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The Book of I
A Fall 2025 Indies Introduce and Indie Next Pick
★ “A small treasure... A bloody and beautiful sojourn in the distant past.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
A brilliant Scottish debut, shortlisted for the Highland Book Prize and the Bookmark Book Festival Book of the Year.
The year is 825 CE. In the aftermath of a vicious attack by raiders from the north, an unlikely trio finds themselves the lone survivors on a remote Scottish isle. Still breathing are young Brother Martin, the only resident of the local monastery to escape martyrdom; Una, a beekeeper and mead maker who has been relieved of her violent husband during the slaughter; and Grimur, an aging Norseman who claws his way out of the hasty grave his fellow raiders left him in, thinking him dead.
As the seasons pass in this wild and lonely setting, their inherent distrust of each other melts into a complex meditation on the distances and bonds between them. Told with humor and alive with sharply exquisite dialogue, David Greig deftly lifts the curtain between our world and the past. The Book of I is an entirely unique novel that serves as a philosophical commentary on guilt and redemption, but also humanity, love, and the things we choose to believe in.
“Gruesome, exciting... I haven’t read many books that are at once so murderous and so breezily cheerful.”—Sam Sacks, Wall Street Journal
★ “A small treasure... A bloody and beautiful sojourn in the distant past.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
A brilliant Scottish debut, shortlisted for the Highland Book Prize and the Bookmark Book Festival Book of the Year.
The year is 825 CE. In the aftermath of a vicious attack by raiders from the north, an unlikely trio finds themselves the lone survivors on a remote Scottish isle. Still breathing are young Brother Martin, the only resident of the local monastery to escape martyrdom; Una, a beekeeper and mead maker who has been relieved of her violent husband during the slaughter; and Grimur, an aging Norseman who claws his way out of the hasty grave his fellow raiders left him in, thinking him dead.
As the seasons pass in this wild and lonely setting, their inherent distrust of each other melts into a complex meditation on the distances and bonds between them. Told with humor and alive with sharply exquisite dialogue, David Greig deftly lifts the curtain between our world and the past. The Book of I is an entirely unique novel that serves as a philosophical commentary on guilt and redemption, but also humanity, love, and the things we choose to believe in.
“Gruesome, exciting... I haven’t read many books that are at once so murderous and so breezily cheerful.”—Sam Sacks, Wall Street Journal
119 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 9, 2025
143 people are currently reading
7161 people want to read
About the author
David Greig
65 books56 followersDavid Greig is a Scottish dramatist. He was born in Edinburgh in 1969 and brought up in Nigeria. He studied drama at Bristol University and is now a well-known writer and director of plays. He has been commissioned by the Royal Court, the National Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company and was Artistic Director of the Royal Lyceum Theatre in Edinburgh from 2015 until 2025, when he left to return to writing.
His first play was produced in Glasgow in 1992 and he has written many plays since, produced worldwide. In 1990 he co-founded Suspect Culture Theatre Group with Graham Eatough in Glasgow.
His translations include Camus' Caligula (2003), Candide 2000, and When the Bulbul Stopped Singing, based on a book by Raja Shehadeh. Danmy 306 + Me (4 ever) (1999) is a play written for children.
David Greig's plays include The American Pilot (2005), about America's involvement in the Middle East and Eastern Europe; Pyrenees (2005) about a man who is found in the foothills of the Pyrenees, having lost his memory; and San Diego (2003), a journey through the American dream. His latest works are Gobbo, a modern- day fairytale; Herges Adverntures of Tintin, an adaptation; Yellow Moon (2006); and Damascus (2007)
His first play was produced in Glasgow in 1992 and he has written many plays since, produced worldwide. In 1990 he co-founded Suspect Culture Theatre Group with Graham Eatough in Glasgow.
His translations include Camus' Caligula (2003), Candide 2000, and When the Bulbul Stopped Singing, based on a book by Raja Shehadeh. Danmy 306 + Me (4 ever) (1999) is a play written for children.
David Greig's plays include The American Pilot (2005), about America's involvement in the Middle East and Eastern Europe; Pyrenees (2005) about a man who is found in the foothills of the Pyrenees, having lost his memory; and San Diego (2003), a journey through the American dream. His latest works are Gobbo, a modern- day fairytale; Herges Adverntures of Tintin, an adaptation; Yellow Moon (2006); and Damascus (2007)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 166 reviews
September 1, 2025
'...if you catch it in one of those sudden moments when it's set in a bright shaft of sunlight, I is perfect: a minature world'.
It's 825 CE and Viking raids from the heathen hordes have a looming regularity across Britain and its surrounding lands, so when a red sail is spotted off the coast of the island of I, the resident monks prepare for martyrdom, 'All things considered, this was a good day for a massacre'. However, the massacre is somewhat bungled, leaving behind a junior monk, an old Viking and the Blacksmith's wife. Despite their very disparate lives, up until the day of the raid, a slow tethering of community weaves between them. Their lives are all very much changed.
The Book of I is primarily literary fiction. Like the monk in the story, who is challenged to find the meaning of a biblical verse, as well as the hidden meaning and subsequent underlying message, The Book of I can also be interpreted in simplistic layers or a complex whole. At first glance it is farcical and wry - Vikings who regard raiding and killing as a job, 'One didn't necessarily have to love the work'. However, soon themes of humanity, connection and self-identity unfurl. Although set hundreds of years ago, the tone of voice is very modern, which I believe serves to further highlight that humans are the same everywhere, and throughout time.
All in all, this short book is a challenging read and certainly unique. Readers who enjoy reflection rather than a storyline with resolution, will enjoy this as a change of pace.
'Revengers were a pain in the arse. So to reduce their possibility, it was best to leave no survivors...No one to whip up feelings of anger or injustice to kin or kings'.
It's 825 CE and Viking raids from the heathen hordes have a looming regularity across Britain and its surrounding lands, so when a red sail is spotted off the coast of the island of I, the resident monks prepare for martyrdom, 'All things considered, this was a good day for a massacre'. However, the massacre is somewhat bungled, leaving behind a junior monk, an old Viking and the Blacksmith's wife. Despite their very disparate lives, up until the day of the raid, a slow tethering of community weaves between them. Their lives are all very much changed.
The Book of I is primarily literary fiction. Like the monk in the story, who is challenged to find the meaning of a biblical verse, as well as the hidden meaning and subsequent underlying message, The Book of I can also be interpreted in simplistic layers or a complex whole. At first glance it is farcical and wry - Vikings who regard raiding and killing as a job, 'One didn't necessarily have to love the work'. However, soon themes of humanity, connection and self-identity unfurl. Although set hundreds of years ago, the tone of voice is very modern, which I believe serves to further highlight that humans are the same everywhere, and throughout time.
All in all, this short book is a challenging read and certainly unique. Readers who enjoy reflection rather than a storyline with resolution, will enjoy this as a change of pace.
