Publisher: Sourcebooks
Date of publicaion: January 2015
Stunning… richly complex and unpredictable.” —Historical Novel Review
Marged Brice is 134 years old. She’d be ready to go, if it weren’t for
Perdita . . .
The Georgian Bay lighthouse’s single eye keeps watch over storm and
calm, and Marged grew up in its shadow, learning the language of the wind and
the trees. There’s blustery beauty there, where sea and sky incite each other
to mischief… or worse…
Garth Hellyer of the Longevity Project doesn’t believe Marged was a
girl coming of age in the 1890s, but reading her diaries in the same wild and
unpredictable location where she wrote them might be enough to cast doubt on
his common sense.
Everyone knows about death. It’s life that’s much more mysterious…
What inspired you to become a
writer?
For many years I thought about writing a novel, but I wasn’t quite sure how to actually start. It was not for lack of ideas or motivation! It was more a problem of finding the time and a space to explore a creative process—and it had to be found from within a very busy schedule of fulltime work and parenting.
I’ve since
talked to other writers about this dynamic: of trying to establish creative
time out of the bits and prices of our lives that are somehow seen as
“leftovers,” i.e., as time we have after we’ve done everything else. The thing I discovered was to stop thinking about
fiction writing in terms of “left-overs.” Once I took it as a serious and
central part of my life, I began to find the time for it.
It hasn’t
been easy (!), but this approach certainly helped me to start….and has kept me writing.
Where do you come up with the ideas
for your books?
There were many sources of inspiration for Perdita: Greek mythology, Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, my own interest in aging and longevity, to name a few.One important source, however, was an old photograph. It was of the lighthouse where I was staying for a summer vacation, but taken over 100 years earlier.
Cabot Head
Lighthouse, northern Ontario, Canada, c. 1900.
From the
very first, I found myself drawn to the young woman standing in the doorway
looking out across the landscape and contemplating the remoteness of her
location. Somehow I felt as if I could hear her thoughts. Yet it seemed to me
that the wind was pulling at her skirts, inviting her to step out into the wild
beauty of her “home.”
I have
often wondered what the woman in the photograph did. In deciding to write a
novel, I made my choice and stepped out into the “wild”….
More on the Cabot Head Lighthouse at: http://perditanovel.com/cabot-head-1888/
What exciting projects are waiting
in the wings?
I have a
second novel finished (titled “Immanence”) and I am also working on sequel to
“Perdita” (tentatively titled “Lonely Island.”) In the second volume, Marged
Brice journeys to a lighthouse on a remote island and is asked to assist in the
care of an ill and bed-ridden light-keepers’s wife. George, Andrew Reid, Tad,
Allan and Dr. McTavish all reappear in the story, and there are some new
characters in the form of (possibly) unsavory passengers rescued during a
shipwreck….
Excerpt from Perdita:
MARGED BRICE
Cape Prius—1897
July 3
Seven hours passed, and the waves were—Mr. Thompson said they were
fifteen feet or more in front of the Lodge. The rain had not ceased, but the
sky had turned an evil gray, and we heard thunder far off in the distance….
“The storm is moving fast,” said Mr. Thompson, and he shook his head
glumly.
I began to pray fervently. It was but three o’clock in the afternoon,
but the entire sky had turned a livid gray, and it seemed as if night had
dropped upon us like a curtain falling. Now we could see lightning blaze across
the horizon….
The rain came down in sheets, and the waves took on an even more
ominous and angry aspect. My heart sank as I thought of the boats in that
water.
Then—“There,” shouted Mr. Thompson, gesturing toward the eastern
skyline.
And appearing suddenly from around the Point, we could see the outline
of a large boat. Its foremast was rolling horribly—up and down, back and forth—and
we could see, as it neared, that the first jib sheet was ripped to pieces. The
mainsail was shredding rapidly in the wind, and the waves were pushing it
toward the shore, where it would surely be smashed into pieces against the
rocks. We saw the men lowering the lifeboats and then push off, desperately
making for shore.
“Allan,” I cried. He had run out into the storm without warning toward
the boats, and I leaped out after him.
About the author:
Hilary Scharper, who lives in Toronto, spent a decade as a lighthouse
keeper on the Bruce Peninsula with her husband. She also is the author of a
story collection, Dream Dresses, and God and Caesar at the Rio Grande
(University of Minnesota Press) which won the Choice Outstanding Academic Book
Award. She received her Ph.D. from Yale and is currently Associate Professor of
Cultural Anthropology at the University of Toronto.
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