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288 pages, Hardcover
Published March 25, 2025
Maguire has served as artist-in-residence at the Blue Mountain Center, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and the Hambidge Center. He lives in Concord, Massachusetts.
Rotting jasmine and ripe skunk cabbage. Frogs in the sawgrass marsh. The basso profundo statement of a water buffalo, out of sight somewhere upstream.
Something has caused this day to lift out of the morass of everyness.
Most likely it's Nanny, whose voice caws and grates like a dawn scissorjay.
Boozy's forehead is tall and her glossy hair is yanked back along her scalp, clamped under a band of marshberry cord.
She's a creature of wild reed and murky riverside, although she avoids immersion. (She won't even wade in the shallows.)
The lily pads circle and float on, in the rain. Some memories disappear around the bend and die while others link arms and make moments into episodes so firm it feels you could walk across the water, walk upon them across time itself.
They hate each other with affection, Nessa and Elphie; they tolerate each other with impatience; they love each other with scorn.
Sisters are not flowers. And parents can never, from the first day, give the same water and light and soil to one girl that they gave to the sister. Sisters grow, if they grow together at all, in adjacent sorrow.
They look at each other and shake their heads, scarcely believing the untoward luck of having been born adjacent—to that!—and like this!
In the dark all cats are grey, goes the saying. In the dark, no children are green.
Tragedy it will be, because Elphie can't plunge into deep water any more than she could run face-first into a bonfire. Her body won't move itself. Paralysis.
The first experience of hearing a creature speaking can come as a kind of welcome assault. Akin to listening to water and trying to hear melody in it, or eavesdropping on a pair of squawking parrots and imagining what they might be on about.
"I'm not a plant," says Elphie, not certain if she should be offended or perhaps wistful. What would it be to be a plant?
"Why do you pretend to be animals without the power of speech?"
"Safer that way," says Neri-neri. "You see, we can pass. You, I don't think you have that much luck. Unless there are hundreds more of you, all that verdancy."
"She could pass as swamp muck," says Lollo-lollo.
"I mean it," he tells her. "You're just like a vegetable pearl. Harvested in muck, just waiting for the gleam and polish."
...a curiosity to sort out the variables between Animal and human behavior—character—the absolute quality of being one thing or the other—is an appetite that has taken hold, and it will not quit her, ever.
...we're going to look for Turtle Heart's survivors and, I don't know, bring them marsh plums or something.
The end in sight: to ask pardon for the ways that Frex and Melena, delaying Turtle Heart in his quest, may have set him up for danger.