'Revengers were a pain in the arse. So to reduce their possibility, it was best to leave no survivors...No one to whip up feelings of anger or injustice to kin or kings'.
October 30, 2025
David Grieg is a playwright so he quite definitely plays with words and our emotions go on a rollercoaster ride. We get the violence, the sadism, the calm, the meditation in the flow of nature, the songs, the bowing down to things greater than us.
With his words he was able to make me laugh and cry as he examines life, heaviness, humour and our place in the life that we get ………….
He also explores the importance of finding a good place in the world. By place I do not just mean a physical place but also a headspace that allows us to be, to smile, to joke and get laughts in return. Life is a very heavy burden and unless we find the joys, the smiles, the laughs, the peace that alleviates, it would become an overwhelmingly heavy.
Columba’s Bones – as published in the UK
The Book of I – as published in the US
An ARC for the US publication given by author/publisher via Edelweiss
With his words he was able to make me laugh and cry as he examines life, heaviness, humour and our place in the life that we get ………….
He also explores the importance of finding a good place in the world. By place I do not just mean a physical place but also a headspace that allows us to be, to smile, to joke and get laughts in return. Life is a very heavy burden and unless we find the joys, the smiles, the laughs, the peace that alleviates, it would become an overwhelmingly heavy.
Columba’s Bones – as published in the UK
The Book of I – as published in the US
An ARC for the US publication given by author/publisher via Edelweiss
August 19, 2025
David Greig is a well-known Scottish dramatist and it shows in his debut novel The Book of I. The isle of I (modern Iona) is a wee stretch of rock, bog, sand and green pasture west off the Isle of Mull, Scotland. The year is 825 AD, year of the supposed martyrdom of Saint Blathmac (a prominent Irish monk) by Viking raiders. This novel offers a snapshot of this gruesome Skaldic poetry-inspired (the original translated poem is included in the book) with humour, gore, romance and faith, all in under 160 pages. It is historically accurate in the sense of events and costumes, yet there is the occasional use of anachronisms, which sometimes work giving a tint of humour, and sometimes they don't. Back to the book, it starts with a brief, whimsical description of the nature found in I, intercalating with scenes from the approaching Viking boat, followed by the raid. Here, the narrative is propulsive and violent, yet Greig hammersledges gnarly humour into his narrative, as in the series Vikings (who doesn't remember Ragnar's quips?). Many character names are thrown, but not all are important. While Helgi's band butchers the monks, Grimur, a pouched middle-aged Viking finds himself unconscious on the ground. After the raid, the Vikings bury the bodies, including Grimur, who is left buried behind. Here, there is a change in pace and narrative, adopting a lighter, mundane tone, exploring themes of religion and belonging until it doesn't. There are some aspects I wish were more fleshed out, which frequently happened, but felt rushed and inorganic. I thoroughly enjoyed this compact, brutal, engrossing little gem that balances historical authenticity with vivid characters and searing narrative.
Disclaimer: I received an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) of this book from the publisher Europa Editions via NetGalley in exchange for an honest and unbiased review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.
Disclaimer: I received an Advance Reader Copy (ARC) of this book from the publisher Europa Editions via NetGalley in exchange for an honest and unbiased review. All thoughts and opinions expressed are my own.
September 20, 2025
There’s nothing better than abandoning a book with awful sentences and a premise so buzzy it makes your teeth ache and then picking up something that is competent, thoughtful, poetic, philosophical, romantic. The Book of I is a brief, lovely little book that is the exact right length for its intentions, with beautiful language and love and theological ecstasy as well as a substantial supply of Viking murder (by and of). If you have read about or from the monastic or Norse Middle Ages you will find that David Grieg has great respect for the history and literature of the era, and he elegantly draws these things together into a modern story as comforting as it is bloody. Highly recommended, and a wonderful way to spend an afternoon.
August 25, 2025
There's an interesting literary subgenre that focuses on challenging/failing Monasteries on ocean islands—and it's a genre I generally enjoy deeply, despite the bleak outlook these novels often have. The concept of faith itself is challenging. The islands these novels are set on are seldom welcoming or suited for human habitation. Then there are the complexities of hierarchical single-sex communities in which dissent is unacceptable—and half the population of the world (women) are viewed as primarily invitations to sin.
The Book of I, set off the coast of 9th Century Scotland, opens with the destruction of an island monastery and the killing of most of its inhabitants by Viking raiders. Greig conveys the horror of this moment without egregious gore (at least by my gore-o-meter) and without descriptions of sexual assault. After the raid, three people remain on the island: a young monk who hid from the raiders in the cesspit of an outhouse; a middle-aged woman who keeps bees and makes mead—and who has no regrets about the killing of her abusive husband; and a Viking raider buried by his comrades who mistakenly assumed him to be dead.
There are wonderful surprises as the trio build their own, very small community that bridges differences of gender, faith, and culture. The island isn't Utopia, but is does allow the characters a chance to appreciate what it means to be human across differences.
The threat that hangs over the three is the knowledge that at some point the raiders will return.
Greig packs a great deal into this short novel written in deceptively simple prose.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via Edelweiss; the opinions are my own.
The Book of I, set off the coast of 9th Century Scotland, opens with the destruction of an island monastery and the killing of most of its inhabitants by Viking raiders. Greig conveys the horror of this moment without egregious gore (at least by my gore-o-meter) and without descriptions of sexual assault. After the raid, three people remain on the island: a young monk who hid from the raiders in the cesspit of an outhouse; a middle-aged woman who keeps bees and makes mead—and who has no regrets about the killing of her abusive husband; and a Viking raider buried by his comrades who mistakenly assumed him to be dead.
There are wonderful surprises as the trio build their own, very small community that bridges differences of gender, faith, and culture. The island isn't Utopia, but is does allow the characters a chance to appreciate what it means to be human across differences.
The threat that hangs over the three is the knowledge that at some point the raiders will return.
Greig packs a great deal into this short novel written in deceptively simple prose.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via Edelweiss; the opinions are my own.
September 1, 2025
absolutely loved this. even with all the slaughter and martyrdom it is so cosy.
Read
July 31, 2025I wanted a change of pace, and that's exactly what I got. I did not, however, find it enjoyable. I did not find any pleasure in this book, nor could I find its point. Aside from not meeting my expectations—I expected more eco-fiction, but that's on me—I could not fathom what the author wanted with this. It's not a character study (it's too short), and it's not a proper historical novel (it's riddled with anachronisms - did they really call the continent Europe in 825?). It's not much of anything, I'm afraid.
September 15, 2025
Sounds like a joke setup. Three survivors of a raid, suitably named Grimur, his quondam foe Una, mute mead-wife, and boy-monk Martin stagger about Iona. How they fare comprises a brief novel by a Scots playwright, telling this in a wry, omniscient, irreverent, modern sensibility attuned to foible.
