A Rage Of Souls has been out in the world for just over a week. I’m grateful to everyone who’s bought it and (hopefully) enjoyed the book.
I’ve attempted some wit in marketing it in photos, puns around the theme of rage. Has it worked? Who can tell. But it amuses (me, if nobody else), and perhaps it jogged one or two people into buying.
All the Rage
That first week is crucial for a book. It’s when that critical first momentum takes place. This book has been off to a good start. The trick is to try and keep that going.
Maybe this can give sales a little boost. None of it is my doing; I’m not sure my publisher had a band in it, either. Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining.
Out- Rage
In the UK, the price for the Kindle version has dropped to £7.99 – you can buy it here. A hair over two cups of coffee. It’s $9.99 in the US (follow this link). If you’ve been thinking about a punt on it but felt it was too expensive before (it was, in my view), now is your time. I honestly think the book will convince you once to start reading. You can always download a free sample and try it out. How’s that for a deal.
It does get better. If you like that, Them Without Pain, the book that preceded it in the series, is only £8.54 in the Uk (look here) and £8.99 for the hardback. The US hardcover is $18.54. The entire series is very reasonably priced; the first two are just £2.99 for the ebooks.
A Rage Of Souls is the final Simon Westow novel. I’d be very grateful if you gave him a grand send-off.
Two minutes, that’s all…two minutes out of your busy day to travel back 200 years and peer into the darkness and mystery with A Rage Of Souls. Go on…you know you want to. It’s the final Simon Westow novel.
Leeds, April 1826
Simon Westow looked up from the Leeds Intelligencer. The house was quiet, their twin sons Richard and Amos off at their lessons at the grammar school.
‘Do you remember Frederick Fox?’ he asked.
Rosie was stirring a pot on the range. ‘Of course I do. What’s happened? Have they finally hanged him?’
‘He’s been pardoned.’
‘What?’ She let the spoon clatter against the pan. ‘Why?’
He folded the newspaper and placed it on the table. ‘It doesn’t give the reason. All done at the last minute, apparently. He was standing on the scaffold in York when the message arrived.’ ‘That’s probably an exaggeration. You know they always try to make it sound dramatic.’
Rosie pressed her lips together. ‘Still, I wonder what happened. Maybe he knows someone important.
A man in dark, sober livery was standing on the step, a serious look on his face. Someone’s servant, Simon thought. He made a hasty bow and handed him a folded note.
‘Mr Barton said to bring you this, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ He fumbled in his pocket, found a halfpenny and pressed it into his hand. With a smile and a thank you, the man drifted away.
At the kitchen table, Simon broke the seal.
Mr Westow,
No doubt you saw the news that Fox was granted a reprieve from death. When that happened, I imagined he and his wife would go somewhere nobody knew them and find a new life. However, since last week, I believe I’ve seen him following me three times. At first, I decided it had to be my imagination. With the second instance, I was a little less sure. The third happened yesterday morning, and I’d swear an oath it was Fox. Always at a distance, with no attempt to speak to me or threaten me. I’m not a man easily given to fright, but this worries me, more for my wife than myself. I will gladly pay you to discover what’s happening and to keep us safe.
Your servant,
James Barton
He read it through once again and began to plan.
It’s out in under a month. You can pre-order it right here, but if you can, please buy from an independent bookshop. In the UK, this place has the best hardback price, plus free postage.
What are the critics saying?
“Nickson vividly evokes the atmosphere of nineteenth-century Leeds and keeps the plot tense and twisty throughout. A good pick for historical-mystery fans.” Booklist
“A first-rate, complex mystery that delves deeply into the many social injustices of the time.” Kirkus Reviews
Ask your library system to order a copy. That way it’s there for everyone.
October will bring the publication of A Rage Of Souls, the eighth Simon Westow novel. A couple of people who’ve read it feel it’s the darkest yet in the series – which surprised me; it never struck me that way when I was writing it. Shadowed and sorrowful, yes. But the series had always had shaded undercurrents and that sense that violence might explode.
Yes (I think) there’s always been hope in there too, some light amongst everything else.
