Genre Fiction
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Matrix: A Novel
AN INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
FINALIST FOR THE 2021 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION
"A relentless exhibition of Groff's freakish talent. In just over 250 pages, she gives us a character study to rival Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell ." – USA Today
"An electric reimagining . . . feminist, sensual . . . unforgettable." – O, The Oprah Magazine
"Thrilling and heartbreaking." –Time Magazine
"[A] page-by-page pleasure as we soar with her." –New York Times
One of our best American writers, Lauren Groff returns with her exhilarating first new novel since the groundbreaking Fates and Furies.
Cast out of the royal court by Eleanor of Aquitaine, deemed too coarse and rough-hewn for marriage or courtly life, seventeen-year-old Marie de France is sent to England to be the new prioress of an impoverished abbey, its nuns on the brink of starvation and beset by disease.
At first taken aback by the severity of her new life, Marie finds focus and love in collective life with her singular and mercurial sisters. In this crucible, Marie steadily supplants her desire for family, for her homeland, for the passions of her youth with something new to her: devotion to her sisters, and a conviction in her own divine visions. Marie, born the last in a long line of women warriors and crusaders, is determined to chart a bold new course for the women she now leads and protects. But in a world that is shifting and corroding in frightening ways, one that can never reconcile itself with her existence, will the sheer force of Marie's vision be bulwark enough?
Equally alive to the sacred and the profane, Matrix gathers currents of violence, sensuality, and religious ecstasy in a mesmerizing portrait of consuming passion, aberrant faith, and a woman that history moves both through and around. Lauren Groff's new novel, her first since Fates and Furies, is a defiant and timely exploration of the raw power of female creativity in a corrupted world.
FINALIST FOR THE 2021 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR FICTION
"A relentless exhibition of Groff's freakish talent. In just over 250 pages, she gives us a character study to rival Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell ." – USA Today
"An electric reimagining . . . feminist, sensual . . . unforgettable." – O, The Oprah Magazine
"Thrilling and heartbreaking." –Time Magazine
"[A] page-by-page pleasure as we soar with her." –New York Times
One of our best American writers, Lauren Groff returns with her exhilarating first new novel since the groundbreaking Fates and Furies.
Cast out of the royal court by Eleanor of Aquitaine, deemed too coarse and rough-hewn for marriage or courtly life, seventeen-year-old Marie de France is sent to England to be the new prioress of an impoverished abbey, its nuns on the brink of starvation and beset by disease.
At first taken aback by the severity of her new life, Marie finds focus and love in collective life with her singular and mercurial sisters. In this crucible, Marie steadily supplants her desire for family, for her homeland, for the passions of her youth with something new to her: devotion to her sisters, and a conviction in her own divine visions. Marie, born the last in a long line of women warriors and crusaders, is determined to chart a bold new course for the women she now leads and protects. But in a world that is shifting and corroding in frightening ways, one that can never reconcile itself with her existence, will the sheer force of Marie's vision be bulwark enough?
Equally alive to the sacred and the profane, Matrix gathers currents of violence, sensuality, and religious ecstasy in a mesmerizing portrait of consuming passion, aberrant faith, and a woman that history moves both through and around. Lauren Groff's new novel, her first since Fates and Furies, is a defiant and timely exploration of the raw power of female creativity in a corrupted world.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for Matrix:
"Just when it seems there are nothing but chronicles of decline and ruin comes Lauren Groff's Matrix, about a self-sufficient abbey of 12th-century nuns-a shining, all-female utopian community… it is finally its spirit of celebration that gives this novel its many moments of beauty." -Wall Street Journal
"[T]hrilling and heartbreaking. Groff. . . crafts an electric work of historical fiction." -TIME
"[A] page-by-page pleasure as we soar with her. " - New York Times Book Review
"Far more than a treat for history buffs. . . . [Groff] writes a creative, intelligent work that will last." – Boston Globe
"Incandescent. . . a radiant work of imagination and accomplishment." -Esquire
"In Lauren Groff's hands, the tale of a medieval nunnery is must-read fiction." -The Washington Post
"Stunning . . .grand, mythic . . .feels both ancient and urgent, as holy as it is deeply human."- Entertainment Weekly
"An electric reimagining . . . feminist, sensual . . . unforgettable." – O, The Oprah Magazine
"An inspiring novel that truly demonstrates the power women wield, regardless of the era. It has sisterhood, love, war, sex …[Q]uite impossible to put down." - NPR
"A relentless exhibition of Groff's freakish talent. In just over 250 pages, she gives us a character study to rival Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell or Robert Caro's Robert Moses."– USA Today
"The medieval nun drama you didn't know you needed." -Vulture
"A bold new direction for the accomplished writer."- Vogue
"[I]n an appealingly unpredictable move, Lauren Groff has turned her attentions to 12th-century English nuns. The result is a highly distinctive novel of great vigour and boldness ... we are carried on the force of her style, and held by the strength of an intelligence that lets comedy and emotional complexity work together ... an assertively modern novel about leadership, ambition and enterprise, and about the communal life of individuals."- The Guardian
"Transcendently beautiful … It's surprisingly delicious to read fiction about a historical figure we know so little about." -Shondaland
"A propulsive, enchanting, and emotionally charged read." -Washington Independent Review of Books
"A mesmerizing study of faith, passion and violence."- Harper's Bazaar
"Sumptuous, sublime . . engrossing."- Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"Expansive . . . . passionately feminist, funny and even a b...
