Death, and Renewal

And other Autumns

When we first bought our house, I planted blueberry bushes. I was entranced with the idea of growing something in the garden that I could eat, as my only contact with berries while growing up involved brambles of dewberries that grew behind the warehouse of our family’s construction company in Houston. I associated berry picking with a sweaty forehead under a wide-brimmed hat, little scratches along my arms dewy with blood, and then, later, pie.

The blueberries are still going strong fifteen years later, fattening whole families of cardinals all summer, occasionally gracing my cereal bowl, and now that it’s autumn, their leaves are dappling with red and starting to drift away. In winter the bushes will be naked and lined with snow.

Assuming we get snow this winter. I hope we do.

(Blueberries, taken in the flush of summer.)

When I was first writing The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, I was horrified to discover that I had to kill a major character. I hadn’t wanted to. I had planned for her to escape. But as I moved deeper into the story, I discovered that having her survive would be bogus. It would be a lie. Of course, all fiction is a lie, arguably. Maybe a better way to say it would be that it would be narratively wrong. She had to die. It wasn’t up to me.

I got very depressed.

“That’s absurd,” you might be thinking. “She’s made up. What difference does it make?” That’s what I said to myself. But feelings have a way of resisting reason. I was actually consumed with grief, and I couldn’t logic my way out of it.

I called my friend Will.

A real friend is someone who will not laugh at you when you are sad for ridiculous reasons.

“Look at it this way,” he said gently. “She lived in the 1690s, right?”

“Yeah,” I said miserably.

“So, she’s dead either way. Right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I guess you’re right.”

Her leaves would drop no matter what I did. That is what happens, to leaves. And somehow, knowing that, made me feel better.

So what’s next?

A couple of weeks ago, Astor came out in paperback. I got an email telling me it made the New York Times paperback nonfiction bestseller list while I was at a rock concert, seeing the Psychedelic Furs. It’s also on lists for the LA Times, the Boston Globe, and the Southern California Independent Booksellers Association. I’m very proud of that book. There are two riots in it. Two!

Tomorrow, if you happen to be on the North Shore, I will be in Manchester by the Sea talking to the Manchester Cultural Council about writing, pirates, and whatever else we decide to talk about, at 5:30 pm.

On Friday, October 25, at noon Eastern I’ll be on a virtual panel called “Queens of the Seven Seas” for the Toronto Public Library, talking about pirates. Online, and free.

Early next month, as part of my secret life as a denizen of East Anglia, I am judging the fiction entries for the East Anglian Book Awards. I must say, it’s a challenging job. They are not letting me give six prizes. They’re only letting me give one. They are very cruel, at the National Centre for Writing.

And then, right before A True Account comes out in paperback, I will be back in Cincinnati for Books by the Banks. I do love that book festival. You should come! Cincinnati is lovely in autumn.