She sat outside the cottage, quietly reading her book and relishing the warmth of the afternoon sun. Even through the fine layer of haze and smoke that always hung over the town, the heat was comforting.
When the bell at the parish church pealed half past five, Jane set the book aside and brought a knife from her pocket, spending five minutes honing its sharpness. She knew this blade. It had saved her life and served her well. Readiness could mark the distance between life and death. Her attention had slipped once, and she’d paid for it with her little finger. Simon had let down his guard for a single moment and now he walked with the consequences.
As she approached Barton’s house, she paused to study Sally. When they met, the girl had been a child of anger. It was fury that had kept her alive on the streets. But living with Simon and Rosie and their boys, she’d found a family who cared for her, and much of that hardness had blunted, tempered with compassion. She was growing, taller every month it seemed, and starting to fill out. How old was she? Thirteen, Jane decided. That, or perhaps a year older.
Still a strange one, a child of two families, one with the Westows and the other with the homeless children who relied on each other. God help her if she was ever forced to choose between them, Jane thought.
‘Barton left about an hour after you,’ Sally said. ‘The servant brought a gig from the coach house. He and a woman went off in it. I decided to stay in case Fox came sniffing.’
‘Any sign of him?’ Her gaze slid around, but there was little to see. The house was quiet, nobody visible through the windows. She shook her head.
‘Nothing at all.’ ‘I’ll stay for a few hours and come back again in the morning.’
When she turned her head again, Sally had vanished.
But I should probably announce something – this will be the last book in the series. I hadn’t originally planned it that way, but the one I had in my head as the final novel refused to come together, and, reading it again, this seems to make a good conclusion. I’m not going to force things
Perhaps I’m right. You’ll have to be the judge.
To be clear – no, this doesn’t mean I’m retiring. It’s simply the last Simon Westow book.
It’s available for pre-order, as hardback and ebook. I’ll give the Amazon UK links here, although Speedy Hen is cheaper for the hardback and has free postage. Find it here.
And while you’re at it, Cathy Marsden in No Precious Truth will appear in paperback in November for £9.99 ($16.99 US). Very easy to carry around and also makes a great extra Christmas present. You can pre-order that, too. Do it right here.
The scream sliced through the sky. Loud, clear, a cry of pure terror that crashed into her thoughts. Everyone near Seaton’s old mill turned to look. Carts halted, their drivers searching for the sound. Men and women walking together clutched each other’s arms. All of them stopped except the couple Jane was following. Heads down, they kept moving steadily along, as if they hadn’t heard a thing. A second scream, stronger, more awful than the first. Two men ran along the road, carrying a girl on a wooden hurdle. She was a small creature, no more than nine, clothes drenched in blood. Her dress was torn, showing a leg where the flesh hung ragged, ripped through to pale bone. Her fists were clenched, thrashing against the wood to try and stop the pain. ‘Be quiet,’ one of the men ordered in a harsh voice. ‘Surgeon will take care of it.’ They all knew what that meant: the leg would go. People shuddered and stepped back as the girl wailed no, no, no, no, the fear raw in her voice….
Jane realised she’d been digging her nails hard into her palms. Pain arrived so suddenly; it could touch anyone. She knew; seeing the girl had brought back the torment of losing her own little finger. Hers had been a deliberate act of violence, but in some small way she understood. She was still for a moment, trying to push everything she’d just seen out of her mind. She knew it would return later. As soon as she closed her eyes that night.
You can pre-order it here (UK) or here (US). It might look like the links don’t work, but if you click on the ‘here,’ they do. And yes, the building on the cover is Temple Newsam.
Well hello, and let me begin by saying sorry to you all. I’ve become that kind of person a dislike, ignoring everyone until I have a new book about to be published.
Whatever I say will be an excuse, but…I’ve been busy completing the writing and revision of a novel, the first in a planned new series set in WWII in Leeds. That’s involved a lot of research, of trying to feel my way into the period and make the city and the area into a living, breathing thing. That’s taken time – I’m actually on my final read-through at the moment, and very soon it will be with my publisher. Titled No Precious Truth, all being well it should appear in the summer of 2025.