"Just when it seems there are nothing but chronicles of decline and ruin comes Lauren Groff's Matrix, about a self-sufficient abbey of 12th-century nuns-a shining, all-female utopian community… it is finally its spirit of celebration that gives this novel its many moments of beauty." -Wall Street Journal
"[T]hrilling and heartbreaking. Groff. . . crafts an electric work of historical fiction." -TIME
"[A] page-by-page pleasure as we soar with her. " - New York Times Book Review
"Far more than a treat for history buffs. . . . [Groff] writes a creative, intelligent work that will last." – Boston Globe
"Incandescent. . . a radiant work of imagination and accomplishment." -Esquire
"In Lauren Groff's hands, the tale of a medieval nunnery is must-read fiction." -The Washington Post
"Stunning . . .grand, mythic . . .feels both ancient and urgent, as holy as it is deeply human."- Entertainment Weekly
"An electric reimagining . . . feminist, sensual . . . unforgettable." – O, The Oprah Magazine
"An inspiring novel that truly demonstrates the power women wield, regardless of the era. It has sisterhood, love, war, sex …[Q]uite impossible to put down." - NPR
"A relentless exhibition of Groff's freakish talent. In just over 250 pages, she gives us a character study to rival Hilary Mantel's Thomas Cromwell or Robert Caro's Robert Moses."– USA Today
"The medieval nun drama you didn't know you needed." -Vulture
"A bold new direction for the accomplished writer."- Vogue
"[I]n an appealingly unpredictable move, Lauren Groff has turned her attentions to 12th-century English nuns. The result is a highly distinctive novel of great vigour and boldness ... we are carried on the force of her style, and held by the strength of an intelligence that lets comedy and emotional complexity work together ... an assertively modern novel about leadership, ambition and enterprise, and about the communal life of individuals."- The Guardian
"Transcendently beautiful … It's surprisingly delicious to read fiction about a historical figure we know so little about." -Shondaland
"A propulsive, enchanting, and emotionally charged read." -Washington Independent Review of Books
"A mesmerizing study of faith, passion and violence."- Harper's Bazaar
"Sumptuous, sublime . . engrossing."- Atlanta Journal-Constitution
"Expansive . . . . passionately feminist, funny and even a b...
Readers Top Reviews
Caroline Lawrencesha
I’ve never read anything like this and I loved every sentence. As an author of historical fiction I especially loved the mud and fleas and miasmas and excess of humours, also the passions, visions, food, clothing, rituals, animals, relationships and battles. It’s books like these that make me want to write more… Brava, Lauren! ?
Intermediate Readerg
The author is clearly a gifted writer, finely evoking time, place, and the inner life of the protagonist. But the story, such as it is, is very, very dull and moves at a snail’s pace. I found myself wishing this short book would end soon and longing for Ken Follet.
TWDave Schwinghammer
Obviously a great writer. Some of the words used were of olden times so will need looking up in a dictionary. Very much a medieval, fantasy, heroine story. Depending on your tastes it is, hmmm, maybe feminist sexual??? Nuns lusting after other nuns. The religious hypocrisy and details of that were challenging for me to read past. I wasn't expecting that. But others may have no problem. I returned the book, didn't finish it. Just a heads up.
