She That Lay Silent-Like Upon Our Shore

by Brendan Casey

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy; Literary Fiction; Dystopian

Synopsis

* IRISH TIMES BEST BOOKS TO LOOK FORWARD TO IN 2023 *

'An act of pure imagination: this is one of those stories that arrive fully formed in the writer's head, asking to be written first and understood later. The result is a kind of vision, told with great attention to language, voice and tone' ANNE ENRIGHT

'Strange and darkly wondrous . . . like a wild and witty outtake from a folkloric Moby-Dick' PHILIP HOARE

A creature from another world had collided with ours - a reckonin she might properwise be knowt, a great reckonin had washed upon our shores, and I ran twort it.

On a remote island in the northern seas an unnamed boy is exiled from his community and cast into the Wastelands. In his struggle to survive he breaks away from the strictures of his upbringing and aligns himself with the beauty and brutality of the natural world. The Leviathan, a colossal beast that strands itself upon the shore, is the embodiment of everything the boy has yearned for and he vows to protect it with his life. The community's religious leader, the Prelate, proclaims the creature to be the devil incarnate, triggering a physical and philosophical battle that will propel life on the island towards a bloody and inevitable end.

Told in a remarkable narrative voice, She That Lay Silent-like Upon Our Shore is a powerful fable about loyalty, isolation and humanity's complex relationship with nature.

Release date: June 22, 2023

Publisher: John Murray Press

Print pages: 224

Sample

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Coming from JM Originals in 2023

She That Lay Silent-Like Upon Our Shore | Brendan Casey

A cunning fable about humanity’s relationship with the natural world, crisis and religion from a daring new talent.

Stronger than Death | Francesca Bratton

A soaring, lyrical part-memoir, part-biography of modernist poet Hart Crane’s final year in Mexico; the story of his mother’s grief after his death; and the author’s struggles with mental illness in the years she first discovered the power of Hart’s poetry.

I

It were cold in the mornin first I saw Levi thrashin agin the edge of the world – mind, she werenoh calt that then, and I didnoh know her sex. I thought she were a beast, like me; a great glistenin beast stretched belligerent-like across the earth, knowin well she had no right to be here, cep the one she force upon it.

I bin livin in the old abandoned bothy for the past long while cause it were quiet there and I were left alone. It were peaceful some, cep for the rookery of seabirds what squawked like the devil every time I passed. More oft than noh, I squawked back at em and flapped mine arms the way they did me, cep they used their wings a course. It pleased em none when I did that and they squawked harder and created a godawful din as though I were the cheekiest thing they ever saw. I tolt mysen noh to squawk at em so, that is the way of birds I sayt to mysen, still it couldnoh be helped – soon as they started up, I squawked right back at em. A child I am, like that.

I were growt wild, but that is the only choice a soul has in the Wastes, as this part of the Quag is knowt. The Quag is an island, it is the world, more or less, beyond which there is nought cep sea and sin, where everythin drops off into the Great Abyss or Darkness – or Hell as it is otherwise knowt. It is calt the Wastes on account of the fact it is rocky and infertile but also cause it is unconsecrated and godforsaken and the like. The Wastelands, its true and proper name, were anythin beyond the limits of the village. I still wore the clothes of those what lived there but had growt some in the long while I bin out here, so things were gettin scant in the arms and legs. The boots were no more-an flaps of leather what were bound and kep agether with twine – I couldnoh afford to discard em though, for I’d freeze out here without em, sure and certain. It were fortunate I’d lost a considerable amount of fat, so widthwise the clothes sat upon me fine so.

