Antonia Hodgson returns with a scholarly tale of murder, redemption and grief

One of the most beguiling parts of the book is the non-human narrator, the Raven. The bird is not simply a bird, it is a representation of all the possible iterations that a raven can be, such as “Anxious Raven with Piercing Alarm Call”. The many Raven personas have coalesced into one form, one Raven, and the result is an anarchic and playful “choral voice”. “We are here, exactly where we should be, at exactly the right moment, because we are the Raven, and we are magnificent,” intones the bird-that-is-not-quite-a-bird. Hodgson has been “fascinated” with ravens for years: “All corvids are so extraordinary, and their attributes are compelling. They are very charismatic birds.” They are also intertwined with human history: “Whenever you see any kind of myth and ancient history, the raven often appears across cultures,” and Hodgson was “really interested in the meaning” behind their appearances. One real raven earns a place in the novel’s acknowledgments: Bran is a regal bird trained by bird specialists Lloyd and Rose Buck and credited on the trainers’ website as one of the “most intelligent birds” in their winged menagerie. Hodgson spent an impressionable morning with Bran and there was something “in the way he held himself”, an air of self-importance and determination, that came to inspire the magical raven of the novel.

The Raven Scholar is an incredibly special book for Hodgson, not only because she has always wanted to write fantasy but because it provided a refuge. After coming up with the “initial idea” in 2019, the story was written across four years and multiple Covid-19 lockdowns. “It was quite an intense period. Without going into detail, there was a lot going on in that time. It was a real gift to have that book to write, at that time particularly, and to be allowed to explore the themes and world as I wanted.”

Hodgson tells me that she is keen that I mention the  financial support she received in 2023 from the Royal Literary Fund. “I was writing intensely and had missed a deadline or two and I didn’t feel like I could take on other work.” The support was a “huge help”, and other authors should know “that it is a resource” they can turn to in need. I am curious what it is about the fantasy genre that has captured Hodgson’s attention. Citing Ursula K Le Guin as a “great heroine” of hers, Hodgson explains that: “I always feel the most immersed in fantasy. I love walking into other people’s worlds and going on that journey with them, but I also like that it allows you to explore really big themes in a very dramatic, action-packed way. I like that soulful, philosophical, personal journey that people can go on in fantasy.”

Hodgson’s fervour is also a fitting descriptor of The Raven Scholar, where a backdrop of murder and bloodshed is balanced with a tale of redemption and grief as decades-long secrets and conspiracies are slowly revealed.  

There are “tiny elements” of Hodgson woven into Neema’s character, in particular their shared penchant for researching things “that are really obscure and ignored”. Neema’s speciality in Ketuan folktales, an area of cultural history derided by most of her peers, will “ultimately turn out to be incredibly important”. The protagonist’s need for accuracy – there are several instances Neema corrects people at inopportune moments – is shared by the Raven narrator, who offers small, occasional footnotes to clarify a phrase in the main narrative.

These asides serve the same purpose as the folk tales interspersed throughout the story – they enrich the novel, giving the world a deep cultural heritage. It is a joy for any hardened fantasy reader, but also an entry point for new readers. This is a world as fully formed as our own. Woe betide the reader who misses out on this story.