She then lops and bends and weaves these shoots - the smell of horses, the sound of crows, the stirring of desire - to make a pattern that is not only beautiful but also meaningful. Between those dead stakes the novelist transplants green shoots, bits of lived experience that link the historical moment to the present. Supporting the narrative are bare facts: names, dates, battles, kings. This scene can stand for the novel itself, and for its genre of historical fiction. The bare hedge glistened thick and sinewy as a dark snake with the white-sliced stake tops like a dotted pattern along its back.”
The trees are “plashed”: “They lopped a branch here, a branch there - Hild tried to spot the pattern for their choice, but they worked too fast - and with a casual flick of the axe cut the tree almost through at the base and bent it over to weave between the stakes.” Various species are woven into the pattern: hazel, sloe, rowan for luck. Next, a few trees from the existing woodland are selected as anchors.
First come elm stakes to support the structure. Griffith lingers over details, letting her hero’s observations lead the reader to a gradual understanding of the craftsmanship underlying its design, the involvement of the whole community in the making, and the complex living system that will result. MIDWAY THROUGH Nicola Griffith’s splendid Medieval novel Hild is a scene of hedge-construction.
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