Ken Follett solves the mystery of Stonehenge - in his own way

A bulky black umbrella is not welcome here—even if it's Ken Follett holding it protectively over his decoratively graying head. In the middle of the Stonehenge stone circle, it's forbidden to touch the giant rocks with your hand. So, even less is a metal umbrella tip allowed to scrape against the Wonder of the World.

Strictly speaking, it's forbidden to enter this mystical Neolithic site. Last year's approximately 1.4 million visitors circled a path at a respectful distance around the UNESCO World Heritage Site, which poses numerous mysteries for the archaeological community: Who built it? With what technical means? And, above all, why?

For Follett, the guardians of the famous site are making an exception on this rainy morning. The bestselling British author has written a thick novel about the origins of Stonehenge. In the book, you can read a great deal about what science believes it knows about this place today—and even more about what Follett has imagined about the pastoral peoples, farmers, and forest people who are said to have once populated the plains, competing for food and water, and occasionally finding true love along the way. At least, that's how Follett sees it.

At the crack of dawn, the author stands amidst the megalithic structure in southwest England. On this morning, the sun rises at 6:23 a.m. Or at least, it should. Follett gazes up at the gloomy sky with a certain amusement. The noise of cars from the nearby highway drifts in with the rain. And yet, what Follett describes in the novel holds true: "It was easy to imagine the stones as mighty gods, standing in a circle, talking about creation, about thunder and floods, eclipses, earthquakes, and plagues."

Follett recounts what it must have been like around 4,500 years ago, when "ordinary people accomplished the seemingly impossible for eternity." They hauled rocks weighing tons from the West Woods, nearly 30 kilometers away, presumably on wooden sleds and sometimes along specially prepared paths. They erected the stones vertically, worked them, and fitted them with horizontal capstones.

Just for historical reference: the Egyptian Great Pyramid of Cheops was built at almost the same time.

"According to calculations, 200 people were needed to transport a single stone," says the author, sitting in the lee of a stone pillar. "Thousands must have been involved. The wheel hadn't been invented yet, and there were no draft animals." All the participants were actually pulling on one rope—or rather, on many ropes, until they were physically exhausted. It must have been a social movement in the truest sense of the word.

Follett has always been interested in the social forces that drive humankind. And yet, it's surprising: The author is considered an expert in meticulously researched medieval novels. In his most famous book, he had the most magnificent cathedral of the Middle Ages built in the fictional town of Kingsbridge ("The Pillars of the Earth"). He also wrote thrillers about spies and scientists (from "The Needle" to "Frost Fever") and a trilogy about the 20th century ("Fall of the Titans," "Winter of the World," "Children of Liberty"). The total circulation of the 37 books to date: 195 million copies.

Why does Follett go back to a time from which there are no written records? "Well, it was fun because I could imagine things I would otherwise have had to research."

In the Middle Ages, monks would have saved every small invoice from craftsmen during church construction. From the Neolithic period, however, little is known about clothing, family, and sex. "For example, what religion did people follow? Nobody has a clue, so I had to invent a religion for them," says Follett.

And so, in "Stonehenge," he brings to literary life a charismatic priestess named Joia and a flint collector named Seft. Seft is an expert at working with stones, and Joia inspires the hundreds of visitors who have come for Midsummer's Eve with this incredible project, even as malicious tribal leaders—well, throw stones in her path. The old wooden structures are decrepit. A construct for infinity is needed.

But is there evidence of the existence of dancing and singing priestesses at Stonehenge? "No," says Follett, grinning. "But why should only men write history?" Especially since he had already encountered female stonemasons during his research into cathedral construction in the Middle Ages. And besides, his wife Barbara, the former Labour MP and current head of the Follett office, also liked this interpretation.

That Stonehenge was a religious site is beyond doubt for Follett: A sun deity was worshipped here. Perhaps there was also a kind of Stone Age university here? It's quite possible that the pillars served as an oversized calendar. "It's easy to imagine the priestesses placing a clay disc in front of a pillar on the first day of the year, and then moving the disc further and further around, thus counting the passing of time," Follett says. "So in my story, Stonehenge is a calendar."

He, too, knows that this mysterious place cannot be clearly deciphered. "I am aware of my responsibility," he says. "History books sell by the thousands, novels by the millions. This means that more people gain their knowledge from my book than from those of historians. I cannot distort history, as far as it is known."

In fact, he lavishes a great deal of specialist knowledge in the novel, describing the trade in deer antlers and pottery, recounting the strenuous mining of flint, and astonishing sexual practices aimed at improving the gene pool—all in a disconcertingly modern language. Only gradually does the plot gain momentum and Stonehenge take shape. Understandably, Follett omits, for dramatic reasons, the fact that some stones come from present-day Wales, and one particular stone even comes from northeastern Scotland.

Are the experts satisfied with the novel? Archaeologist Heather Sebire nods: "With his novel, Ken opens Stonehenge to a wider audience, which is important for us." Then she smiles mischievously: "Whether dishes were washed in the river after dinner back then, as Ken writes, is doubtful."

When you think about it, Follett hasn't strayed all that far from his favorite themes: In "Stonehenge," just like in "The Pillars of the Earth," a massive sacred building is being built, which is why the publisher gave the book the PR-friendly subtitle "The Cathedral of Time." An umbrella would have been quite welcome in the roofless rock cathedral that morning.

Ken Follett: "Stonehenge: The Cathedral of Time." Translated from English by Rainer Schumacher and Dietmar Schmidt, Lübbe, 669 pages, €36.