The titular volume of the Gospels was left unfinished; its scribes perished at the hands of the Norse: Grimur learns from the sole novice remaining the rudiments of Christianity, which leaves nonplussed Una. He and his Vikings had searched for a reliquary of St Columba to steal, so the reverence paid to a manuscript baffles the warrior. Similarly, Martin's a bit disconcerted by Bronagh, an enigmatic wayfarer from Antrim arriving after dreaming the deceased abbot called her to the newly ruined old monastery. Her stay as an anchorite predictably tempts our youthful neophyte, while her presence spurs both Una and Grimur towards a shared discovery of passion. Then there's a plot turnaround.
Narration flows briskly, and you can see Greig's dramatic skill efficiently applied in quick cinematic scenes with slightly self-deprecating dialogue and smart-arsed interior monologue. The whole story could be a great little screenplay or lively staging (with enough extras as Norse or Irish pirates or celibates). It doesn't wear out its welcome and treats varying faith commitments similarly to the fine History Channel's Vikings series with abducted Aidan from Lindisfarne and Floki the "pagan priest."
No fault of Greig, but as I admired that show's nuanced depiction of conflicting beliefs amidst the same Northern settings, their repetition here didn't resonate as deeply for me. However, in this era when we get so many hackneyed renderings of humans struggling with the divine or its absence, its imminent or delayed revelation, at least Grieg allows us a bit of welcome depth to open up ambiguity, giving us recognizably flawed and fumbling characters trying to keep alive amidst violence and grief.
P.S. <<Í>> in Norse="island," anglicised as "ey" or "ay" as in place names like Ramsey or Lindsay.
The titular volume of the Gospels was left unfinished; its scribes perished at the hands of the Norse: Grimur learns from the sole novice remaining the rudiments of Christianity, which leaves nonplussed Una. He and his Vikings had searched for a reliquary of St Columba to steal, so the reverence paid to a manuscript baffles the warrior. Similarly, Martin's a bit disconcerted by Bronagh, an enigmatic wayfarer from Antrim arriving after dreaming the deceased abbot called her to the newly ruined old monastery. Her stay as an anchorite predictably tempts our youthful neophyte, while her presence spurs both Una and Grimur towards a shared discovery of passion. Then there's a plot turnaround.
Narration flows briskly, and you can see Greig's dramatic skill efficiently applied in quick cinematic scenes with slightly self-deprecating dialogue and smart-arsed interior monologue. The whole story could be a great little screenplay or lively staging (with enough extras as Norse or Irish pirates or celibates). It doesn't wear out its welcome and treats varying faith commitments similarly to the fine History Channel's Vikings series with abducted Aidan from Lindisfarne and Floki the "pagan priest."
No fault of Greig, but as I admired that show's nuanced depiction of conflicting beliefs amidst the same Northern settings, their repetition here didn't resonate as deeply for me. However, in this era when we get so many hackneyed renderings of humans struggling with the divine or its absence, its imminent or delayed revelation, at least Grieg allows us a bit of welcome depth to open up ambiguity, giving us recognizably flawed and fumbling characters trying to keep alive amidst violence and grief.
P.S. <<Í>> in Norse="island," anglicised as "ey" or "ay" as in place names like Ramsey or Lindsay.
October 1, 2025
@europaeditions | #gifted You’d be hard pressed to find a more original book than 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗢𝗙 𝗜 by David Greig. It wasn’t on my radar until I received a copy in the mail from a fabulous contact at Europa. She knows my reading tastes well, but took a chance on me with this one. A story taking place on a small island off the shore of Scotland in 825, involving Vikings, Monks, a beekeeper and carnage doesn’t seem like my typical reading fare. I’m so thankful she took a chance on me because I loved this very unusual book!
“All things considered, this was a good day for a massacre.
The wooden walls of the monastery contained a whirl of panic and fear.
Farmhands pulled the big gate shut and barred them with logs and props. Others found scythes and mattocks to arm themselves. The housekeepers and laundresses ran from building to building, looking for children and places to hide.”
I went into this book blind and I really want everyone else to do that too, so I’m only sharing very basic elements of the story. To start, the opening chapter is a wild ride. It’s there that the carnage I mentioned earlier comes in. This sets the scene for the rest of the book where we find religion, devotion, compassion, and even love. Its principal characters are a timid young monk, a beekeeper who also makes mead and happens to be relieved by her new widowhood, and a Viking who’s a little past his prime. Together and apart, they find ways to carry on. That’s all you get
David Greig is a playwright and that definitely influenced his debut. Each scene is vivid and beautifully laid out. He makes it so simple to visualize everything that happens on Iona in the days, weeks and months following the attack. He brought me there. This is a very slim book at only 159 pages, but in it, Greig made every word count. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫
“All things considered, this was a good day for a massacre.
The wooden walls of the monastery contained a whirl of panic and fear.
Farmhands pulled the big gate shut and barred them with logs and props. Others found scythes and mattocks to arm themselves. The housekeepers and laundresses ran from building to building, looking for children and places to hide.”
I went into this book blind and I really want everyone else to do that too, so I’m only sharing very basic elements of the story. To start, the opening chapter is a wild ride. It’s there that the carnage I mentioned earlier comes in. This sets the scene for the rest of the book where we find religion, devotion, compassion, and even love. Its principal characters are a timid young monk, a beekeeper who also makes mead and happens to be relieved by her new widowhood, and a Viking who’s a little past his prime. Together and apart, they find ways to carry on. That’s all you get
David Greig is a playwright and that definitely influenced his debut. Each scene is vivid and beautifully laid out. He makes it so simple to visualize everything that happens on Iona in the days, weeks and months following the attack. He brought me there. This is a very slim book at only 159 pages, but in it, Greig made every word count. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫
dnf
August 27, 2025DNF @ 28% (44 pages)
Unfortunately this was not for me. I did enjoy the Descriptions of landscape, which reminded me of clear by carys Davies.
But there were too many things that bothered me that I had no desire to continue. 1) The Viking characters using British slang kept taking me out of the story. 2) Using “Europe” and “Scandinavian” despite those not being terms used in the 9th century-very much not historically accurate (for instance Scandinavian was not used to refer to the 3 major countries and its peoples until well into the 19th century; technically Pliny used the word “Scatinavia” in the 1st century that later became “Scandinavian” but he was referencing an island in the Baltic Sea not the peoples/grouping of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden- that’s the more modern interpretation and usage. And Europe was not a unified area at this time therefore anyone from "Europe" would be described using their country of origin/tribes ie Gauls, celts, Danes, frisians, etc). Finally 3) the crass humor when used to say "he adjusted his cock to make it appear bigger" just why???
Thanks to NetGalley and Europa Editions for the earc!