Linda M. of Mi
Inspired thinking about what life might have been like as a strong-willed, royal woman comfined to a nunnery in the days of Queen Eleanor. Expecting her to fail, she rises to great success for herself and her sisters. Beautiful, lyrical language. Compelling novel.
kathleen g
Marie is disconsolate when her half sister, Eleanor of Aquitaine, exiles her from court by sending her to be prioress at a nunnery. She's 17, taller than many men, and hampered by herself. It turns out to be the best thing that could have happened to Marie and to the nuns, whose lives and fortunes she turns around though sheer determination and, later, visions. I loved this book not only for the characters- Marie chief among them but also the other nuns-but for the writing. Groff has a way of pulling you in and keeping you reading, with sly little asides. Some might find it a tad mannered but it's fitting given the 12th century setting. Marie is not flawless; some of her decisions lead to horrible outcomes for some of the women. Thanks to Edelweiss for the ARC. A terrific read I highly recommend.
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
1.
She rides out of the forest alone. Seventeen years old, in the cold March drizzle, Marie who comes from France.
It is 1158 and the world bears the weariness of late Lent. Soon it will be Easter, which arrives early this year. In the fields, the seeds uncurl in the dark cold soil, ready to punch into the freer air. She sees for the first time the abbey, pale and aloof on a rise in this damp valley, the clouds drawn up from the ocean and wrung against the hills in constant rainfall. Most of the year this place is emerald and sapphire, bursting under dampness, thick with sheep and chaffinches and newts, delicate mushrooms poking from the rich soil, but now in late winter, all is gray and full of shadows.
Her old warhorse glumly plods along and a merlin shivers in its wicker mew on the box mounted behind her.
The wind hushes. The trees cease stirring.
Marie feels that the whole countryside is watching her move through it.
She is tall, a giantess of a maiden, and her elbows and knees stick out, ungainly; the fine rain gathers until it runs in rivulets down her sealskin cloak and darkens her green headcloths to black. Her stark Angevin face holds no beauty, only canniness and passion yet unchecked. It is wet with rain, not tears. She has yet to cry for having been thrown to the dogs.
Two days earlier, Queen Eleanor had appeared in the doorway of Marie's chamber, all bosom and golden hair and sable fur lining the blue robe and jewels dripping from ears and wrists and shining chapelet and perfume strong enough to knock a soul to the ground. Her intention was always to disarm by stunning. Her ladies stood behind her, hiding their smiles. Among these traitors was Marie's own half sister, a bastardess sibling of the crown just like Marie, the sum of errant paternal lusts; but this simpering creature, having understood the uses of popularity in the court, had blanched and run from Marie's attempts to befriend her. She would one day become a princess of the Welsh.
Marie curtsied clumsily, and Eleanor glided into the room, her nostrils twitching.
The queen said that she had news, oh what delightful news, what relief, she had just now received the papal dispensation, the poor horse had exploded its heart it had galloped so fast to bring it here this morning. That, due to her, the queen's, own efforts over these months, this poor illegitimate Marie from nowhere in Le Maine had at last been made prioress of a royal abbey. Wasn't that wonderful. Now at last they knew what to do with this odd half sister to the crown. Now they had a use for Marie at last.
The queen's heavily lined eyes rested upon Marie for a moment, then moved to the high window that overlooked the gardens, where the shutters were thrust open so Marie could stand on her toes and watch people walking outside.
When Marie's mouth could move, she said, thickly, that she was grateful to the queen for the radiance of her attention, but oh no she could not be a nun, she was unworthy, and besides she had no godly vocation whatsoever in any way, at all.
And it was true, the religion she was raised in had always seemed vaguely foolish to her, if rich with mystery and ceremony, for why should babies be born into sin, why should she pray to the invisible forces, why would god be a trinity, why should she, who felt her greatness hot in her blood, be considered lesser because the first woman was molded from a rib and ate a fruit and thus lost lazy Eden? It was senseless. Her faith had twisted very early in her childhood; it would slowly grow ever more bent into its geometry until it was its own angular, majestic thing.
But at seventeen, in this spare chamber at the court in Westminster, she could be no equal to the elegant and story-loving queen, who, though small in body, absorbed all light, all thought from Marie's head, all breath from her lungs.
