Democratic Republic. It doesn’t matter that Terrius is warmongering and violent and prideful. It doesn’t matter that Eron is arrogant and ravenously obsessed with taking steps toward technological advancement at the expense of their own people’s wellbeing. Both are interpretations of power in widely different ways. In the past, over the two hundred and sixty (ish) years that the Octet Alliance has existed, their differences made them function. they had no similarities to clash over, aside from the religious belief which bonded them deeply for a time. But as happens to all wielders of power who inevitable want more of it, the peace they shared was always bound to erode. Not with a sudden insult, but with a thinning of skin, until finally, a conspiracy grew tired of their restraint, and kicked started it for themselves.
The slow coming together of two parties, grimly prepared to try for peace one last time, is such a verdant background, because the reader knows (absolutely bloody knows), that things will go wrong. This is Book 1, the story would be lame if everything worked out here. The tension about what will happen to derail it, is the simplest and most effective way to generate suspense. Helping that, no one is fully aligned, or even articulates what peace actually looks like. The simple admission of the Terrius to the city of Lurella, is the first step, and the recommitment to negotiation in the form of a Peace Pledge are all we ever get to. If individuals are diametrically opposed, it’s not very hard to make it seem plausible that they would mistrust and disbelieve virtually everything the other person says.
The concepts of two world wind forging the basis of the magic system is interesting and very unique, how did this come about?
I am a huge fan of limitations, especially when it comes to magic. Limitation breeds creativity, as I rather pretentiously like to say, but I’ve always maintained that structure and rules give you the freedom to be creative with stakes. The most trivial and boring moments in fantasy are where a character displays a power that renders all actions before it, meaningless. Why did I work so hard, and go through so much and struggle for so long, if you could do that???
I also like the idea of magic being enmeshed with people like a skill, rather than a talent. It begins as a natural inclination, like some people can play the piano better than others, but maturing it, working at it, will make it grow in strength just like our physical capacity. This gave rise to “Roots’, and the connection to the Mistral. A natural manner in which someone might express the aether within themselves, academically known as an aesthetic reservoir, more practically known as a soul. Some of these would be potent, very few would be strong, a rare scattering would be epic. There’s a large amount of negligible thrown in there as well, poor people.
Terminology arose from a simple combination, application + wright (in our world, deriving from the an Old’ English word, meaning crafter/worker). Boldwright, for physical enhancement. Flamewright, for cool tricks with fire. A slew of other titles that will be seriously explored in later books, but remain as crucial fabric, rather than the poster itself. These Roots are powered by strength of will, a belief in what you are doing. They channel aether, given by the Mistral, and through continued use and conviction in your manifestation (using your Root), the aetheric effect is created.
Rules, a cool mechanic, capacity for growth. It sounds technical, but these are the basic elements of all engaging magic systems. What does it cost the person to use it? Can they get better? Does it make sense? If the answer is yes, you’ve got yourself a great backbone for a fantasy world.
Swan and Fenne seem very different—what drew you to pairing these two characters together?
The question has essentially answered itself. All of my lead characters are distinct from each other, demonstrating my almost pathological desire to separate people from those that veer too similar. Fenne is an orphaned desert child (you’ll get more of her backstory as the novels progress), who grew up in a society where holding back the desert is a given responsibility. An inheritance, if you like. The realm of Kratossif has duty and discipline, which should make it feel similar to Swan. But Terrius is a whole other ballgame. The duty is seared into the bond and blood-sisters of the Crimson Court through years of doctrine and tradition. A curated sense of pride that has led to total self-confidence. Their work ethic is not lower for this, if anything, because they truly believe themselves to be so much better than everyone else, they work harder, ensuring that this continues to be true.
Fenne is a late twenties fighter of unbelievable skill, with ambitions grander than her station, and a mind to match. Swan is the traumatised daughter of a murdered Queen, bred to rule, but forced to wait. Brilliant and untested, possessed of a moral code and awareness of the world many of her sisters do not have, particularly at her tender age of eighteen. This pairing both have martial prowess at their disposal (though Fenne is clearly the stronger), and see the world beyond what is immediately in front of them. For all that distinguishes between them, they both have fascination with the world and the ‘turn of history’, so to speak.
As a note, Fenne was the very first character I imagined for this, coming in second within the entire framework of the narrative, just after the Mistral. She was physically competent, with ambition and intelligence to match. A combination I’d felt was typically only reserved for male characters in fantasy. She’s always been my touchstone for grounding the wider stakes, through the lens of someone who might not have all the answers, but is at least equipped with the skill and energy to try and discover them.
What was the hardest scene or element to get right in this book?
The ending. More specifically, from the moment they all step inside the Cathedral near the end of the novel, up until the final full stop. Trying to balance the disparate narrative threads, and tie them together in a sequence that felt not only revelatory, but also full of animated, dynamic action that accelerated endlessly, was tricky (to say the least). That stretch of forty pages or so is my favourite section, particularly a brief fight between two characters (shhhh no spoilers).
As a note, the epilogue is a section that my editor and I went back and forth on a lot. To her, early drafts felt it was lacking a proper place within the architecture of the manuscript, and she preferred the more dramatic finale within the final chapter. I always maintained that the epilogue was, fundamentally, the soul of the piece. With modifications over time, we got it to a point where it felt like a combination of the two. It’s also the only chapter written in an alternate perspective, to try and really live inside the head of a character. It breaks my heart every time I read it, and I hope it does to you as well.
PS: There’s a line in it, near the end, that I pitched as a title for The Mistral, but it was treated as too literary. See if you can guess which one it was.
Quick Fire Questions
1) If The Mistral chose you, what kind of power would you hope to receive?
SO DIFFICULT. It’s never explored in the book, but there’s a very rare Root called Oathwright, which would be absolutely wild to have. The act of using aether is tuned to the level of belief in one’s manifestation (using a Root), and an Oathwright turns that further, and can ‘oath’ things into being or action. The more difficult, the greater the certainty and capacity of aetheric strength required.
Really looking forward to hearing people’s own preferences. At some point I might release more information generally about Roots so people can peruse them like an Argos catalogue.
2) Can you give a one-word hint about what’s coming in book two?
Flawed Destiny (I cheated, sue me)
3) Which character would you personally trust the least?
I’m honestly not sure when this will be read, but assuming they haven’t read The Mistral yet, I absolutely refuse to answer this question. As a peace offering, I’ll tell you that Fenne is the adamant certainty that the reader can rely upon.
My homegirl is a real one.