Unfortunately this was not for me. I did enjoy the Descriptions of landscape, which reminded me of clear by carys Davies.
But there were too many things that bothered me that I had no desire to continue. 1) The Viking characters using British slang kept taking me out of the story. 2) Using “Europe” and “Scandinavian” despite those not being terms used in the 9th century-very much not historically accurate (for instance Scandinavian was not used to refer to the 3 major countries and its peoples until well into the 19th century; technically Pliny used the word “Scatinavia” in the 1st century that later became “Scandinavian” but he was referencing an island in the Baltic Sea not the peoples/grouping of Norway, Denmark, and Sweden- that’s the more modern interpretation and usage. And Europe was not a unified area at this time therefore anyone from "Europe" would be described using their country of origin/tribes ie Gauls, celts, Danes, frisians, etc). Finally 3) the crass humor when used to say "he adjusted his cock to make it appear bigger" just why???
Thanks to NetGalley and Europa Editions for the earc!
November 14, 2025
A short novel that hits harder than many long ones :) It’s dark, funny, and unexpectedly moving. Greig does a fantastic job of weaving humor into these gritty, violent moments without it ever feeling out of place. I loved how the characters felt so alive in their contradictions: a hardened Viking who’s capable of startling tenderness, a monk racked with shame and struggling to hold his faith yet longing for purpose, a woman who has survived abuse and now holds fierce autonomy, even as she builds something new for herself.
In the end, it feels like a meditation on belief, redemption, and how unlikely souls can find a kind of home in each other, even when the world around them is anything but safe. It’s a great little brain reset. it left me feeling both a bit exhilarated and more grounded at the same time.
In the end, it feels like a meditation on belief, redemption, and how unlikely souls can find a kind of home in each other, even when the world around them is anything but safe. It’s a great little brain reset. it left me feeling both a bit exhilarated and more grounded at the same time.
September 28, 2025
CWs: gore
Sometimes you pick up a book on a whim and it turns out to be incredible, and it gives you such a rush. That was what happened with The Book of I. The story is set in 9th century Scotland, on a remote island that is home to a community of monks. If you know a little about Scottish-slash-British-in-general history around this time, you can imagine what comes next. Vikings. And so, we have our main characters: the lone surviving monk, a beekeeper who loses her abusive husband during the raid, and a Viking who is left behind by his fellow raiders, assumed dead. The Book of I weaves together their stories as they realise they must lean on one another for survival. It's a short book, to be sure, but it packs a punch. Characters are painted deftly, in a way that establishes them quickly and makes you invested in their fate. It doesn't shy from violence, which I think is what it makes it effective. The Dark Ages could be a short and brutal existence, but punctuated, like this book, by moments of humanity and emotion. As the end of this book comes, you find yourself hoping fiercely that the main characters will not fall to that fate. Absolutely one not to be missed.
Sometimes you pick up a book on a whim and it turns out to be incredible, and it gives you such a rush. That was what happened with The Book of I. The story is set in 9th century Scotland, on a remote island that is home to a community of monks. If you know a little about Scottish-slash-British-in-general history around this time, you can imagine what comes next. Vikings. And so, we have our main characters: the lone surviving monk, a beekeeper who loses her abusive husband during the raid, and a Viking who is left behind by his fellow raiders, assumed dead. The Book of I weaves together their stories as they realise they must lean on one another for survival. It's a short book, to be sure, but it packs a punch. Characters are painted deftly, in a way that establishes them quickly and makes you invested in their fate. It doesn't shy from violence, which I think is what it makes it effective. The Dark Ages could be a short and brutal existence, but punctuated, like this book, by moments of humanity and emotion. As the end of this book comes, you find yourself hoping fiercely that the main characters will not fall to that fate. Absolutely one not to be missed.
August 24, 2025
How I found myself staying up until midnight reading a book about medieval Vikings, monks, and mead is still beyond me, but woah. Every time I put this book down, I wanted to pick it back up again. The lyrical prose. The exploration of Christian faith held up against Norse brutality. The HUMOR—consistent, yet unexpected every time. I still cannot get over how Greig depicted I and introduced Grimur, Una, and Brother Martin in 160 pages. I felt like I was there. It was as though I knew them.
It’s not a book for the faint of heart. There are Vikings, which means Viking violence, particularly against the innocent; Greig does not hold back.
It’s not a book for the faint of heart. There are Vikings, which means Viking violence, particularly against the innocent; Greig does not hold back.
November 21, 2025
Wow. A beautiful, vibrant, funny and sometimes brutal exploration of faith, violence, and redemption set on the remote island of Iona during the year 825 AD, The Book of I accomplishes so much in its slim page count.
The Isle of Iona (sometimes called "I") is a tiny island off the western coast of Scotland. In the spring of 825 AD, a group of raiding Norseman attack the small monastery and village housed there, savagely killing all of the island's inhabitants. With their blood lust satiated, they leave behind just three survivors in their wake — a young monk, a (happily) newly widowed mead maker, and an aging viking left for dead by his raiding party. Over the next several months, these three wildly different individuals will learn to live and work together in order to survive the elements and will discover what it means to live in harmony with one another.
Inspired by true events, The Book of I is David Greig's first novel, though he's a well-established Scottish playwright. With its limited setting and small cast of characters, I could easily this novel being adapted into a stage production. After its visceral opening chapter, the novel downshifts to a more meditative tone, but it never ceases being witty and surprising. The Book of I is probably the best novel about faith I've read in a long time, and I wasn't expecting how much this novel dives into the strengths and limitations of early Christianity (especially as Martin, the young monk, sets out to finish an illuminated manuscript of the Gospel of John).
Coming in at less than 160 pages, The Book of I is probably better categorized as a novella, yet the sweep of the story feels both epic and intimate. It's very funny, poignant, filled with rich conversations and observations about faith, and (most importantly) flat-out entertaining. One of the best books I've read this year published in 2025.
The Isle of Iona (sometimes called "I") is a tiny island off the western coast of Scotland. In the spring of 825 AD, a group of raiding Norseman attack the small monastery and village housed there, savagely killing all of the island's inhabitants. With their blood lust satiated, they leave behind just three survivors in their wake — a young monk, a (happily) newly widowed mead maker, and an aging viking left for dead by his raiding party. Over the next several months, these three wildly different individuals will learn to live and work together in order to survive the elements and will discover what it means to live in harmony with one another.
Inspired by true events, The Book of I is David Greig's first novel, though he's a well-established Scottish playwright. With its limited setting and small cast of characters, I could easily this novel being adapted into a stage production. After its visceral opening chapter, the novel downshifts to a more meditative tone, but it never ceases being witty and surprising. The Book of I is probably the best novel about faith I've read in a long time, and I wasn't expecting how much this novel dives into the strengths and limitations of early Christianity (especially as Martin, the young monk, sets out to finish an illuminated manuscript of the Gospel of John).
