Interview with Livia Huntingdon-Jones, Author of The Pelican Contingency

What’s the story behind the story? What inspired you to write The Pelican Contingency?

Right, the ‘inspiration’ question. It’s always a bit tricky to answer, especially when you spend your days knee-deep in contract law. My parents certainly think writing fiction is an odd use of time that could be spent climbing the corporate ladder. But honestly, after the grind of the firm, escaping into Cambridge – a world I know from Oxford, but still feels distinct – is necessary. Maybe it’s the part of me that didn’t quite fit at Cheltenham Ladies’ before finding my way via state school and law school that enjoys exploring hidden corners. The spark for “The Pelican Contingency” really came from that contrast: the beautiful, ancient colleges hiding intense rivalries and potentially dark secrets. You see similar dynamics in the City, just with sharper suits.

The feud between the academic, Eleanor Croft, and the poet, Alastair Finch, felt very real to me – those intellectual battles can feel incredibly high-stakes in closed environments. I wanted to explore what happens when those stakes become genuinely dangerous. And the idea of a secret society? Cambridge and Oxford are full of clubs, most harmless. But the thought of one, like the Pelican Society, actually manipulating things behind the scenes, pulling strings from ancient rooms… that felt like interesting territory. It plays on that feeling many of us have that established institutions have hidden depths and networks. Exploring the secrets hidden just beneath respectable surfaces – academic or otherwise – was really the core of it. It’s an escape from legal drafting, certainly, but also a way to think about those less visible power structures.

If you had to pick theme songs for the main characters of The Pelican Contingency, what would they be?

Right, just one theme song from the first book, “The Pelican Contingency”. It would have to be for Dr Eleanor Croft, wouldn’t it? She’s the lynchpin of the whole affair. Picking music feels subjective, almost unprofessional after a day dissecting contracts, but if pushed, I’d lean towards Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill”. Perhaps specifically the Placebo cover, which has a sharper, more modern edge of anxiety that fits. Why? Eleanor starts as this contained, analytical academic, almost hiding within her critiques. Then, suddenly, she’s thrown into absolute chaos – suspicion, danger, conspiracies far beyond literary theory.

The song captures that feeling of desperation, of wanting to make a deal, to swap places, to understand something incomprehensible (“make a deal with God… get him to swap our places”). It reflects her frantic effort to navigate a situation utterly beyond her control, fighting against forces much larger and older than herself, trying to find solid ground as everything shifts beneath her feet. It has that driving, slightly panicked energy that mirrors her race against the 48-hour clock and her descent into Cambridge’s hidden, dangerous depths. It’s the sound of intellectual certainty colliding with brutal reality.

What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write?

That’s an interesting question. Makes one pause between drafting impenetrable clauses and plotting equally impenetrable conspiracies, doesn’t it? To be honest, after spending all day wading through dense legal texts and corporate maneuvering that could put an insomniac to sleep, my reading time is usually about escape, but with a certain edge. I gravitate towards things that are intelligent but absorbing. Classic spy thrillers – Le Carré, Greene – that sort of thing. Sharp social satire always goes down well, anything with bite. Sometimes, a really well-plotted historical novel, provided it doesn’t get too sentimental. Essentially, anything clever that takes me far away from contract law but doesn’t insult my intelligence.

What books are on your TBR pile right now?

Ah, the dreaded TBR pile. It looms rather accusingly from my bedside table, a monument to optimistic assumptions about free time that rarely materialise between drafting agreements and placating partners. It’s a constant battle against the sheer volume of interesting things published versus the tyranny of the billable hour. Let’s see… what’s currently gathering dust, waiting for a quiet weekend or a long train journey? There’s the latest Robert Harris, naturally. Always reliable for a clever historical plot that makes you feel intelligent while escaping reality. Think it’s the one about the V2 rockets.

I’ve been meaning to get to Mick Herron’s Slough House series – it captures the sheer absurdity and low-grade menace of certain types of institutional life rather well, which might resonate. Someone recommended a rather bleak-sounding piece of Scandi-noir, Jo Nesbø’s latest, I think. Sometimes, only relentless Nordic gloom will do after a particularly trying negotiation. And, I confess, there’s a proof copy of a debut novel set in the Inns of Court that a hopeful acquaintance pressed on me. High hopes, low expectations, as is usually the case. Honestly, it’s a mix – mostly things that promise a decent plot, sharp writing, and perhaps a pleasingly cynical worldview. Anything to take my mind off the definition of ‘material adverse change’ for a few hours.

What scene in your book was your favorite to write?

It would probably be the sequence where Eleanor and Sebastian finally gain access to the Archivum Superior beneath Corpus Christi College. The process of finding the hidden entrance behind the panel, the descent into that utterly forgotten, silent space thick with dust, and then the moment they discover the Arca – that huge, iron-bound chest. There was a real satisfaction in creating that atmosphere – capturing the weight of centuries, the specific scent of old parchment and decay, the feeling of stepping into a place sealed off from time, right beneath the feet of the modern college. And then, the reveal of the ledger inside the chest, seeing the vast scope of the Society’s hidden history finally exposed… that felt like the pivotal moment where the historical puzzle slammed directly into the present danger.

It’s that contrast, I suppose – the ancient conspiracy laid bare in that cold, secret chamber. It felt like peeling back the respectable facade of history to find something genuinely rotten underneath.

Do you have any quirky writing habits? (lucky mugs, cats on laps, etc.)

Quirky habits? Hardly. Given the slivers of time available for writing, it’s more about ruthless efficiency than charming eccentricities. Time: Only late-night or pre-dawn hours work. When the rest of the world is blessedly switched off. Order: My desk must be surgically tidy. An absolute contrast to the managed chaos of the day. It’s about imposing control where I can. Tools: Sometimes find myself structuring plots on yellow pads, almost like case notes. Habit, I suppose. No lucky mugs or cats involved – far too inefficient. It’s about carving out a focused space, not cultivating endearing oddities.

Do you have a motto, quote, or philosophy you live by?

“Impose order, seize the hour.” It captures the necessity of structuring things meticulously when time is limited and using those stolen moments effectively. Less a philosophy, more a survival strategy, really.

If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be?

Always question the façade. Whether it’s an ancient university, a respected institution, or even a seemingly charming individual, things are rarely just as they appear on the surface. History has hidden passages, power wears masks, and the most respectable veneers can conceal surprising, sometimes dangerous, depths. Look closer. Assume nothing. The real story often lies in the shadows, not the spotlight.

Livia Huntingdon-Jones is the author of the new book The Pelican Contingency

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