The Crows of Beara
By Julie Christine Johnson
Genre: Fiction, Climate Fiction, Eco-Lit, Women's Fiction
When Annie Crowe travels from Seattle to a small Irish village to promote a new copper mine, her public relations career is hanging in the balance. Struggling to overcome her troubled past and a failing marriage, Annie is eager for a chance to rebuild her life.
Yet when she arrives on the remote Beara Peninsula, Annie learns that the mine would encroach on the nesting ground of an endangered bird, the Red-billed Chough, and many in the community are fiercely protective of this wild place. Among them is Daniel Savage, a local artist battling demons of his own, who has been recruited to help block the mine.
Despite their differences, Annie and Daniel find themselves drawn toward each other, and, inexplicably, they begin to hear the same voice--a strange, distant whisper of Gaelic, like sorrow blowing in the wind.
Guided by ancient mythology and challenged by modern problems, Annie must confront the half-truths she has been sent to spread and the lies she has been telling herself. Most of all, she must open her heart to the healing power of this rugged land and its people.
Beautifully crafted with environmental themes, a lyrical Irish setting, and a touch of magical realism, The Crows of Beara is a breathtaking novel of how the nature of place encompasses everything that we are.
____________________________
When I
submitted those final bits and pieces of THE
CROWS OF BEARA in February—the
Author’s Note, book club questions, my updated bio—I hesitated over the
dedication.
For Jon
I wondered
then where he and I would be in September when the novel released. A flutter of
doubt examined, and then pushed away. Things were getting better. He’d stopped
drinking. I dared to hope.
When I
submitted the final proofs in June, I had the opportunity to make that one
small change. Delete the dedication. I knew then that September would find me
alone. But I left it as it was. The present, the future, could not change the
past.
When I
wrote the first drafts of The Crows of
Beara in 2014 and 2015, substance abuse had touched me, but only
tangentially. Friends had shared their own struggles or that of loved ones, and
much of Annie’s experiences were informed by those conversations.
But last
year, as I worked with my publishing editors on revisions of Crows, I fell in love. And experienced
first-hand the destructive nature of addiction.
My work
has always dealt with difficult issues; themes of loss and grief—the death of a
spouse in my first novel, In Another Life;
child loss in the novel I now have on submission; war and divorce in several of
my short stories. As a writer of women’s fiction, I tell the truth about our
lives, but I write with a sense of wonder and hope, filtering harsh realities
through the lens of fantasy, magical realism, and romance. My greatest
motivation is to tell a compelling story, with characters who touch readers’
hearts. I have always pulled from my own experiences to create my fictional worlds,
but never before have I lived one of my stories in real time, making revisions
as I uncovered the truth about my characters—truths revealed in the person I
had chosen to walk beside.
Addiction
is a result of complex genetic, environmental and developmental factors. There
is no one-size-fits-all approach to treatment. In the course of understanding
how best to support my partner without enabling his behavior, I encountered
research demonstrating how addictive behaviors are development disabilities and
learning disorders, and that a focus on the causes, not the symptoms, of
addiction is a more effective route to change. In The Crows of Beara, Annie and Daniel find solace and relief in
attending AA meetings. This has been the default approach for decades, but the
12-step program has its limitations. As loved ones, we can advocate for humane,
empathetic treatment that will allow people with addiction to find new ways to
cope, replacing destructive addictions with healthy behaviors. Tough love,
shame and punishment only serve to tear down what few reserves people with
addiction have. Compassion, consistency, love, and support work in service of behavioral
change.
A
redemptive ending is easy to come by in fiction; much harder in real life. Our
relationship ended, coinciding with the end of months of sobriety. I have to
accept my own limitations to affect change in another’s life, but I do not regret
my capacity to love. I will continue to pray for this beautiful soul, to hope
for his healing. His experiences brought truth to my work. The dedication
stands in tribute to all that he has lived and shared with me, to the man I
believe he can become.
____________________________
Julie's short stories and essays have appeared in several journals, including Emerge Literary Journal; Mud Season Review; Cirque: A Literary Journal of the North Pacific Rim; Cobalt; River Poets Journal, in the print anthologies Stories for Sendai; Up, Do: Flash Fiction by Women Writers; and Three Minus One: Stories of Love and Loss; and featured on the flash fiction podcast No Extra Words. She holds undergraduate degrees in French and Psychology and a Master’s in International Affairs. Julie leads writing workshops and seminars and offers story/developmental editing and writer coaching services.
Named a "standout debut" by the Library Journal, "Very highly recommended" by Historical Novels Review and declared "Delicate and haunting, romantic and mystical" by bestselling author Greer Macallister, Julie's debut novel In Another Life went into a second printing three days after its February 2, 2016 release.
A finalist for The Siskiyou Prize for New Environmental Literature, judged by PEN/Faulkner author and Man Booker Award nominee Karen Joy Fowler, Julie's second novel The Crows of Beara was acquired by Ashland Creek Press and will take flight on September 15, 2017.
A hiker, yogi, and wine geek, Julie makes her home on the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington state.
Links:
On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/juliechristinejohnson/
On Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieChristineJ
Website: juliechristinejohnson.com
On Amazon: http://amzn.to/2o4RnJs
On Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2pD6lDz
On Powell’s: http://bit.ly/2grs41i
On B&N: http://bit.ly/2pDlbda
On Twitter: https://twitter.com/JulieChristineJ
Website: juliechristinejohnson.com
On Amazon: http://amzn.to/2o4RnJs
On Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2pD6lDz
On Powell’s: http://bit.ly/2grs41i
On B&N: http://bit.ly/2pDlbda
____________________________
EXCERPT:
It took him longer than he anticipated to find a space near the gallery’s back loading door and to bring the last of his pieces inside, but when Daniel walked into the gallery, Annie was standing transfixed in front of the sculpture he’d titled Grian/Gealach—Sunrise/Sunset—her hand reaching for the delicate spheres of metal. She withdrew her hand before touching the piece, though her body leaned in still.
