Glimpse of Light
I firmly believed there was a world outside of our own minds . . . But all around me were challenges. . . . How could we be so sure there were such things existing apart from us?Philosopher Benedict Chilwell faces a crisis of confidence and hopes to resolve it in a self-imposed exile, far away in the north of Norway. From his cabin, he begins his meditations, pondering the mysteries of philosophy in the dark Arctic winter.
Pride, a whale, love and lust, the Huldra, God and a chain of causes all interrupt Benedict’s solitude. Could they prove his salvation?
In six days approaching the return of the light, Benedict discovers a basis for certainty and tries his best to convince his hosts. Through doubts, questions and reasoning, Chilwell inadvertently follows in Descartes’ footsteps. Will he be killed by the cold too; or will the warmth of Plato’s sun save him in time?
A philosophical novel, in June 2017 from Bloomsbury, in paperback, hardback and as an eBook
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Below is an additional scene that was not included in the text of the book.
A supernatural tail
In Glimpse of Light, at the bottom of page 17, Ragnhild and Solan tell Benedict Chilwell about the time their grandfather met the Huldra. The Huldra folktale concerns a beautiful supernatural creature hiding in the Scandinavian forests, occasionally luring men to their doom. This skogsrå has a long tail, which she tries to keep hidden from view. There is a male version, the huldrekall. The origin of these forest spirits is said to be in God’s punishment of some unwashed children that had been kept hidden from him, and would forever thereafter be fated to lead a hidden life.
This is the story told by Ragnhild and Solan’s grandfather.
He grew up on a small island in the Alta fjord, Stjernøya (meaning Star Island – perhaps this was our first glimpse of light). The population there was very small hence he was surprised, as a young man out walking one day, when he came across a girl standing in his path. She was a little bit older than himself and he was immediately captivated.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met you before. Are you a visitor to the island?’
‘No,’ said the charming girl. ‘I live here.’
‘But I’ve never seen you and I know everyone on the island. Where do you live?’
She gestured behind some trees, off the main track. ‘I live just through here. You can come and see my house if you like.’
Curious, he walked with her, through the fresh snow, until they reached some rocks on the side of the mountain, which he had visited before. To his astonishment, though, one of the biggest rocks had been moved to the side revealing the entrance to a house built within the mountain itself.
He peered inside, bemused.
‘You can come in, if you like,’ said the young lady. ‘But you mustn’t clean your boots on the way in.’
This was a strange request, though it barely registered with him, given the extraordinary encounter. He looked inside and saw that it was indeed a home under the rocks, complete with plush carpets and luxuriously
upholstered sofas.
She stepped inside and he went to follow. But, instinctively, seeing that his boots were caked in snow, he tapped them on the rock at the side of the entrance. This is expected in Norway. Everyone knows not to bring dirty snow indoors.
But as soon as he did it, the rock moved back across and slammed shut over the doorway. The house under the mountain was entirely concealed once more. It looked again like ordinary rocks with no sign of anyone living there.
Disappointed, he turned and made his way back to the main path. But as he did so, the realisation dawned on him that there was only one set of footprints – his – in the snow. And it was only some time later that the thought came to him: had he gone inside, he might never have been seen again.
Acknowledgments
Glimpse of Light is a homage to Plato but also to the north of Norway. I am grateful above all to Svein Anders Noer Lie who, together with his family, hosted me in the real Bakkan when I researched Glimpse of Light and produced the first draft there in January 2016. It was then that I first heard about the Huldra, in stories related to me by Thomas Bøhn and Inger Haapasaari (whose grandfather was the one who actually met the Huldra).
The other person whose contribution to this book was vast is Rani Lill Anjum. Not only did she offer endless encouragement, she also educated me in all the celebrations around the return of the sun in Norway. By introducing me to the Norwegian word solgløtt, she virtually gave the book its title too. Anyone who knows my work on causation with Rani will know that many of the ideas crossing Benedict’s mind are ones I’ve learnt and developed with my regular and treasured co-author.
I am grateful to Eleanor Sibley, Anne Currie and Alaska Williams, all of whom read the manuscript and gave me feedback, as well as the readers at Bloomsbury. David Belbin offered useful advice before I started writing, leading to the inclusion of far more characters than originally planned. I must also thank Colleen Coalter at Bloomsbury who supported the book unreservedly from the start and patiently handled the author’s many requests.
