The fourth excerpt for The God of the Hive is here. (The book itself is available on April 27.) For those curious about the writing and rewriting process, each excerpt has been followed by a brief explanation of the changes made. As always, I take care to avoid major spoilers, but anyone wishing to preserve the absolute purity of the eventual reading experience should stop now and stick to the excerpts themselves, and perhaps come back to the (Re)Writing posts after reading the book itself. (Click on the images below to enlarge.)

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What is now chapter four started out as the latter half of chapter one, but this (as with the chapter showing Holmes and Damian at sea) was divided in favor of a quick introduction to the various characters.  When first we saw Russell, she and a child were crossing a hill at dawn.  That first chapter showed us Russell and Estelle; set the scene; made reference to her brother-in-law Mycroft (whose Intelligence work will play a major role in The God of the Hive); and touched on the presence of an aeroplane and pilot, waiting ominously in the distance. (A basic rule of crime fiction: Don’t mention a gun if you’re not going to use it.)

Having met the principal players, the machinery of the plot now begins to turn, with Russell maneuvering her way across the island and absorbing the first lessons of surrogate parenting, namely, how to move about with a child in tow.  This is only one of the skills she has never before had any particular need for, but Russell’s arms are already becoming accustomed to the child, as the reader begins to accept the presence of this small person in the story.

Which means that when a man turns a gun on the narrator, the reader immediately feels the threat to the child at her side.

All the elements of this chapter move towards this threat: the changed verbs of motion used to describe boarding and leaving the milk cart sharpen the senses, and the tension.  The change from (in the original draft) Russell spotting the cart and instantly knowing how to get onto it change, illustrating her hesitation, even fear, due to the presence of Estelle: Russell is afraid of coming into the open.

And when the final line comes, the threat is not simply a man with a gun, it is a man threatening her heart.

The third excerpt for The God of the Hive is here, with more to follow on March 27 (and the book itself April 27.) For those curious about the creative process, each is followed by a post showing scans of the first draft and brief remarks about the rewrite process. I take care to avoid major spoilers, but if you wish to preserve the absolute purity of the eventual reading experience, I suggest you stop now and just stick to the excerpts themselves, and return to the (Re)Writing posts after you’ve read the book in May. (Click on the images below to enlarge.)

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The Language of Bees concluded with the three most dreaded words in fiction: To be continued.  The book was not in fact unfinished, although the villain did live on—as villains have lived from book to book through generations of detective stories: Moriarty was not the only villain to be “continued.”

We must remember, however, that our villains are the heroes of their own stories.  We did not actually see much of Reverend Thomas Brothers in The Language of Bees, but rather caught brief glimpses of his internal life while focusing on the effects he had on others.  In The God of the Hive, we need to hear his voice.

It begins with the change in the nameless man’s actions: In the first draft, his first question concerns the identify of his assistant; in the final draft, his concern is all for his great task, the overriding concern of his life.

The first draft is adequate to set the scene: injured man, in hiding, helped by those for whom he has little liking or respect.  But the scene is at a remove from Brothers himself, in a way the final version is not. (Click on the pages below to enlarge.)

Here, we smell the air inside the claustrophobic little hut, and follow Brothers’ thoughts as they clear from confused jumble to grim determination.  Equally necessary, we get a sense of his overriding preoccupation: the Great Work that has led him to this remote place, made him sacrifice much, and driven him to murder.  He is what was then called a monomaniac, what we might now call a sociopath, but to his own mind, his acts and decisions make all the sense in the world.  For a book composed of multiple viewpoints to succeed, the reader must be aware of some degree of sympathy with the designated villain: He or she can reject the sympathy, but it has to be available on the page.

To himself, Thomas Brothers is right, powerful, and fully justified in his actions.  He is also very much alive, and clearly has no intention of fading away.

Moreover, he has a Friend.