The Rusty Book Club – The Book of I
The Book of I by David Greig is my next Rusty Book Club recommendation.
There are probably worse places to have a spiritual crisis than a remote Scottish island in the ninth century, but not many when Vikings show up.
Vikings have ravaged the monastery on Iona (the I in the title), leaving behind three unlikely survivors. Martin is a Christian monk whose world has just been destroyed. Una is a beekeeper and mead-maker whose abusive husband has been killed. And Grimur is a wounded Viking who helped create the whole mess. He is also, by the way, the one who killed Una’s husband.
These three have almost nothing in common, except that they’re alive, stuck together, and trying to figure out what comes next.
The Monk
Martin has devoted his life to God. He knows the scriptures, the prayers, and the rhythms of monastic life. He’s also working on a manuscript of the Gospel, carefully preserving a sacred story for future generations. Then the Vikings show up and burn down his world.
Suddenly, all that religious training is being tested. It’s one thing to talk about loving your enemies. It’s another to find yourself sharing space with a Viking who helped slaughter your fellow monks.
Plus now, surrounded by death and destruction, Martin’s religious credentials suddenly seem of questionable worth. Things need fixing. Meals need fixing. And here’s a monk who seems to know an awful lot about God but not much about surviving.
I wonder how much of what we call spiritual maturity is simply knowing how to function in a religious environment. We learn the language, understand the customs, and become comfortable around people who believe what we believe. But take away the church, the familiar routines, and the people who agree with us. What remains?
The Widow
Una has a different problem. Her husband is dead, but he was also a violent man who beat her. So what exactly is she supposed to feel? Can she mourn her husband while being glad he’s gone? Can she resent the Viking who killed him while recognizing that his death has given her freedom?
Una shows us that love and resentment can coexist, as can grief and relief. She doesn’t need someone explaining how she ought to feel. She needs room to be human. And she’s not particularly interested in theological explanations from a monk who can’t seem to do anything useful.
Even more complicated, she grows to deeply appreciate the Viking. The man who killed her husband turns out to be someone she might actually want in her life. Try explaining that at a church potluck.
The Viking
Grimur is an invader, a killer, and should clearly be the bad guy. Except he’s actually a pretty decent fellow. He’s capable of kindness, humor, and compassion.
How does that work? The husband who was supposed to love Una was cruel. The monk who represents goodness seems practically useless. And the Viking who brought death and destruction turns out to be a surprisingly admirable human being.
But there’s something even more interesting about Grimur. He insists that Martin finish writing the Gospel. Think about that. The pagan who helped destroy the monastery is now encouraging the Christian monk to complete the very work the monastery existed to preserve. He even volunteers to do more work so Martin is freed up to focus on writing. It’s as if, oh I dunno, maybe Grimur is working out his guilt and regret?
It’s worth noting that Grimur doesn’t have to believe what Martin believes to recognize that his work matters. And Martin, whose faith has been shaken by violence and suffering, finds himself being urged to remain faithful by one of the very enemies he might have expected God to condemn.
The Gospel in the Wreckage
What I appreciate about The Book of I is that Greig refuses to make his characters simple. Martin isn’t merely a foolish monk, nor is he a saintly figure above reproach. Una isn’t merely a grieving widow, nor is she a bitter survivor. Grimur isn’t merely a noble pagan, nor is he without fault. They’re complicated human beings, capable of both goodness and failure. Just like the rest of us.
And I keep coming back to that unfinished Gospel. Martin has devoted his life to preserving a story about God entering a broken world, loving enemies, and extending grace to people who don’t deserve it. Now he’s living in the midst of brokenness, with a woman who isn’t sure whether to mourn her husband, and a murderous Viking who insists the Gospel must be finished.
I wonder whether Martin begins to see the difference between preserving the words of Jesus and actually living them. Whether Una discovers that forgiveness and gratitude don’t always follow the rules we’re taught. And whether Grimur, who doesn’t believe the Gospel, understands something about its importance that Martin has yet to discover.
Maybe that’s what makes this little book so compelling. Nobody fits the role we’ve assigned them.
Which makes it a perfect Rusty Book Club recommendation. This is a raw, unfiltered story with no clear boundaries. It is, in that way, like a junkyard. And for that matter, like you and me.