Coming in at less than 160 pages, The Book of I is probably better categorized as a novella, yet the sweep of the story feels both epic and intimate. It's very funny, poignant, filled with rich conversations and observations about faith, and (most importantly) flat-out entertaining. One of the best books I've read this year published in 2025.
December 13, 2025
The second I saw this novel in Europa’s catalog, l wanted to read it. It’s been lodged in the back of my mind ever since. Thanks to the excellent collection of small and indie press titles provided by my library’s ebook service, I was able to get my hands on The Book of I much sooner than I anticipated.
This is a crude, funny, lovely little gem of a novel in the vein of Glorious Exploits by Ferdia Lennon. If you did not enjoy the anachronism and humor in that book, then I recommend steering clear of this one. Greig’s descriptive writing is beautiful, but the “modern” tone veered too close to immaturity for this to rise to an all-time favorite.
This is a crude, funny, lovely little gem of a novel in the vein of Glorious Exploits by Ferdia Lennon. If you did not enjoy the anachronism and humor in that book, then I recommend steering clear of this one. Greig’s descriptive writing is beautiful, but the “modern” tone veered too close to immaturity for this to rise to an all-time favorite.
October 24, 2025
very, very good. cozy, but in a cold and gritty way? humans can be wholesome sometimes, but also just really fucking horrible as well. it goes without saying, but without community we are lost. so. read this. it's delightful.
December 20, 2025
Four 1L casebooks later and I’m making my return to fiction! And what a joy to return to! I loved this: there’s Vikings, mead wives, angry bees, buried reliquaries and a snotty, failed anchoress. Thank god I don’t live in 825 but boy do I love to read about it. 5 🌟
October 15, 2025
funnier than i expected and kinda unexpectedly wholesome — very theatrical if that makes sense
November 12, 2025
A gruesome start to this slim book, set during and after a Viking raid on the Isle of Iona in year 825. However, there is also humour and love as the survivors adjust to life together.
December 8, 2025
5.0. Perfect
December 9, 2025
A perfect little story.
Terrific plot. Fast and adventurous but pondering as well.
How utterly interesting to see the madness of men drenched in faith or should I say belief.
Terrific plot. Fast and adventurous but pondering as well.
How utterly interesting to see the madness of men drenched in faith or should I say belief.
November 30, 2025
A fast-paced book with humour sprinkled here and there!
October 16, 2025
ah. The Book of I is a post-Viking hangover with unexpected humor. three survivors—a monk guilt-tripping his way through faith, a widowed mead-maker who’s had it with men, and a beer bellied Viking who can’t tell if he’s still alive—end up stuck on island with everyone else either dead or at sea, trying to make sense of each other and what’s left of the world. it’s bleak, yes, but Greig slips in dark, human comedy and moments of quiet empathy, the kind that surfaces when survival feels absurd and laughter is the only rebellion left. the prose is spare but for the descriptions of the island, its God given graces, and the bees, so there’s warmth beneath the wreckage. between the silences, you catch flashes of tenderness, wit, and reluctant grace. The Book of I reminds you that even in ruin, people are still ridiculous, still kind, still capable of love and that’s what makes it quietly brilliant.
June 21, 2025
I really like this story by David Greig because for the most part it was interesting because it involved a Viking Warrior in this story. He was buried in the first part of the book. Then he was made to be in love with the woman who made the mead. One of the others was a young priest that made a decision to become a true man of god. He also made a girl into a nun but failed. She saved the day when she had her brothers come to the Island of I and bring the vikings to be slaves. Plus what Grimur, who was the Viking Warrior, saved the day when he fought the Viking Leader and won at the cost of losing a hand. In the end he stayed with the woman that made the mead. Because they made each other laugh a lot and all the other things people do. It's a really well written story that may have happened.
September 25, 2025
(Let's actually call it 2.4, rounded down, because I couldn't bring myself to give this 3.)
I think I was always going to be a little unfair in my judgment of this book, as I was inevitably going to be comparing it to the delightful romp that is M. T. Anderson's Nicked. If I had a nickel for every time I picked up a novella because I was drawn to the idea of a comedy about a loser medieval monk having funny adventures with his friends, I'd have two nickels, etc. The Book of I, however, is far from a heist, and instead follows its characters in their often unremarkable daily lives in the wake of a catastrophe and, allegedly, studies how they grow closer. That's great, and I was stoked for a found family slice of life going in. Unfortunately, I found the execution lacking. Though it may be harsher than this book deserves, the thought I kept coming back to while reading it is that it reads, in parts, like the outline of the book rather than the book itself. It's the outline of a potentially good book, but an outline nonetheless. It hits the beats of a poignant narrative about regrowth and spiritual awakening and love; it seldom gives those beats the emotional weight they deserve. The book is mostly allergic to exploring the consequences of the things it sets up in any depth. This is kind of a problem for a story that is meant to be almost completely character-driven.
Una's mutism is probably the best example of this. Here's what happens: Una is mute, and then she's not. It happens within the first thirty pages, shortly after her condition is mentioned. The death of her husband immediately cures this ailment she's had for over a decade, and for what? To make the dialogue easier to write? If she were unable to speak for even just a little while longer in the story, I see so much potential for what could have been done, how the themes of different ways of communicating and seeing could have been fleshed out through this. Instead, if you take out the detail of Una starting out the novella mute, nothing about the story changes. And this is essentially the order of the day for so many things in this book. Martin is a coward who runs from martyrdom, and then he isn't, and he doesn't struggle with cowardice in any way for the entire rest of the story after the initial raid scene. Una's husband dies, and then she never experiences a significant problem in her personal life ever again, because that's how trauma works? And because abuse victims definitely never have complicated and conflicting emotions about their abusers, who, by the way, happened to get axe-murdered right in front of them?
Grimur is the most interesting character by virtue of his internal conflicts being the most dynamic, on top of also being likable and funny. His crashout near the end of the book and his spiritual identity crisis throughout are compelling. It would have been really nice to have the space to explore the other 3 (4, arguably?) main characters with a similar level of depth.
My last comment is that in glancing at other reviews, people seemed to find this particularly gory, and while there is some murder and blood to be sure (warning for gruesome horse death and an old man getting drawn and quartered, etc.), it barely registered to me as remarkable--certainly nothing unexpected for a book about the early medieval period feat. Viking raids. But I guess that's more of an indictment on me for reading and enjoying the likes of Open Throat by Henry Hoke, and for giving 5 stars to a book where a dog pulls out a tapeworm from a girl's stomach through her mouth. But anyway.
