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Den smukke, men udstødte Kya Clark er opvokset i ensomhed i marsken i 1950'ernes North Carolina og i den nærliggende landsby kaldes hun marskpigen. Da den lokale skørtejæger findes død, mistænkes Kya for mordet.
BookshelfMonstrosity: Though much about these novels is dissimilar, both offer a historical Southern setting and a farcical trial that illuminates the small-minded nature of a town's inhabitants. Both atmospheric novels also feature young female protagonists who come of age under challenging circumstances.… (mere)
dmenon90: Similar marsh setting, young girl protagonist, complicated relationships with men, themes of danger and survival. But the Davidson book is magical realism.
BookshelfMonstrosity: Both coming of age stories are character driven and center on young women living on the outskirts of society. Vivid imagery of locales in the southern United States feature prominently.
shaunie: Both have a girl growing up in unusual, deprived circumstances at the centre of the story. My Absolute Darling, whilst flawed, is far better written.
The perfect novel? Perhaps. It's got something for everyone: a coming-of-age story about a young friendless girl, Kya, abandoned by her family and siblings, who has to make her own way in the world as 'Marsh girl', living in a shack on the shoreline. It's a mystery story. Though this element unfolds slowly, once it developed, it had me gripped until the very last page. It's beautifully evocative nature writing too, informed yet lyrical, capturing the soul of a North Carolina marshland shoreline rich in bird and other wildlife.
This is a book about Kya herself, and about the community where she grew up in the 1950s and 60s, with its racial divisions (Colored Town is on the outskirts). None of the other characters ever moves as centre stage as Kya herself, but Tate and Chase, who at different times date her, as well as her protector, storekeeper Jumpin' and his wife are convincingly portrayed.
Over a seventeen year period, the book alternates between Kya's early childhood and her young adulthood. As a child she has to contend with her absent mother's disappearance, a drunken inadequate father, and learn how to fend for herself. As an adult she learns that friends, lovers - and she has few enough - can't always be trusted. The mystery, unveiled in the book's prologue, unfolds only in the latter part of the book, but is satisfyingly absorbing edge-of-the-seat stuff.
Perhaps the last pages were just a little too neat, and resolved just a little bit too easily so many of Kya's difficulties of trust and relating to fellow-humans. But surely she deserved to live happily-ever-after?
This book seems to demand to be made into a film: it's a highly pictorial book whose scenes I found easy to visualise. An unusual and convincing story, beautifully written. ( )
This book had me hooked at the prologue—no buried lead here. Coming straight out of a different book that took several weeks because it was SO slow to get into, this was especially refreshing.
This. Book. Though. The prose is pure poetry (but then as an added bonus, there’s also *actual* poetry). I got lost (in the best immersive way, not in a confused way) amid the vivid descriptions of the setting. I found myself reacting out loud to the power of the words at activating my senses. Seriously, when a book makes you go, “Mmm!” out loud and it’s not describing delicious food, that’s just plain good writing.
And then the way the story unfolded between timelines, closing in on itself as more was revealed—just brilliantly done. I didn’t want to put it down. This is one of those stories that sticks with you for a while after finishing it, echoing through your mind like memories of something you experienced firsthand. I hope to find many more books that have the same effect. ( )
1952 The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh's moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog. The palmetto patches stood unusually quiet except for the low, flap of the heron's wings lifting from the lagoon. And then, Kya, only six at the time, heard the screen door slap. Standing on the stool, she stopped scrubbing grits from the pot and lowered it into the basin of worn out suds. No sounds now but her own breathing. Who had left the shack? Not Ma. She never let the door slam.
I picked this book up on a whim and I was so pleasantly surprised. If the beautiful descriptions of the marsh landscapes don't draw you in then the courtroom drama definitely will. It is an inspiring coming-of-age story intertwined with a nail-biting murder mystery. The heavy themes of loving nature made this an even more fun read as it felt like I was exploring the marsh with Kya. ( )
Steeped in the rhythms and shadows of the coastal marshes of North Carolina’s Outer Banks, this fierce and hauntingly beautiful novel centers on...Kya’s heartbreaking story of learning to trust human connections, intertwine[d] with a gripping murder mystery, revealing savage truths. An astonishing debut.