I’ve also had to deal with the edit for the Simon Westow novel due in September. That one’s called Them Without Pain, and has it jumping-off point in some real Leeds history (the discovery of a long-rumoured secret working in Middle Row). But those edits take time.
And then, yes, The Scream of Sins will be appearing next week. For once, I’m doing no publicity. No events, no bookmarks, nothing. That’s partly an experiment, to see if any of those things do make any sort of difference. More than that, after the big Tom Harper exhibition and event last autumn, I’m still recouping my energy. It took so much more out of me that I’d anticipated.
So there you have it. If you do want to buy The Scream of Sins (and the reviews so far have been excellent), your local independent bookshop will gladly oblige, or this is the cheapest online price, with free UK delivery. Of course, as money is tight, please don’t forget your local library. They can order it in for you.
Again, my apologies. I shall try to do better in future.
Here we are, finally, and The Dead Will Rise is officially released into the wild. I’m hugely proud it it, I feel it’s the best Simon Westow book so far, and there’s a lot of Jane in there – she really comes into her own in this one, and not before time. I do hope youi’ll buy it, or borrow from a library. But however, I’d love it if you read it, and even more of you left a review somewhere. Those honestly do all help, believe me.
I did promise a video bonus, and I’m not going to let you down. All those little courts and yards feature in my books, whether it’s Richard Nottingham, Simon Westow, or Tom Harper. I know many of your have never experienced them, so come with me and talk a little walk along one. I think you’ll see why I love them.
I hadn’t intended to post anything this week, but…
The first review for The Dead Will Rise is set to appear. The book isn’t out until March, but the US trade magazines get an early start, and Publishers Weekly is one of the biggest.
Anyway, rocked on my heels to get it so soon, but more to have a starred review. The fourth star in a row for Simon Westow, Jane and Rosie. Called “excellent fifth whodunit in the series. “Nickson keeps the story line intriguing despite the focus on a crime other than murder as he further develops his leads,” the reviwer says, calling the book a “gritty and surprise-filled mystery.”
Wow. Just wow. That’s possibly the best Christmas present I could receive.
Oh – I’ve almost finished the draft on the next one, too, tentative titled The Scream Of Sins.
The hardback edition of The Blood Covenant appeared in the UK almost a month weeks ago, and the reviews are arriving.
I’ve been lucky enough to have some outstanding reviews of my books in the past, and I’m grateful for every word written about what I do. But those seem to pale in comparison to the opinions on this one, to the point that it’s hard to believe they’re writing about my work (not about me; that’s entirely different).
The Fully Booked blog has been a supporter of my novels, but this…well, read for yourself: “There is, of course, a noble tradition of writers who exposed social injustice nearer to their own times – Charles Dickens, Charles Kingsley, Robert Tressell and John Steinbeck, to name but a few, but we shouldn’t dismiss Nickson’s anger because of the distance between his books and the events he describes. As he walks the streets of modern Leeds, he clearly feels every pang of hunger, every indignity, every broken bone and every hopeless dawn experienced by the people whose blood and sweat made the city what it is today. That he can express this while also writing a bloody good crime novel is the reason why he is, in my opinion, one of our finest contemporary writers.”
On: Yorkshire isn’t quite as effusive, but even so… “Nickson has a rare talent for historical reproduction, and the filth and horror of the time he writes about is conveyed loud and clear… Nickson is a fine writer”
Yorkshire Bylines has good, practical praise: “The Blood Covenant would be a good book to take on a train or plane ride; the plot is easy to follow, and the story is fast-paced. I read it from cover to cover in one three-hour sitting. Those who like fast-moving action adventure with a hint of mystery and some graphic descriptions of violence will enjoy this book.”
The ebook will appear everywhere at the beginning of February, and publication of the hardback in the rest of the world is at the beginning of March. But two of the US trade magazines, aimed at librarians and bookshops, have ready put out their reviews.
Kirkus Reviews says it’s a “gritty tale of perseverance, cruelty, rage, and redemption not for the faint of heart.”
