A personal aside: on memory, generations, and unanswered questions

 During these last few years, during which and since I lost my parents, I've often thought about the questions I did and didn't ask them. Some, that have to do with my father's childhood and Army days, I've been able to ask my uncle Bert. For the latter days of my mother's childhood and beyond, I could ask my uncle Arian. But when it comes to my own childhood, there's no one left. My brother, who would have been the best if not necessarily an objective witness, died in 2005.

It occurred to me this morning that along with many details of my earliest past, I'm forgetting my far more recent past. When I try to remember my children's childhoods, whether to answer a question or not, I often can't. Either I can't remember to which child a detail pertains, or I can't retrieve it at all. So even if I could still ask my parents my various questions, they might not be able to answer me. I'm not sure whether that's a comfort, exactly, but it at least softens some regrets.

Excerpt from FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS: magical settings

Welcome back to my series of excerpts from my upcoming fantasy novel Far From Mortal Realms! Today I'm combining two excerpts (or three, if snipping some language in the middle of the first turns it into two). These excerpts convey something of the magic, in both the literal and figurative sense, of the Fair Folk realms Abe and Adira are allowed to visit in the course of their law practice.

The first begins a few hours after the excerpt I posted previously. Abe is telling Adira where they're due to go next.

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How would you like to talk to some trees?”

“You mean dryads? Doesn’t that rather depend on the particular dryads?”

Dad’s grin made a welcome contrast to the fae version they’d both been enduring from the viscount that morning. “I don’t, in fact, mean dryads. This particular grove of trees has no interest in mimicking either human form or the more common faerie configurations. They typically communicate via the shifting patterns of their leaves in sunlight – year-round leaves in, for the most part, year-round sunlight. Not even other fae can understand it. They would like to welcome some sort of flowering plants, such as are common in our own fields and forests – rather than any fae equivalents that would have their own possibly incompatible personalities. They wish us to advise them on the best choice and assist in obtaining the necessary starter crop.”

Adira couldn’t stop her eyes from going wide. “And in order to do this . . . .”

Dad actually rubbed his hands together. “In order that we may communicate with them conveniently, they will temporarily grant us the ability to understand their language of light and shadow.”

How long would this job last? Oh, how tempting to drag her feet so it would last longer . . . . 

[snip]

Several hours later, back at the office, Adira drifted somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion. Even with the trees’ grant of comprehension, keeping track of the sometimes minute changes in light patterns required constant attention. But how lovely were the patterns, and how subtly different the silent voices of the various trees!

After discussing in what ways the trees had become dissatisfied with their ageless copses and glens, and confirming that actual flowers were preferred to moss, they had settled on bluebells. Someone would need to plant the initial bulbs, and it remained to be decided whether these workers would be mortal or fae – which meant Adira and her father would not yet have to relinquish their knowledge of the language. As for the patience needed to let the bluebells spread, trees had patience aplenty, and it pleased them that the flowers would be connected by a system of roots.

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Later that afternoon, Abe and Adira move on to their next appointment. This excerpt begins by describing the portal the lawyers use to travel from their office to Fair Folk realms.

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It was always visible to them – and to Mom, maybe because she was a member of the family. Anyone else, or at least any other mortal, would see nothing there, and would walk through unaffected unless she or Dad intended them to do otherwise. What met Adira’s eyes, as usual, was an oval ring hovering an inch or so above the ground, just big enough for her to step through without ducking. It sparkled in ever-shifting colors in her peripheral vision, more like mist when she looked at it head-on, and showed a changing series of vistas. Only when they came within a yard of it would that view change to their destination. But what greeted her this afternoon was not so much a sight as the sensation of wind, and fine sprays of water on the wind, and the smell of salt.

She stopped in her tracks, only to find Dad grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.

They were standing on what might be called a cliff, about hill-height. And they were facing the sea, that salty wind in their hair, with small waves rolling in and breaking on a beach of silvery sand and scattered shells.

Adira turned to her father. “Dad, who are we waiting for? Are they coming by boat?”

He laughed, not mocking her but as if delight had filled him to overflowing and come out as laughter. “Wait just a minute, sweetheart, and you’ll see!”

She looked out at the horizon, breathing deep of the sea-scented air, and saw something emerging, or growing, or approaching. She couldn’t make out any details – and then she could, because she saw the backlit, translucent jade of waves, waves rushing toward them, waves growing taller and taller, until she was sure she and Dad would be drenched or even swept off the cliff – 

And then the waves stopped, suddenly, just behind their far smaller counterparts breaking on the beach. Two enormous standing waves faced them, topped with high white crests ruffling in the wind and shedding spray all around.

Her jaw dropped, confronted with grandeur; and then snapped shut again, as she imagined surfing those waves, and shut the thought down in case these formidable fae, for so these two waves must be, could somehow sense that desire.

Dad, beside her, spoke into the hiss of the small waves that mounted the shingle and drew back again. “Hello again, Your Majesties. As we discussed, I have brought my daughter, who is my equal partner in all that we do. Let me make her known to you as Valentina, which in one of our tongues means ‘strong and powerful.’”

A rumble, not quite a roar, carried across the gulf between waves and cliff. “Welcome, counselors. . . ."

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The ocean rulers in the preceding scene were inspired by this extraordinary photograph by Darragh Gorman of Lighthouse Industries. If you're on Instagram, I recommend looking  him up there.

Of course, setting is only the beginning of story, and traumatic events can take place in marvelous places. The next excerpt will be the beginning. . . .

To see where the story takes these characters, you can order the book here and start reading on September 15th. 

Musings on Omar Khayyam and George Eliot

 Happy Sunday! I'm taking a break from the series of excerpts I've been posting from my upcoming novel, in order to share this morning's minor literary epiphany.