A painfully beautiful first novel that is at once a murder mystery, a coming-of-age narrative and a celebration of nature....Owens here surveys the desolate marshlands of the North Carolina coast through the eyes of an abandoned child. And in her isolation that child makes us open our own eyes to the secret wonders—and dangers—of her private world.
tilføjet af Dariah | RedigerThe New York Times Book Review
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
To Amanda, Margaret, and Barbara
Here’s to’d ya If I never see’d ya I never knowed ya. I see’d ya I knowed ya I loved ya, Forever.
Første ord
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Marsh is not swamp.
Citater
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Crows can't keep secrets any better than mud; once they see something curious in the forest they have to tell everybody.
"There are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot."
The shack sat back from the palmettos, which sprawled across sand flats to a necklace of green lagoons and, in the distance, all the marsh beyond. Miles of blade-grass so tough it grew in salt water, interrupted only by trees so bent they wore the shape of the wind.
Mostly, the village seemed tired of arguing with the elements, and simply sagged.
The rain eased. A single drop, here then there, shook a leaf like the flick of a cat's ear.
Saltwater marsh, some say, can eat a cement block for breakfast.
Barkley Cove served its religion hard-boiled and deep-fried.
Kya bit her bottom lip as she watched. Wondering how it would feel to be among them. Their joy created an aura almost visible against the deepening sky.
The scattered encampment was in deep woods, back from the sea, with no breeze, and "more skeeters than the whole state of Jawja."
Finally, between dusk and dawn, that time when the shadows were unsure, she walked back toward the shack by way of the oak clearing.
A great blue heron is the color of gray mist reflecting in blue water.
Kya stood and walked into the night, into the creamy light of a three-quarter moon. The marsh's soft air fell silklike around her shoulders. The moonlight chose an unexpected path through the pines, laying shadows about in rhymes. She strolled like a sleepwalker as the moon pulled herself naked from the waters and climbed limb by limb through the oaks. The slick mud of the lagoon shore glowed in the intense light, and hundreds of fireflies dotted the woods.
Here in daylight, reality drifted ahead, waiting, and her throat dried.
Closing his eyes, he played "Shenandoah," his palm fluttering on the instrument like a bird trapped against glass. It was a lovely, plaintive sound, like a note from a faraway home.
With Chase, she felt exposed, as if someone were filleting her like a fish.
She laughed for his sake, something she'd never done. Giving away another piece of herself just to have someone else.
Like everyone else, he had heard stories about the Marsh Girl, and over the years had seen her occasionally, either drifting sleekly through waterways as part of the current or scurrying from the grocery like a coon from a rubbish bin.
She took her bedding to the beach and sat with the gulls. They paid her no mind, preening outstretched wings before settling down on the sand like feathered stones. As they chortled softly and tucked their heads for the night, she lay as close to them as she could get. But even among their soft cooing and ruffling, Kya couldn't sleep. Mostly she tossed from one side to the other, sitting up each time the wind mimicked footfalls.
Dawn surf roared on a slapping wind that stung her cheeks.
Sidste ord
Oplysninger fra den engelske Almen VidenRedigér teksten, så den bliver dansk.
Den smukke, men udstødte Kya Clark er opvokset i ensomhed i marsken i 1950'ernes North Carolina og i den nærliggende landsby kaldes hun marskpigen. Da den lokale skørtejæger findes død, mistænkes Kya for mordet.
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This is a book about Kya herself, and about the community where she grew up in the 1950s and 60s, with its racial divisions (Colored Town is on the outskirts). None of the other characters ever moves as centre stage as Kya herself, but Tate and Chase, who at different times date her, as well as her protector, storekeeper Jumpin' and his wife are convincingly portrayed.
Over a seventeen year period, the book alternates between Kya's early childhood and her young adulthood. As a child she has to contend with her absent mother's disappearance, a drunken inadequate father, and learn how to fend for herself. As an adult she learns that friends, lovers - and she has few enough - can't always be trusted. The mystery, unveiled in the book's prologue, unfolds only in the latter part of the book, but is satisfyingly absorbing edge-of-the-seat stuff.
Perhaps the last pages were just a little too neat, and resolved just a little bit too easily so many of Kya's difficulties of trust and relating to fellow-humans. But surely she deserved to live happily-ever-after?
This book seems to demand to be made into a film: it's a highly pictorial book whose scenes I found easy to visualise. An unusual and convincing story, beautifully written. (