I think I was always going to be a little unfair in my judgment of this book, as I was inevitably going to be comparing it to the delightful romp that is M. T. Anderson's Nicked. If I had a nickel for every time I picked up a novella because I was drawn to the idea of a comedy about a loser medieval monk having funny adventures with his friends, I'd have two nickels, etc. The Book of I, however, is far from a heist, and instead follows its characters in their often unremarkable daily lives in the wake of a catastrophe and, allegedly, studies how they grow closer. That's great, and I was stoked for a found family slice of life going in. Unfortunately, I found the execution lacking. Though it may be harsher than this book deserves, the thought I kept coming back to while reading it is that it reads, in parts, like the outline of the book rather than the book itself. It's the outline of a potentially good book, but an outline nonetheless. It hits the beats of a poignant narrative about regrowth and spiritual awakening and love; it seldom gives those beats the emotional weight they deserve. The book is mostly allergic to exploring the consequences of the things it sets up in any depth. This is kind of a problem for a story that is meant to be almost completely character-driven.
Una's mutism is probably the best example of this. Here's what happens: Una is mute, and then she's not. It happens within the first thirty pages, shortly after her condition is mentioned. The death of her husband immediately cures this ailment she's had for over a decade, and for what? To make the dialogue easier to write? If she were unable to speak for even just a little while longer in the story, I see so much potential for what could have been done, how the themes of different ways of communicating and seeing could have been fleshed out through this. Instead, if you take out the detail of Una starting out the novella mute, nothing about the story changes. And this is essentially the order of the day for so many things in this book. Martin is a coward who runs from martyrdom, and then he isn't, and he doesn't struggle with cowardice in any way for the entire rest of the story after the initial raid scene. Una's husband dies, and then she never experiences a significant problem in her personal life ever again, because that's how trauma works? And because abuse victims definitely never have complicated and conflicting emotions about their abusers, who, by the way, happened to get axe-murdered right in front of them?
Grimur is the most interesting character by virtue of his internal conflicts being the most dynamic, on top of also being likable and funny. His crashout near the end of the book and his spiritual identity crisis throughout are compelling. It would have been really nice to have the space to explore the other 3 (4, arguably?) main characters with a similar level of depth.
My last comment is that in glancing at other reviews, people seemed to find this particularly gory, and while there is some murder and blood to be sure (warning for gruesome horse death and an old man getting drawn and quartered, etc.), it barely registered to me as remarkable--certainly nothing unexpected for a book about the early medieval period feat. Viking raids. But I guess that's more of an indictment on me for reading and enjoying the likes of Open Throat by Henry Hoke, and for giving 5 stars to a book where a dog pulls out a tapeworm from a girl's stomach through her mouth. But anyway.
September 12, 2025
I picked this up because, frankly, my curiosity bump itched. It’s the title that got me. I read the “I” in the title as the first-person singular, and couldn’t figure out how THAT related to the information in the blurb.
Because the story in the blurb sounded fascinating, and different from what I usually pick up. Also, it’s just plain rare for a work of historical fiction to NOT have pretensions of being a doorstop. A 160 page historical novel? Sign me up! (So I did – and there’s that “I” again)
The “I” isn’t me. Well, I knew that. I mean the “I” of the title isn’t the first person singular pronoun. I, pronounced [ee] according to the quotation from The Scottish Islands by Hamish Haswell-Smith that serves as both an epigram and the prologue for the book, was an early name for the island in the Inner Hebrides, off the Ross of Mull on the western coast of Scotland, now known as Iona.
(When this book was originally published in the United Kingdom in 2023, the title was Columba’s Bones, after the historical saint who founded the monastery and whose bones are literally the bones of contention in the story. I’m not sure whether the title change for the US publication was the correct choice or not, but I probably wouldn’t have picked it up if it hadn’t happened.)
Still, in 825, when this story takes place, the island was called I, and it’s a beautiful little bit of paradise on the right day for the right people, or at least it is in the story and I expect it might still be now, as well.
The day this story begins, however, is not remotely paradisiacal. The island is small, the population was equally so, and the first time we see this remote little place in 825 it’s from the perspective of a Viking raider who is about to do what Viking raiders are still famous for doing.
Grimur and his fellow Vikings in Helgi Cleanshirt’s boat plan to raid, and raze, the tiny village, take the women and children as slaves, and, most importantly from Helgi’s egotistical perspective, steal the rumored treasure from the tiny monastery and put the fear of, well, Helgi into the people he leaves behind so deeply that when he comes back – and he will – they’ll bring whatever treasure they have down to his boat on their knees so that he won’t burn the place to the ground again.
The problem with the village on I, is that it really is tiny and there isn’t much treasure. There aren’t even enough people to make taking them into slavery all that profitable. And the monks, well, the monks are in a state of holy ecstasy, eager to preserve the location of Saint Columba’s relic that Helgi covets, and more than willing to die and meet their god.
Which is exactly what happens. To all except one scared and very young monk, hiding at the bottom of the shitter. Literally. In the pit under the craphole.
Brother Michael isn’t the only survivor. There are two others – the blacksmith’s wife, Una, honestly but guiltily grateful that one of the Vikings killed her brutal husband, and that selfsame, middle aged Viking, drunk and passed out on the floor of her cottage after drinking much too much of her very strong mead.
These three extremely unlikely survivors make a strange but surprisingly harmonious community on the tiny island. They have plenty of food, because the Vikings left a lot of the scattered livestock behind. The meadwife knows how to live off the land. Obviously, they have plenty to drink – even if the old Viking hits it a bit too hard.
Grimur knows even more about fixing and repairing buildings than he does about going a-Viking. The buildings are not going to fall down around their ears – at least not the ones they need.
While Brother Michael may not have had enough faith to face martyrdom, he does have enough to finish the great work of his monastery, the writing of a new copy of the gospels. A work in which he is sustained by Una’s cooking and Grimur’s carpentry.
As much as it could have gone that way, this is not a story about Brother Michael converting either the Odin-worshipping Grimur or the non-worshipping Una to his faith. Not that he doesn’t try. Instead, their tiny community represents the confluence of systems and beliefs that existed in that place, as they push and pull against each other but manage to make a life together all the same.
I expected this to end in tragedy, because this triumvirate feels like it can’t possibly survive – or if it does, that the raiders will come back and end it for them. Which they do, but they don’t. So instead, the story comes to a surprisingly peaceful, if not exactly happy, ending, as they each receive something of the life they want, even if the cost is ultimately high.
Escape Rating B: For something I picked up merely out of curiosity, I was surprised by how much I liked the book. Also that it was the right length for the story, because it’s just a tiny thing in a tiny place and it needed to be, well, a tiny story. Although it is bigger on the inside.
It is also, and I was really glad of this, an antidote to Haven by Emma Donoghue. On the surface the books are a bit similar, three people on a tiny island setting up a community. But Haven turned out to be a hate read/listen because the leader of the community was an arsehole, and his arseholishness had weight and heft because he had absolute power over the others.
