3.5★
“. . . they were clad in Adam’s livery, save that their fig leaf was a scrap of hide slung from a tie at their waists.
. . .
But it was his light temper and his easy laugh that drew me close to him, over time, until I forgot he was a half-naked, sassafras-scented heathen anointed with raccoon grease. He was, quite simply, my dearest friend.”
Bethia makes friends with a ’salvage’ (yes, with an L), as they are called throughout the book, and names him “Caleb”, while he calls her “Storm Eyes”. Geraldine Brooks is one of the best when it comes to plucking her stories straight out of the past. You could be forgiven for thinking you are reading a diary or true account of an English-American woman of the 1600s. Bethia loves the island, which is something she finds she has in common with this native whose home her people have taken over.
“We are taught early here to see Nature as a foe to be subdued. But I came, by stages, to worship it. You could say that for me, this island and her bounties became the first of my false gods, the original sin that begot so much idolatry.”
My usual complaint about Brooks’s otherwise wonderful historical fiction stands – there is no glossary and no way to look up the actual meaning of some words. I feel pretty certain that Brooks herself knows exactly what she means, and it’s an unnecessary nuisance for readers to have to guess or stop reading and start researching.
The words aren’t usually critical to the story, but some are used so often ’bever’, for example, that I want to know where it came from. Of course I assumed it may have evolved into ‘beverage’, but I think it’s actually more like “afternoon tea” for many people, (or “a little something” for Winnie the Pooh).
Back to Bethia. She’s a girl growing up on what is now Martha’s Vineyard, an island off the coast of Massachusetts and now a favourite holiday spot of wealthy, influential Americans. She loves nothing better than galloping around on Speckle, the family horse, and absorbing what Caleb has to teach her about the island and the ocean.
“I had learned that we saw it in quite different ways. He had taught me, long ago, how to see a school of fish moving through the water deep below the surface— how a certain change of light and dark could disclose them and reveal where one must throw out a net. Because of him, the sea to me was no longer an opaque mystery, but a most useful lens.”
Her family knows nothing of him, of course. She is also not supposed to be listening to the lessons her minister father gives his son and others, but something she learned from her mother (and had trouble practising!) was how and when to hold her tongue.
“She was like a butterfly, full of color and vibrancy when she chose to open her wings, yet hardly visible when she closed them.
. . .
My mother taught me the use of silence.”
She does put that advice to good use by being quiet and slow when setting and clearing the table while the menfolk are discussing serious events, and by doing so, she melts into the background and hears and learns far more than her father intends.
He loves her and her quick wit, but he despairs for her future, hoping she'll marry well. The book concentrates on her desire to learn and on the Native Americans being invited to learn and study at the new Harvard College (from the age of 16). England is determined to make inroads into the resident population and funds their education, but after the “crossing” for study (from the island and onto the mainland), the book takes another turn.
I enjoyed the characters and the story, but I was never completely absorbed in it. The stilted language makes it feel authentic but causes me to see too many words as terms rather than as phrases and sentences telling me a story. Might be just me.
I was fascinated by the information about the Wampanoag people and how they lived, and I still enjoy her fine writing. I completely understand the feeling of a
“. . . day so sweet and still that I moved through it as if floating in a bath of honey. It had rained hard the night before; that kind of heavy, sharp-scented summer rain that lays the dust and washes the pollen from the air, leaving everything rinsed and bright.”
If you like reading about early America, this is a great place to start. But keep a search engine handy for vocabulary if you’re that sort of reader.