La Razon ‘Katherine Neville and the quest novel’ by Javier Sierra
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English Translation
Katherine Neville and the quest novel
The profound message of Katherine Neville’s self-discovery novels couldn’t be more relevant. In this age of superficial stimuli, forgotten with the next click of our devices, focusing on what we experience in each moment is truly revolutionary.
17.11.2025
Nearly four decades ago, the first novel by an unknown author arrived in Spain. Released simultaneously in twelve countries, Katherine Neville’s *The Eight* quickly became a global publishing phenomenon. The novel moved seamlessly between the excesses of the French Revolution and contemporary Algeria, narrating the protagonists’ obsession with finding the pieces of a chess set made of gold and precious stones, created for Charlemagne as a kind of protective talisman. By popular demand, the book went from bestseller to longseller —a writer’s “holy grail”—and is still regularly printed in more than forty languages, welcomed into the warm canon of contemporary classics.
I met Katherine a decade after her success. In 1998, she visited Spain to promote her next book, *The Magic Circle *, and in our interview, she explained that she would never be a “book-a-year” author. She conceived of literature as a quest, a slow and meticulous path to answering humanity’s great questions. Her philosophy fascinated me. Katherine revealed herself to me as a rare bird among authors of her caliber, and the confidences we shared resonated deeply within my fledgling writer’s spirit. In that distant year of 1998, I published my first novel, * The Blue Lady *, a story also straddling two eras—17th-century New Mexico and Spain—and the 20th century at the tail end of the Cold War. Neville found it curious that my work featured a mystical nun. * The Eight* featured two novices from southern France. But what fascinated her most was that “my nun”—Sister María de Jesús de Ágreda, a historical figure contemporary with Velázquez—bilocated and appeared to tribes in the southwestern United States that she knew well. That’s where our friendship began.
Last week, Katherine returned to Spain. She continues her research. In fact, she’s been piecing together a novel set in the early 20th century about Sister María de Jesús and revolving around Peter Paul Rubens. During our time together, we visited the Prado Museum to meet with Alejandro Vergara, head of the Flemish Painting Conservation Department and one of the world’s leading experts on the artist of The Three Graces . There, I saw Katherine fascinated by the techniques Rubens developed to imbue his subjects with a sense of human presence. But I also found an author more open than ever to the magical, to impossible coincidences, and to the profound beliefs that shape our culture. Like when we managed to carve out a few hours to visit the Basilica of Our Lady of Atocha in Madrid, and the staff recognized her at the entrance.
Clara Tahoces, a descendant of the ninth Duchess of Osuna and author of a book recounting how her ancestor commissioned Francisco de Goya to paint his finest portraits of witches, witnessed this visit. She accompanied us, an expert on “magical Madrid”—the central theme of one of her most popular books, incidentally—and saw Katherine’s eyes light up at the sight of the Christ Child of Atocha, an image shrouded in legend and superstition, venerated in America by thieves and traffickers who aspire to be redeemed by it. Her enthusiasm touched us deeply. Katherine has just turned eighty, but she exudes the same energy and curiosity that struck me when I first met her. Unlike other encounters we’ve had in recent years—whether at an event of the International Thriller Writers Association , at the Alhambra in Granada, or in the gardens of Dumbarton Oaks, which she used in her latest novel, *The Fire *—this time I didn’t notice her taking notes or showing any particular interest in photographing the places. “You know,” she confided in me, “now I focus on experiencing what’s in front of me, processing it, and later drawing on the imprint of my travels to write about them from a place of emotion.” I, who am the author of notebooks filled with doodles, looked at her in surprise. “And you never forget anything?” I asked. “On the contrary! I remember exactly what I need; better than if I resorted to paper or an archived image.”
This detail perhaps explains why she titled her lecture a few days ago at the International Occult Meeting in Zaragoza “Art and Memory.” Katherine has developed a method that runs counter to what currently prevails in the West: she uses the impressions that lived experience leaves on her soul to construct her universes. Although, now that I think about it, it’s a technique she already hinted at in The Eight , when she named the contemporary protagonist of her story Catherine Velis—a play on her own name—and made her an extension of her own personality.
The profound message of Katherine Neville’s novels of self-discovery couldn’t be more relevant. In this age of superficial stimuli, forgotten with the next click of our devices, focusing on what we experience in each moment is a true revolution. And in her case, of course, it’s also an art form. As one of her readers, I’m already waiting for her to finish her novel about the painters… and to discover in it some echo of the days we just shared. I’m sure Spain has left its mark on her memory.
Javier Sierra is the Planeta Prize winner for his novels and the author of The Master Plan, a work about the mysteries of art.
