Excerpt from The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"First words?"

"To them. When you meet them."

He tried to think. "It'll depend . . ." he said uneasily. "I have no idea what I'm going to find. God will guide me. He'll give me the words I need."

"But when you imagine it . . . the meeting . . . what picture comes to your mind?"

He stared straight ahead. An airport employee dressed in overalls with bright yellow reflective sashes was unlocking a door labeled KEEP LOCKED AT ALL TIMES. "I don't picture it in advance," he said. "You know what I'm like. I can't live through stuff until it happens. And anyway, the way things really turn out is always different from what we might imagine."

She sighed. "I have a picture. A mental picture."

"Tell me."

"Promise you won't make fun of me."

"I promise."

She spoke into his chest. "I see you standing on the shore of a huge lake. It's night and the sky is full of stars. On the water, there's hundreds of small fishing boats, bobbing up and down. Each boat has at least one person in it, some have three or four, but I can't see any of them properly, it's too dark. None of the boats are going anywhere, they've all dropped anchor, because everyone is listening. The air is so calm you don't even have to shout. Your voice just carries over the water."

He stroked her shoulder. "A nice . . ." He was about to say "dream," but it would have sounded dismissive. "Vision."

She made a sound that could have been a croon of assent, or a subdued cry of pain. Her body was heavy against him, but he let her settle and tried not to fidget.

Diagonally opposite Peter and Beatrice's seats was a chocolate and biscuit shop. It was still doing a brisk trade despite the lateness of the hour; five customers stood queued at the checkout, and several others were browsing. Peter watched as a young, well-dressed woman selected an armful of purchases from the display racks. Jumbo-size boxes of pralines, long slim cartons of shortbreads, a Toblerone the size of a truncheon. Hugging them all to her breast, she ambled beyond the pylon supporting the shop's ceiling, as if to check out whether there were more goodies displayed outside. Then she simply walked away, into the swirl of passers-by, toward the ladies' toilets.

"I've just witnessed a crime," Peter murmured into Beatrice's hair. "Have you?"

"Yes."

"I thought you might be dozing off."

"No, I saw her too."

"Should we have nabbed her?"

"Nabbed her? You mean, like, a citizen's arrest?"

"Or at least reported her to the shop staff."

Beatrice pressed her head harder against his shoulder as they watched the woman disappear into the loo. "Would that help anyone?"

"It might remind her that stealing is wrong."

"I doubt it. Getting caught would just make her hate the people catching her."

"So, as Christians, we should just let her get on with stealing?"

"As Christians, we should spread the love of Christ. If we do our job right, we'll create people who don't want to do wrong."

" 'Create'?" "You know what I mean. Inspire. Educate. Show the way." She lifted her head, kissed his brow. "Exactly what you're about to do. On this mission. My brave man."

He blushed, gratefully swallowing the compliment like a thirsty child. He hadn't realized how much he needed it just now. It was so huge inside him he thought his chest would burst.

"I'm going to the prayer room," he said. "Want to come?"

"In a little while. You go ahead."

He stood up and walked without hesitation toward Heathrow's chapel. It was the one place in Heathrow, Gatwick, Edinburgh, Dublin and Manchester airports that he knew how to find without any bother. It was always the ugliest, dowdiest room in the entire complex, a far cry from the glittery hives of commerce. But there was soul in it.

Excerpted from The Book of Strange New Things by Michel Faber. Copyright © 2014 by Michel Faber. Excerpted by permission of Hogarth Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.