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387 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published November 29, 2016







He sang as worked. The deep sonorous song of the void—line nine. The chatter of the mechanics—lines two and three. The fast, rhythmic on-off state of the gravity controller—line four. And the heavy strength of the Bose engines that powered it through the void—line six. He didn’t sing line one. That was the crew line, and this was an unhappy ship. —Linesman
We didn’t deliberately set out to include music in the Linesman series. We were telling a story about sentient alien ‘technology’ that humans had discovered by chance, had used for five hundred years now, and thought they knew how it worked, but they didn’t. In fact, they didn’t even know what it was.
The music was there, right from the first draft. It arrived on page two and it stayed, integral to the story. Far more important than we ever could have imagined when Ean first started to sing.
“How do my crew communicate?”
She knew what the answer would be before he said it. Lambert had sung to the lines.
“They sing.”
This was going to be the noisiest bridge she’d ever been on . —Alliance
By the time we arrived at book three, it was part of the story arc, and everyone was asking questions about it. Including characters in the books.
“And the singing, Linesman?” the Factor asked. “What does that signify?”
He’d jumped on a single tune very fast. Almost as if he had been waiting for a song so he could ask the question. How much did he know? —Confluence
Music is awesome. It can lift a mood, set a mood, evoke memories. It can override faulty or damaged brain connections to temporarily restore memory. Or to help people with problems like Alzheimer’s disease to remember and even move more easily.
How do we know these last two? A reader sent us an amazing link on how therapists are using music to help people. The link’s gone now, or otherwise we’d add it here.
Our readers are wonderful, and many of them know a lot more about music than we do. We are learning so much from their feedback and their questions.
Another reader wanted to know about the musical roots. Whether Ean’s singing was based more around Qawwali, Tuvan throat-singing harmonics, Enya, or something else altogether.
Our answer? We both imagine it as a full vocal sound. Something that comes through as more than just a single voice singing. But we couldn’t attribute it to a particular person or sound. While we were writing Linesman we listened to a lot of Enya, Lisa Gerrard, and big movie themes (with a strong vocal component), and that probably subconsciously influenced what we imagined the sound to be.
It turns out that the music we listened to is a combination of all those styles of music. If you delve into Lisa Gerrard’s singing she cites Greek, Turkish, and Irish influences. And if you listen to Qawwali or Tuvan throat singing you can hear the similarities.
Readers ‘get’ the lines. They tell us:
“I was spinning, and everything was running so smoothly. I could feel the lines singing to the strands of wool, guiding them.”
“I was having a bad day. I asked the lines to guide the flow, and everything settled.”
“I can hear the lines singing to me.”
We write to music. Soundtracks and voices. A typical mix might include Sarah Brightman, Hans Zimmer (and pretty much everyone from his studio, and lots of Lisa Gerrard here), Era, Ten Tenors, Luciano Pavarotti, Audiomachine, James Newton Howard. Soaring voices, big music.
The words flow especially easy late at night, when there’s just you, the lighted room, and the music.
So it is only natural that our books contain music as central to the story.