I were raw-boned on account of the fact I were half-starved from a fierce sparse diet of fishes, rotted fruit and stale bread. More oft than noh – due to hunger and impatience – I guzzled the creatures raw, the bones half chokin me as I wolfed em down. Our waters teemed with fishes for we was an isolated island and our people ate nothin what come from water black as Melas – which is what the sea is somespells calt on account of the fact she were so dark and all. Anywise, souls believed it unclean, they sayt anythin come from water black as that couldnoh come through God. Moreover, they sayt the water stretched to the shores of the godless and were polluted with sin, they sayt the sea become black from the wicked tryin to wash their burnin skin free of sin. It is best to point out that I’m noh responsible for the keck and blether other men believe. Anywise, the water were bitter cold and it were scarce I went in further-an my knees. I waded in with the spears I mysen had fashioned and were now quite handy with, hittin my mark more oft than noh. I were qualmish about puttin mysen into Melas’ cold dark hands, but hunger will make ye do things. Ye will be pleased to know my legs ner caught fire nor wasted away in that cesspool of sorrow and vice.

I musta appeared a rare thing in my fine clothes turnt to rags, spearin fishes with the trousers rolled to the knees. My hair were growt and knotted, and my face caked in filth, but there was none out here to look upon me, and I woulda cared none should there bin. The long scraggy down on my face growt in patches for it couldnoh yet grow proper – I were a boy becomin a beast were what I tolt mysen. I imagined I were becomin somethin fierce and untamed and this pleased me no end, for it were what I’d allway wanted – to be wild and fierce and free. It were true that I had strange notions bout mysen.

For all my fierceness and freedom I were hungry some, that were for sure and certain. I’d taken to eatin the wispy thing-a-ma-gims and do-gacks what growt spindly and frail from inbetwix the cracks of the rocks. Inland, back from the Sheers, I gathered blewits and lousewort just as the women and weans done in Grathico – which were the name given to the village by the God-fearin souls what built it. The rotted fruit and stale bread I collected every next day from the old crone what lived on the outskirts of the village, apples and plums she left, the saplins of which bin brought with us on the ships from Ereb, though that were in the aforetimes a course, afore my wee naked and gory sen bin birthed into this barren and blighted skerry. The crone left the basket out back of her shed so as I could come and go as I pleased and noh be seen, nor she suffer shame or punishment for her act of kindness. I’d noh have survived without her, for it werenoh just food she’d given but blankets and tinderboxes and other such worldly effects what would sustain a soul in the Wilds.

So that, more or less, were what I were up to, I were off to see the old crone on account of the fact I were fierce hungry. I didnoh like doin this much, as it meant I had to leave the Wastes and go back to the village – the thoughts of which made me liverish and queasy. Grathico were situated on a steep with the Prelate’s house way up top near the cliff while the other huts and bothies staggered down the slope as though the island itsen were tryin to tip the village and all its souls into the sea. From the gates the township rose up afore ye like a cross what bin half raised for crucifixion, for that were the shape it bin built so as to remind souls of the configuration of atonement and salvation. At the heart of the village stood the church with its spire what reached up to the heavens, twort God Himsen, that most Holy Bein what presided over the fallen souls of Grathico. Outside the church were the square where markets happened and Grathicans bartered and haggled. The limits of the village were a large rectangle what enclosed the cross wherein the crop were growt and animals were kep and grazed.

The crone lived right at the edge of Grathico so I didnoh have to venture in far, still-yet, after bein away for such a spell I allway felt fierce jittery about returnin – noh from fear mind but betrayal, to mysen and the Wastes as, truth be tolt, I were startin to nurture a fair amount of affection for my new state of savagery. I felt somethin akin to pride twort the neediness of my body. I liked how it ached and burnt most the time, kep me alert so it did; a creature stalkin the Wastelands were how I saw mysen, though praps my brain were just turnt to mush from malnourishment and the like. Anywise, it were becomin more difficult to leave the Wastes, and my loathin for the village and himsen the Prelate were growin stronger – if that were possible.

When first I left the crone seen me lurkin round with the hangdog eyes, like as noh she’d heard my stomach rumblin from behind her shutters. Anywise, next thing I knowt baskets of slops was bein left very sneaky-like out back of her shed, so I started sidlin up to em – sniffin round some like a dog for his dinner. And this time were no different; seein the basket in its usual spot I approached very slow and cautious, once I were there though I begun stuffin food into my gob and pockets like there were no morrow to come.