The Book of I is both more interesting and more comfortable because Grimur, Michael and Una are equals. Both because they need each other to survive and because none of them start out with power. No one has to obey anyone. Theoretically, Grimur could force obedience from one or the other, but in practice he’s not the type AND he seems aware that while it would work temporarily it wouldn’t work in even the medium term. Brother Michael is harmless – and a bit gormless – while Grimur likes Una’s mead much too much to keep his guard up around her all the time.
So the story is of these three utterly disparate people learning to get along, and it works surprisingly well. So well, in fact, that when the next Viking raid does come, they pull off a neat trick, together, and save each other and the day. Which was not something that could have been predicted at the outset.
For a little book, I’ve ended up having a lot to say about it. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. It was like all the terrible bits of Haven got smoothed over by an infusion of Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, a combination that probably shouldn’t work but did.
Also, the language of this is lovely, and with the small-sized setting a lot of the story happens in either internal thoughts or conversations. That the author imbued his characters with a lot of life in their thoughts and speech isn’t really a surprise, as, while this may be the author’s debut NOVEL, he’s an award-winning playwright.
One final note, that leads back, I think, to Assassins Creed: Valhalla AND perhaps to the TV series Vikings, and that’s about language. I’ll admit that the references to “I” in the text gave me a bit of a jolt every time. Not that I couldn’t differentiate between the pronoun and the place name, but that I had to do it over and over. Which leads to the way that the language in which the story is written uses a lot of anachronisms. OTOH it puts the reader in the story instead of having to look up words that are no longer in use. But it also makes me wonder a bit how anachronistic the character’s thoughts and actions are. Which, in turn, led me to wonder how much we really know about the average person’s life in that time period – and I’m still thinking about that part.
In spite of that quibble, this was the right book at the right time. After last weekend reading some seriously dark short stories, I thought I was looking for something REALLY cozy, but I tried and the one I chose was just too twee and teeth-rottingly sweet. Which led me to yesterday’s book and, surprisingly, this one. They are both a bit cozy, but it’s the cozyness of the everyday and the ordinary between people who seem to be making real, and sometimes really hard, decisions that fit their circumstances – and more importantly, who I was happy to spend some time with to reset my brain.
Originally published at Reading Reality
Because the story in the blurb sounded fascinating, and different from what I usually pick up. Also, it’s just plain rare for a work of historical fiction to NOT have pretensions of being a doorstop. A 160 page historical novel? Sign me up! (So I did – and there’s that “I” again)
The “I” isn’t me. Well, I knew that. I mean the “I” of the title isn’t the first person singular pronoun. I, pronounced [ee] according to the quotation from The Scottish Islands by Hamish Haswell-Smith that serves as both an epigram and the prologue for the book, was an early name for the island in the Inner Hebrides, off the Ross of Mull on the western coast of Scotland, now known as Iona.
(When this book was originally published in the United Kingdom in 2023, the title was Columba’s Bones, after the historical saint who founded the monastery and whose bones are literally the bones of contention in the story. I’m not sure whether the title change for the US publication was the correct choice or not, but I probably wouldn’t have picked it up if it hadn’t happened.)
Still, in 825, when this story takes place, the island was called I, and it’s a beautiful little bit of paradise on the right day for the right people, or at least it is in the story and I expect it might still be now, as well.
The day this story begins, however, is not remotely paradisiacal. The island is small, the population was equally so, and the first time we see this remote little place in 825 it’s from the perspective of a Viking raider who is about to do what Viking raiders are still famous for doing.
Grimur and his fellow Vikings in Helgi Cleanshirt’s boat plan to raid, and raze, the tiny village, take the women and children as slaves, and, most importantly from Helgi’s egotistical perspective, steal the rumored treasure from the tiny monastery and put the fear of, well, Helgi into the people he leaves behind so deeply that when he comes back – and he will – they’ll bring whatever treasure they have down to his boat on their knees so that he won’t burn the place to the ground again.
The problem with the village on I, is that it really is tiny and there isn’t much treasure. There aren’t even enough people to make taking them into slavery all that profitable. And the monks, well, the monks are in a state of holy ecstasy, eager to preserve the location of Saint Columba’s relic that Helgi covets, and more than willing to die and meet their god.
Which is exactly what happens. To all except one scared and very young monk, hiding at the bottom of the shitter. Literally. In the pit under the craphole.
Brother Michael isn’t the only survivor. There are two others – the blacksmith’s wife, Una, honestly but guiltily grateful that one of the Vikings killed her brutal husband, and that selfsame, middle aged Viking, drunk and passed out on the floor of her cottage after drinking much too much of her very strong mead.
These three extremely unlikely survivors make a strange but surprisingly harmonious community on the tiny island. They have plenty of food, because the Vikings left a lot of the scattered livestock behind. The meadwife knows how to live off the land. Obviously, they have plenty to drink – even if the old Viking hits it a bit too hard.
Grimur knows even more about fixing and repairing buildings than he does about going a-Viking. The buildings are not going to fall down around their ears – at least not the ones they need.
While Brother Michael may not have had enough faith to face martyrdom, he does have enough to finish the great work of his monastery, the writing of a new copy of the gospels. A work in which he is sustained by Una’s cooking and Grimur’s carpentry.
As much as it could have gone that way, this is not a story about Brother Michael converting either the Odin-worshipping Grimur or the non-worshipping Una to his faith. Not that he doesn’t try. Instead, their tiny community represents the confluence of systems and beliefs that existed in that place, as they push and pull against each other but manage to make a life together all the same.
I expected this to end in tragedy, because this triumvirate feels like it can’t possibly survive – or if it does, that the raiders will come back and end it for them. Which they do, but they don’t. So instead, the story comes to a surprisingly peaceful, if not exactly happy, ending, as they each receive something of the life they want, even if the cost is ultimately high.
Escape Rating B: For something I picked up merely out of curiosity, I was surprised by how much I liked the book. Also that it was the right length for the story, because it’s just a tiny thing in a tiny place and it needed to be, well, a tiny story. Although it is bigger on the inside.
It is also, and I was really glad of this, an antidote to Haven by Emma Donoghue. On the surface the books are a bit similar, three people on a tiny island setting up a community. But Haven turned out to be a hate read/listen because the leader of the community was an arsehole, and his arseholishness had weight and heft because he had absolute power over the others.
The Book of I is both more interesting and more comfortable because Grimur, Michael and Una are equals. Both because they need each other to survive and because none of them start out with power. No one has to obey anyone. Theoretically, Grimur could force obedience from one or the other, but in practice he’s not the type AND he seems aware that while it would work temporarily it wouldn’t work in even the medium term. Brother Michael is harmless – and a bit gormless – while Grimur likes Una’s mead much too much to keep his guard up around her all the time.
