Sarah Black's Blog: Book Report - Posts Tagged "and-nash"

This story started in Fiji. I was standing on the balcony of the house we were renting. It was close to midnight, and the moon was up and the breeze was warm and sweet. Like any rabid reader of Victoria Holt romantic suspense, I was gazing at the moonlit waters of the south Pacific attired in a gorgeous nightgown, with tiny pintucks and mother of pearl buttons and delicate French lace around the neckline, and down the bodice.



I was letting the warm wind have its way with my beautiful nightgown, staring up at the stars, and I was listening to Crosby, Stills, and Nash sing Southern Cross.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuLBhx...

This is one of those songs that means something different to me every time I hear it. And I’ve been listening to this song since 1982! Sometimes I think it’s like one of those magical books.
Whatever you need to hear, when you open the book, the answer you’re looking for is staring up at you.

Listen to this:

Got out of town on a boat
Goin' to Southern islands.
Sailing a reach
Before a followin' sea.
She was makin' for the trades
On the outside,
And the downhill run
To Papeete.
Off the wind on this heading
Lie the Marquesas.
We got eighty feet of the waterline.
Nicely making way

No wonder when I ran away, it was to Fiji! One of the times I ran away. I ran away to Dinetah to be a cowboy, and also I ran off to Italy to be a mother, and even earlier I ran off to London to be with the man I loved. Looking back, I’m starting to see a pattern! But I have always believed, like any proper reader of romance, that you have to throw your heart into the deal. You have to risk it all for love, you have to fly without a safety net, and you should do it with a nightgown that would make a Victorian heroine swoon with jealousy.



So I’ve run away to the southern Islands and they are even more beautiful than they look in pictures, and I’m staring into the sky, studying the stars. The stars are different near the bottom of the world. It was strangely alarming and exciting both, to see different stars in the sky. And these men are singing to me:

When you see the Southern Cross
For the first time
You understand now
Why you came this way
'Cause the truth you might be runnin' from
Is so small.
But it's as big as the promise
The promise of a comin' day.

And I’m thinking, oh, shit. Sarah, what have you done? How many times am I going to search the world for something that, as far as I can tell, doesn’t exist? Or maybe is hidden in my own heart? Of all the mysteries in the universe, this is the one I’m destined not to uncover.

What am I searching for?
This isn’t the first time I have stood in some gorgeous, isolated, exotic locale, sinking into the beauty, and having a conversation with myself that starts, Oh, shit. Sarah, what have you done? So I’m listening to Steven, can I call him Steven? And Graham and David? After all, we’ve been on this journey together. And I can tell by the songs you sing you know exactly what I’m doing. And Steven is singing this:

Think about how many times
I have fallen
Spirits are using me
larger voices callin'.
What heaven brought you and me
Cannot be forgotten.
I have been around the world,
Lookin' for that woman/girl,
Who knows love can endure.
And you know it will.
And you know it will.
So we cheated and we lied
And we tested
And we never failed to fail
It was the easiest thing to do.
You will survive being bested.
Somebody fine
Will come along
Make me forget about loving you.
At the Southern Cross.

I have a bone to pick with you, Steven. Somebody fine will come along? Look to your own heart, sir. That mystery is an ocean as cold and deep and wicked and beautiful as the Pacific.

So, back to Fiji. I am looking at a view I will never match in my lifetime, and I’m thinking, okay, this isn’t going to work. This is not my place. Oh, shit. We need to go home.

So we cheated and we lied
And we tested
And we never failed to fail
It was the easiest thing to do.

I listened to the song a few times. The kid must have thought I was mad, but luckily he is used to me. This was the phrase I kept coming back to. Maybe I am not the only person in the world who likes to fly without a safety net? But how many times can you come crashing down to the ground before the pain in your bones truly grounds you? Who knows? And it doesn’t matter. I don’t think it’s something I have any control over. It’s just how I’m wired, to leap before I look, or, worse, to take a good hard look, then say, what the hell, and leap anyway? That’s actually my modus operandi, to dive into life with my eyes open, knowing it’s probably not going to end well.

Southern Cross. Those boys are singing the truth. I can feel it in my bones. And it’s a very popular song, and I have a feeling it means something to lots of other people who have conversations with themselves that start, Oh, shit. What have you done? I have a natural affinity for those people who jump off tall buildings, spread their wax and feather wings, and soar straight into the sun. But people like this, people like us, we never fail to fail. Our hearts remain a mystery to us.

So back to Fiji. I decided to write a character who was imperfect. Someone who was searching the world for the love that was hiding in his own heart, and cheating and lying and failing, like we all do. I’m more than half in love with this character I’ve written, Gabriel Sanchez. Because like me, he keeps screwing up, but he never gives up.

I was surprised when some people didn’t like my book, The General and the Horse-Lord. It dawned on my very clearly that the old saw is quite true: A story is never finished until someone reads it. So many people had issues with this character, because he cheated on his wife, that I wanted to talk about this a bit before the next book comes out.

Because I’m not going to punish him. I’m not going to take an eye for an eye. It has been my experience that when people find themselves with a weapon in their hand, they immediately start examining their own hearts, and they turn the weapon on themselves, in punishment.

That’s the human thing to do. It is the job of a novelist to tell a story about real people. To tell a story about what it means to be human. And I was listening to Southern Cross when I started writing this book, thinking about the infinite number of ways people can try, and fail, to be the person they want to be. And thinking about the way we never give up.