A Column of Fire First

 Been a while sine I read for fun. I think the last several books I read for fun were almost a year ago. WEB Griffen books. Finished an entire series. Really enjoyed digging into some military thrillers. Now that my classes for the year are ostensibly done, and although I still have some homework on the schooling front, I'm taking a moment to catch my breath and read for pleasure. 

A couple of years ago someone gave me A Column of Fire by Ken Follett. I've always enjoyed Ken Follett books (see here). Little did I know that A Column of Fire was actually a second in a series about Medieval England and France. I read the first in the series over a decade ago, so it was nice to pick this up and realize I've already read the prequel. The Pillars of the Earth was actually the first Ken Follett book I ever picked up. Since then I've read most of his other books, I've actually read several books on writing where we studied Follett. Overall, A Column of Fire should be just the break I need. 

The first line wasn't especially enthralling, but it was a nice opening scene to create a setting and introduce characters.

Ned Willard came home to Kingsbridge in a snowstorm. 

He sailed upstream from Combe Harbour in the cabin of a slow barge loaded with cloth from Antwerp and wine from Bordeaux. When he reckoned the boat was at last nearing Kingsbridge he wrapped his French cloak more tightly around his shoulders, pulled the hood over his ears, stepped out onto the open deck, and looked ahead. 

At first he was disappointed: all he could see was falling snow. But his longing for a sight of the city was like an ache, and he stared into the flurries, hoping. After a while his wish was granted, and the storm began to lift. A surprise patch of blue sky appeared. Gazing over the tops of the surrounding trees, he saw the tower of the cathedral—four hundred and five feet high, as every Kingsbridge Grammar School pupil knew. The stone angel that watched over the city from the top of the spire had snow edging her wings today, turning the tips of her feathers from dove gray to bright white. As he looked, a momentary sunbeam struck the statue and gleamed off the snow, like a benison; then the storm closed in again and she was lost from view. 

He saw nothing except trees for a while, but his imagination was full. He was about to be reunited with his mother after an absence of a year. He would not tell her how much he had missed her, for a man should be independent and self-sufficient at the age of eighteen. 

But most of all he had missed Margery. He had fallen for her, with catastrophic timing, a few weeks before leaving Kingsbridge to spend a year in Calais, the English-ruled port on the north coast of France. Since childhood he had known and liked the mischievous, intelligent daughter of Sir Reginald Fitzgerald. When she grew up her impishness had taken on a new allure, so that he found himself staring at her in church, his mouth dry and his breath shallow. He had hesitated to do more than stare, for she was three years younger than he, but she knew no such inhibitions. They had kissed in the Kingsbridge graveyard, behind the concealing bulk of the tomb of Prior Philip, the monk who had commissioned the cathedral four centuries ago. There had been nothing childish about their long, passionate kiss: then she had laughed and run away. 

But she kissed him again the next day. And on the evening before he left for France they admitted that they loved one another.

Follett, Ken. A Column of Fire (Kingsbridge)

I love that he "looked ahead," very poignant. I also really liked the stone angel and that her feathers went "from dove gray to bright white." Also, never knew that a "benison" was a blessing. 

I'm almost halfway through just four days in. Loving every moment.