So the story is of these three utterly disparate people learning to get along, and it works surprisingly well. So well, in fact, that when the next Viking raid does come, they pull off a neat trick, together, and save each other and the day. Which was not something that could have been predicted at the outset.
For a little book, I’ve ended up having a lot to say about it. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it. It was like all the terrible bits of Haven got smoothed over by an infusion of Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla, a combination that probably shouldn’t work but did.
Also, the language of this is lovely, and with the small-sized setting a lot of the story happens in either internal thoughts or conversations. That the author imbued his characters with a lot of life in their thoughts and speech isn’t really a surprise, as, while this may be the author’s debut NOVEL, he’s an award-winning playwright.
One final note, that leads back, I think, to Assassins Creed: Valhalla AND perhaps to the TV series Vikings, and that’s about language. I’ll admit that the references to “I” in the text gave me a bit of a jolt every time. Not that I couldn’t differentiate between the pronoun and the place name, but that I had to do it over and over. Which leads to the way that the language in which the story is written uses a lot of anachronisms. OTOH it puts the reader in the story instead of having to look up words that are no longer in use. But it also makes me wonder a bit how anachronistic the character’s thoughts and actions are. Which, in turn, led me to wonder how much we really know about the average person’s life in that time period – and I’m still thinking about that part.
In spite of that quibble, this was the right book at the right time. After last weekend reading some seriously dark short stories, I thought I was looking for something REALLY cozy, but I tried and the one I chose was just too twee and teeth-rottingly sweet. Which led me to yesterday’s book and, surprisingly, this one. They are both a bit cozy, but it’s the cozyness of the everyday and the ordinary between people who seem to be making real, and sometimes really hard, decisions that fit their circumstances – and more importantly, who I was happy to spend some time with to reset my brain.
Originally published at Reading Reality
Read
November 2, 2025Set in the early Middle Ages, The Book of I reimagines the events surrounding the death of Saint Blathmac and his efforts to protect what were said to be the remains of Colmcille — one of Ireland’s three patron saints, credited with spreading Christianity in what is now Scotland — from the hands of Norse Vikings.
The opening chapters are some of the most harrowing I’ve read in a long time, yet the violence never feels gratuitous — the impact comes from the quiet devastation and grief. (Note: Greig captures the horror of these moments without ever resorting to SA, a choice that felt both deliberate and refreshing.)
Amid the grimness, what follows is a meditation on faith, guilt, survival, nature, and human connection. Greig is a playwright, and you can feel that in the pacing and dialogue. The writing is also funny in the oddest, most unexpected ways.
For all its violence, it is a strangely comforting read, as if the quiet, meditative parts of monastic life and the beauty of the natural world can somehow balance out the blood and chaos.
My favorite literary fiction is the sort that demands you keep a search tab open as you read, and this is exactly that. (I fell down multiple rabbit holes about Irish saints, Viking raids, and early medieval Christianity.)
At just under 160 pages, The Book of I is a spare, captivating, and unexpectedly moving read.
The opening chapters are some of the most harrowing I’ve read in a long time, yet the violence never feels gratuitous — the impact comes from the quiet devastation and grief. (Note: Greig captures the horror of these moments without ever resorting to SA, a choice that felt both deliberate and refreshing.)
Amid the grimness, what follows is a meditation on faith, guilt, survival, nature, and human connection. Greig is a playwright, and you can feel that in the pacing and dialogue. The writing is also funny in the oddest, most unexpected ways.
For all its violence, it is a strangely comforting read, as if the quiet, meditative parts of monastic life and the beauty of the natural world can somehow balance out the blood and chaos.
My favorite literary fiction is the sort that demands you keep a search tab open as you read, and this is exactly that. (I fell down multiple rabbit holes about Irish saints, Viking raids, and early medieval Christianity.)
At just under 160 pages, The Book of I is a spare, captivating, and unexpectedly moving read.
December 13, 2025
“The only skill he had left, the only gift which had been enriched by drink, age and failure, was poetry.”
This novella tells the tale of a Viking from the Shetland Islands north of Scotland venturing to a monastery in Northern Scotland. There to pillage, plunder, and murder all who stand in the way of them finding Columba’s Bones. Things take a turn for the worse for one Viking. Grimur No-Name is left behind with only a monk to keep him company. An unlikely friendship or a brutal execution? How with Martin and Girmur fair when all influences is hidden away?
David Greig does an astounding job at making these Vikings feel like a real, rough, ragtag group of slanderers. The way he opens the door to questions raised about religion and beliefs, through this crazy relationship made me fall in love with these characters. This story was so raw and filled with things to ponder. I honestly wish there was more. The hundred or so pages went by to fast. So the saying goes, “all good things must come to an end.”
This novella tells the tale of a Viking from the Shetland Islands north of Scotland venturing to a monastery in Northern Scotland. There to pillage, plunder, and murder all who stand in the way of them finding Columba’s Bones. Things take a turn for the worse for one Viking. Grimur No-Name is left behind with only a monk to keep him company. An unlikely friendship or a brutal execution? How with Martin and Girmur fair when all influences is hidden away?
David Greig does an astounding job at making these Vikings feel like a real, rough, ragtag group of slanderers. The way he opens the door to questions raised about religion and beliefs, through this crazy relationship made me fall in love with these characters. This story was so raw and filled with things to ponder. I honestly wish there was more. The hundred or so pages went by to fast. So the saying goes, “all good things must come to an end.”
October 16, 2025
My insomnia loves short books.
But seriously, folks. This was good! I think I read about it in the NYT? I can't remember, but I am glad I did.
A very short novel about the island of Iona and a mead wife, a (junior?) priest and a left behind Viking who is half Irish who spend a season on the island after a particularly bloody raid. A young novitiate pops by as well. The seasons change. Some things happen. Others don't.
I have read Greig is a playwright and there is a certain poetry to the writing. It is comical in a way, and wistful as well.
At the end of the day, all we really need is a little humor - I think that's what he's saying.
I really enjoyed this, and if they make it into a movie it might actually work. Now, why can't I sleep?
But seriously, folks. This was good! I think I read about it in the NYT? I can't remember, but I am glad I did.
A very short novel about the island of Iona and a mead wife, a (junior?) priest and a left behind Viking who is half Irish who spend a season on the island after a particularly bloody raid. A young novitiate pops by as well. The seasons change. Some things happen. Others don't.
I have read Greig is a playwright and there is a certain poetry to the writing. It is comical in a way, and wistful as well.
At the end of the day, all we really need is a little humor - I think that's what he's saying.
I really enjoyed this, and if they make it into a movie it might actually work. Now, why can't I sleep?
December 15, 2025
parts of this i found lovely or funny and often surprising in it, quite pleasurably; other parts just really clunked for me, more and more over the course of the book, and i found much of the character dynamic work either too dissonant, overly neat, or hollow, and this last for the women particularly. i did like the focused brevity. many could learn from this.
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