Douglas Murray has a Sunday column called "Things Worth Remembering," available (among other places) on The Free Press. This morning, the column discussed Persian poet Omar Khayyam and his famous work The Rubaiyat, brilliantly translated by English poet Edward FitzGerald. While Murray emphasizes the extent to which this collection of quatrains follows a "seize the day" theme, he also quoted one with quite a different message.

LXXI

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit

  Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

I've read this poem more than once over the years, but only this morning did it strike me how similar its point is to that sometimes conveyed by another famous author.

I've long been an admirer of British author George Eliot. One of her rarer qualities is the willingness and ability to impress on the reader a particular uncomfortable reality: some choices, some actions or failures to act, are irrevocable. Good will, good intentions, good reputation, good self-image can do nothing to undo certain decisions. The novel in which she most directly focuses on this fact is, I believe, Adam Bede. (For a description that includes spoilers, see Wikipedia. I was surprised to note, in that write-up, that this was Eliot's first published novel.)

Are there other authors you know about who also confront readers with this fact? Let me know in the comments! 

First more traditional excerpt from my upcoming fantasy novel

 I'm glad I thought of starting this series of excerpts from Far From Mortal Realms with the book's Dedication. Now, however, it's time for excerpts more than a few words long.

The first such excerpt comes from Chapter 1. Abe and his daughter Adira, partners in a law practice that helps humans make contracts with the Fair Folk more safely, are discussing the morning's agenda. This passage introduces not  only Abe and Adira but an important faerie character. It also gives a few examples of the kind of loopholes the lawyers habitually identify and close.

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“Let’s move on. What’s our schedule for the day?”

Abe looked over at the clock again. “In a little more than half an hour, we have a dedicated gardener on a quest to capture the blue ribbon for his not-yet-prizewinning tomatoes. He’s heard about a previous winner getting an assist from the Fair Folk and wants us to negotiate something similar.”

Adira shook her head, setting her black hair bouncing. “What, didn’t he hear about what happened afterward?”

Abe grimaced and replied, “As I recall, after that fellow’s garden reached his roof in a giant tangle and lifted it free of the walls, he had the plants torn out – twice – and then paid even more for the fae to make them disappear. But perhaps our client is less up to date than we are on fae-related news. At least he has the good sense to hire us to get him reasonable terms. Any thoughts?”

Adira swallowed the final bite of her brownie and said, “We can see whether he grows anything that any of the Fair Folk – hold on, with whom are we negotiating, given how many different parties could provide this service?”

Abe smirked. “Your favorite middleman, or middle-fae I should say, has agreed to shop our client’s offer around.” He ducked as Adira grabbed a muffin and pretended to throw it at him. Adira had little patience for the preferred glamour and habits of the being who styled itself the Viscount of Bloomingshire, though both professional courtesy and simple self-preservation required her to show it the most exquisite politeness.

As he expected, Adira put aside her show of temper and focused on the problem at hand. “So. We can see whether any of . . . the viscount’s contacts would like some of the client’s seeds or seedlings, whether of tomatoes or some other crop. Aren’t tomatoes related to some poisonous plant? That might appeal. Or he could offer to grow some fae plants and provide opportunities for his neighbors to see them. That lets everyone involved show off. Of course, he’d have to make sure not to eat any, nor to let anyone else do so.”

Abe chewed his lip. “We’d have to include a clause saying that whatever plants they provided wouldn’t shape themselves into a faerie ring and transport our gardener or his guests anywhere. And we’ll set reasonable growth limits, and exclude any dangerous or unsightly mutations. Anything else we’ll have to watch out for?”

Adira tossed her head and said, “We’ll give the final language a good going-over, of course, but I think our usual boilerplate will take care of the other hazards. Though I fully expect our dear middle-fae to suggest some of it is unnecessary – say, the clauses that protect us as well as our client.”

“Do you, really, after the dozens of times he’s dealt with us? Would you care to make a small wager?”

Adira waved away the offer, took a sniff of her muffin – carrot and ginger, worth the smelling, if he did say so – and said, “What’s next?”

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I'll include the preorder link with all excerpts, in case that excerpt is the one that intrigues someone enough to follow the link. Here it is.

See you all next excerpt! 

How I chose my upcoming novel's Dedication photo

 My fantasy novel Far From Mortal Realms comes out on September 15th. The Kindle edition should be available that day, and with a little luck, the paperback will be as well. (As for other ebook formats, I haven't yet decided whether to put the book in Kindle Unlimited, which would at least temporarily prevent me from offering them.) Over the three weeks between now and that release date, I'll be posting some excerpts from the book. In a way, this is one of them.

The photo I've chosen for the book's Dedication is a cropped version of my father's official Army portrait. I'm not sure I ever, in the sixty-one years I knew him, saw him looking this stern. Nevertheless, his expression doesn't really surprise me. Dad and his immediate family had escaped Nazi Germany shortly before Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass), which marked the transition between "few German Jews can find a way to escape the Nazis" and "escape is essentially impossible." He was fifteen at that time. Years later, after a year or so in Palestine (as it was then known) and another three or so in New York, he and one of his brothers went back to Europe with the U.S. Army. From what he and others have told me, he saw himself as a sort of avenging angel. This portrait shows as much.

The text of the Dedication doesn't refer directly to this time in Dad's life, but to his later life as a father. It reads:

"To my father, who always strove to protect and rescue his children."

Abe, one of the two protagonists of Far From Mortal Realms, is much older when the book starts than my father was in this portrait. But the strength and determination in the photo strike me as appropriate to illustrate the qualities of a father resolved to do whatever he must, whatever the dangers to be incurred and the obstacles to be overcome, to rescue his daughter.

To learn more about the book, see the incredible cover (designed by Rebecacovers), and if you care to, preorder the Kindle edition, follow the link.