“Go on. It’s all right,” he said over her shoulder, removing a pair of stained and torn leather work gloves.
She seemed not to register him. Then she turned and nodded at the gloves he clutched in one hand. “Do you work here?”
“I’m delivering pieces for the installation.” He waved around the exhibit space. “We’ve set up just a few so far, but they give you an idea.”
“Is the artist a friend of yours?”
“Some days, yes. Some days I really can’t stand the sight of the bastard. But mostly we get along.” He winked and motioned her toward the sculpture. “Really, it’s meant for all the senses, not just visual. Go on.”
She drew the tip of her finger down one large round of metal. It blazed like firelight, catching the dipping sun, but the metal was cool. “It’s beautiful.”
“I like for people to handle these pieces—I want them to feel the texture and temperature of the materials.” Annie turned in surprise, but Daniel pretended not to notice. “Fingerprints leave marks and oil—that’s a good thing, at least for my work. People change my art as much as I hope it changes them.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I do the guiding to keep a steady income coming in, but this is meant to be my day job.”
Giant parcels wrapped in quilted moving blankets leaned against the walls; only one other piece had been unwrapped, a protective cover draped over the corners. It was a tall, narrow triptych of patinated metal with a background of aquamarine. Gracing the foreground was a long hawthorn stem of leaves and berries that shimmered and waved in a silhouette of red and gold.
“This is copper,” she said in wonder. “You work with copper.”
“Copper mostly. Some bronze, chrome. I’m just starting in with glass—studying with an artist out of a cooperative here in Kenmare.”
“But, Daniel. Copper.”
“Recycled copper. I use discarded materials, from building sites mostly. Ironic, right? I don’t want the mine in my backyard, but I’m willing to exploit it nonetheless—is that what you’re thinking? I’m not so naive as to think we shouldn’t have mining.”
He pulled the cover away from the sculpture’s sharp edges and let it drop to the floor. The hawthorn was in a cow pasture where he often sat, watching for the Red-billed Chough that foraged for seeds in the manure. “But in my own way, maybe I can show that the earth’s resources aren’t ours for the taking wherever, whenever we want. Art is a way to connect people with their environment without polarizing, without politicizing. It can be used to that purpose, but it belongs to everyone. I want my art to show nature as a cultural artifact. I made a very deliberate decision to use what’s already been taken from the earth—what had been stripped from Beara’s earth more than a century ago. Maybe that is my political statement.”
At that moment, hearing the words in his own voice, speaking his heart out loud, Daniel made his decision. But it was something he needed to sit with, to form more fully on his own. And he couldn’t forget, no matter how enchanting this woman was, who she was, why their paths had crossed.
“Go on. It’s all right,” he said over her shoulder, removing a pair of stained and torn leather work gloves.
She seemed not to register him. Then she turned and nodded at the gloves he clutched in one hand. “Do you work here?”
“I’m delivering pieces for the installation.” He waved around the exhibit space. “We’ve set up just a few so far, but they give you an idea.”
“Is the artist a friend of yours?”
“Some days, yes. Some days I really can’t stand the sight of the bastard. But mostly we get along.” He winked and motioned her toward the sculpture. “Really, it’s meant for all the senses, not just visual. Go on.”
She drew the tip of her finger down one large round of metal. It blazed like firelight, catching the dipping sun, but the metal was cool. “It’s beautiful.”
“I like for people to handle these pieces—I want them to feel the texture and temperature of the materials.” Annie turned in surprise, but Daniel pretended not to notice. “Fingerprints leave marks and oil—that’s a good thing, at least for my work. People change my art as much as I hope it changes them.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I do the guiding to keep a steady income coming in, but this is meant to be my day job.”
Giant parcels wrapped in quilted moving blankets leaned against the walls; only one other piece had been unwrapped, a protective cover draped over the corners. It was a tall, narrow triptych of patinated metal with a background of aquamarine. Gracing the foreground was a long hawthorn stem of leaves and berries that shimmered and waved in a silhouette of red and gold.
“This is copper,” she said in wonder. “You work with copper.”
“Copper mostly. Some bronze, chrome. I’m just starting in with glass—studying with an artist out of a cooperative here in Kenmare.”
“But, Daniel. Copper.”
“Recycled copper. I use discarded materials, from building sites mostly. Ironic, right? I don’t want the mine in my backyard, but I’m willing to exploit it nonetheless—is that what you’re thinking? I’m not so naive as to think we shouldn’t have mining.”
He pulled the cover away from the sculpture’s sharp edges and let it drop to the floor. The hawthorn was in a cow pasture where he often sat, watching for the Red-billed Chough that foraged for seeds in the manure. “But in my own way, maybe I can show that the earth’s resources aren’t ours for the taking wherever, whenever we want. Art is a way to connect people with their environment without polarizing, without politicizing. It can be used to that purpose, but it belongs to everyone. I want my art to show nature as a cultural artifact. I made a very deliberate decision to use what’s already been taken from the earth—what had been stripped from Beara’s earth more than a century ago. Maybe that is my political statement.”
At that moment, hearing the words in his own voice, speaking his heart out loud, Daniel made his decision. But it was something he needed to sit with, to form more fully on his own. And he couldn’t forget, no matter how enchanting this woman was, who she was, why their paths had crossed.
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