Eleanor simply looked at Marie and Marie had not felt so small since she'd last seen Le Maine, her six amazon aunts gone to death or marriage or convent, and her mother taking Marie's hand and pressing it to the egg growing between her breasts, smiling hugely but with tears in her eyes, saying oh darling forgive me, I'm dying; and that great strong body so swiftly reduced to skeleton, acrid breath, then no breath at all, and Marie pressing all her vitality down into the ribs, all her prayers, but the heart stayed still. Twelve-year-old Marie's bitter anguish at the high windy burial ground; and afterward the two years of loneliness because her mother insisted her death remain a secret, for the family wolves would strip the estate from Marie as soon as they heard, she being...
1.
She rides out of the forest alone. Seventeen years old, in the cold March drizzle, Marie who comes from France.
It is 1158 and the world bears the weariness of late Lent. Soon it will be Easter, which arrives early this year. In the fields, the seeds uncurl in the dark cold soil, ready to punch into the freer air. She sees for the first time the abbey, pale and aloof on a rise in this damp valley, the clouds drawn up from the ocean and wrung against the hills in constant rainfall. Most of the year this place is emerald and sapphire, bursting under dampness, thick with sheep and chaffinches and newts, delicate mushrooms poking from the rich soil, but now in late winter, all is gray and full of shadows.
Her old warhorse glumly plods along and a merlin shivers in its wicker mew on the box mounted behind her.
The wind hushes. The trees cease stirring.
Marie feels that the whole countryside is watching her move through it.
She is tall, a giantess of a maiden, and her elbows and knees stick out, ungainly; the fine rain gathers until it runs in rivulets down her sealskin cloak and darkens her green headcloths to black. Her stark Angevin face holds no beauty, only canniness and passion yet unchecked. It is wet with rain, not tears. She has yet to cry for having been thrown to the dogs.
Two days earlier, Queen Eleanor had appeared in the doorway of Marie's chamber, all bosom and golden hair and sable fur lining the blue robe and jewels dripping from ears and wrists and shining chapelet and perfume strong enough to knock a soul to the ground. Her intention was always to disarm by stunning. Her ladies stood behind her, hiding their smiles. Among these traitors was Marie's own half sister, a bastardess sibling of the crown just like Marie, the sum of errant paternal lusts; but this simpering creature, having understood the uses of popularity in the court, had blanched and run from Marie's attempts to befriend her. She would one day become a princess of the Welsh.
Marie curtsied clumsily, and Eleanor glided into the room, her nostrils twitching.
The queen said that she had news, oh what delightful news, what relief, she had just now received the papal dispensation, the poor horse had exploded its heart it had galloped so fast to bring it here this morning. That, due to her, the queen's, own efforts over these months, this poor illegitimate Marie from nowhere in Le Maine had at last been made prioress of a royal abbey. Wasn't that wonderful. Now at last they knew what to do with this odd half sister to the crown. Now they had a use for Marie at last.
The queen's heavily lined eyes rested upon Marie for a moment, then moved to the high window that overlooked the gardens, where the shutters were thrust open so Marie could stand on her toes and watch people walking outside.
When Marie's mouth could move, she said, thickly, that she was grateful to the queen for the radiance of her attention, but oh no she could not be a nun, she was unworthy, and besides she had no godly vocation whatsoever in any way, at all.
And it was true, the religion she was raised in had always seemed vaguely foolish to her, if rich with mystery and ceremony, for why should babies be born into sin, why should she pray to the invisible forces, why would god be a trinity, why should she, who felt her greatness hot in her blood, be considered lesser because the first woman was molded from a rib and ate a fruit and thus lost lazy Eden? It was senseless. Her faith had twisted very early in her childhood; it would slowly grow ever more bent into its geometry until it was its own angular, majestic thing.
But at seventeen, in this spare chamber at the court in Westminster, she could be no equal to the elegant and story-loving queen, who, though small in body, absorbed all light, all thought from Marie's head, all breath from her lungs.
Eleanor simply looked at Marie and Marie had not felt so small since she'd last seen Le Maine, her six amazon aunts gone to death or marriage or convent, and her mother taking Marie's hand and pressing it to the egg growing between her breasts, smiling hugely but with tears in her eyes, saying oh darling forgive me, I'm dying; and that great strong body so swiftly reduced to skeleton, acrid breath, then no breath at all, and Marie pressing all her vitality down into the ribs, all her prayers, but the heart stayed still. Twelve-year-old Marie's bitter anguish at the high windy burial ground; and afterward the two years of loneliness because her mother insisted her death remain a secret, for the family wolves would strip the estate from Marie as soon as they heard, she being...