Publishers Weekly has given it a starred review (it’s here). That in itself can make a writer’s heart jump with joy. But on top of that, what they have to say!
“Nickson’s stellar fourth mystery featuring thief-taker Simon Westlow [sic]… Nickson does a superb job using the grim living and working conditions for the city’s poor as a backdrop for a memorable and affecting plot. James Ellroy fans will be enthralled.”
Honestly, I’m still buzzing from that (I’m trying to figure out the Ellroy comparison), and everything that all the reviewers have written. I’m grateful to them all for wanting to read and write about it. People on Goodreads have been incredibly generous with their praise, too (“Nickson is a master when it comes to historical crime fiction, and together with his phenomenal research, he continually provides a cracking read!”… “Chris Nickson has outdone himself in The Blood Covenant. There’s truly a different tone in this one.”)
And then there’s this from the Morning Star. On the right side of history…
I have no idea how I can ever top these reviews. I shall try.
Meanwhile, I hope they’ll make you read the book. Buy it, borrow it from the library – if they don’t have it, ask them to get a copy; that will let others read it, too.
Another short extract from The Blood Covenant that I hope will tempt you into buying a copy (or asking your library to buy one – maybe even both!) Most bookshops seem to have copies now, although it’s not out until the 30th officially. If you ask them nicely, they might well be able to get it to you for Christmas…for online ordering, this place has the cheapest price, with free UK postage, and they can get it straight out.
Jane’s turn this time.
Jane turned off Boar Lane on to Albion Street and knew someone was there. She had the sense of him before she could see anything. Tightening her grip on the hilt of the blade, she peered into the darkness.
Suddenly he was in front of her, no more than three yards away. As if he’d appeared from nowhere. Looming like a giant. Tall, broad as a house. If she allowed him to come close enough, he’d be able to crush the life from her.
The bayonet that usually hung from his belt was in his right hand.
Perkins. Arden’s bodyguard, grinning at the sight of her.
‘You and your boss, you’ve been poking in places where you don’t belong. Causing trouble for Mr Arden’s friend.’
Jane didn’t reply. She was watching him, her mind racing over the advice Dodson the crippled soldier had given her. A dirty fighter, brutal, with years of experience. If he won, he’d leave her for dead without a qualm.
A weak right knee. That was what Dodson had said. Not much, but it was something.
Perkins moved towards her. Only a single pace, but it was enough. He was going to use his size and weight against her. He had to be in his fifties now, grey hair cropped close against his skull; old for work like this. But he still had power. What he’d lost in speed he made up for in trickery.
Jane could see it in his eyes; he believed she was an easy target. A girl who’d have no fight in her. He took another pace forward. She tried to feint to her right, but he was already moving to stop it. Old, but not so slow. And not slipping on the packed, frozen snow.
He wanted to keep her moving backwards until she was pinned against the wall. Once that happened, he could take his time. Finish her as quickly or slowly as he wanted.
She was watching. His eyes, his hands. His feet. They’d give the clues. Even knowing she might die here, she felt calm. She touched the gold ring. A single step back, to see what he’d do. His eyes glinted, as if he already sensed victory.
Good, she thought, let him. Maybe he’d let down his guard a little.
Perkins swung his arm, the bayonet slicing through the air. But that wasn’t the danger; it was a diversion, he’d put no power into it. He was shifting his balance, preparing to kick her. As soon as he raised his foot, she darted forward with a kick of her own.
She put all her weight behind it. She felt the hobnails on the sole of her boot crash into his right knee. The feel of something giving in his leg. He staggered, arms out to try and keep his balance. Mouth shut tight to stifle the cry. Eyes filled with fury and surprise.
She could run. He wouldn’t be able to follow. But if she did that, Jane knew he’d recover and come for her another time. When that happened, she wouldn’t have the smallest chance of staying alive.
The thoughts flew through her head in a moment. No hesitation. She kicked his knee again. This time it gave. He fell on to the pavement, scrambling backwards so he could try to defend himself.
Chris Nickson 