‘Tis a fenny-miry mornin, ainny?’

I near lep out my skin when she sayt that – it were the old crone hersen, in the flesh like. She musta slipped out from inbetwix the stones of the shed. She’d ner spaked to me the wholespell I bin out here, truth is, she werenoh spose to.

‘Tis fierce squelchy like.’

When she sayt that she were talkin bout the weather. I sayt noh a thing but stared at her, gormless and silent. The crone were in a state of undress, her clothes bin throwt agether in a hurry and her wimple fixed slantwise – the grey hair were half up, half down with loose strands what kep fallin across her eyes and squigglin down her face so as she had to keep pushin it out the way – I spose there bin no time to fix hersen proper afore leavin the house to pounce upon me. She leant agin the shed and I could see her wrinkly old arm were part bare cause she’d noh done the buttons what ran underside her sleeve – this seemed to nettle her none, for these old ones donoh feel the cold anywise. I werenoh accustomed to seein the bare arms of women, so it had me distracted. There was dark spots all over it and the skin were loose and swung back-a-fort when she moved – it turnt my stomach some, truth be tolt. Seein me lookin, she tried to cover hersen best she could, but her arm were still there and all.

‘The day clings to me,’ she wheezed, as though befelled by some great tragedy.

Ha! The day clings to me! I bin in the Wastes so long I almost forgot such sayins, it is true though, here the weather wraps itsen round ye like a sodden pissy blanket. They are poetic these people in the way they talk, somewise poetry has seeped into their tongues without gettin into their blood.

The crone gazed up wistful and forlorn into the nasty old clouds waitin for me to say somethin. When naught arrived she lost her nerve and I saw her eyes slide sneaky-like and skittish twort me.

‘Aye it is,’ sayt I, finishin whatsoever were in my gob. ‘Tis squelchy fenny, tis fierce squelchy fenny, wouldnoh thee say, mam?’

I spaked in a voice what were too loud and she looked at me queer and nodded her head, unsure of hersen, or mysen. In a sudden the fear had creeped into her and she turnt to walk away without sayin nothin more.

‘I’d say it might lift later, mam,’ sayt I to the crone’s back. ‘The day will unwrap itsen from round thee so it will. Thou shalt be set free and all!’

Her shoulders clenched at the sound of my voice, her pace quickened as she scurried inside and slammed the door behind her very frightened sen. I knowt she were peepin on the further side of those curtains, so I looked down at the food awhile afore makin a show of turnin my back upon it and walkin away. It werenoh so brave a gesture as all that cause, truth be tolt, there werenoh much left in the basket on account of the fact that what werenoh in my pockets had already bin guzzled and were sloshin round the belly.

I decided I’d noh return – I’d leave the crone’s slops to rot good and proper in the basket, she could give em to whatsoever animal they was intended. Now I were proficient with the spears I didnoh need her, nor her filthy vivers. Way I saw it, she werenoh actin out the good of her heart – these people ner do. Aside which, it were the last thing what bound me to the village and I needed to cut that tie, till I did I’d ner truly be a thing of the Wastes. It is man’s dependence on other men what enslaves him, what dispirits him. That is rule number one in The Philosophy of the Wastelands which I have just now decided to compose for mine own amusement. Mostspells, I think I’m very clever, till I mind how dozy it is to think such a thing, then I can start feelin very sorry for mysen – truth be tolt, I can get fierce wound-up if I think hard upon mysen.

II

I come back through the Wastes, what were all grey and bleak and the like. It were rock for the most part, large smooth stone what ye had to climb over, with boggy swales inbetwix. The Wastes were what I imagined the moon might look like, I pretended that somespells, that I were livin on the moon and all, and the wee annular light in the sky were in fact the Quag floatin round in the great black ocean of the night – old Melas hersen stretched across the sky. From my crater on the moon, I’d stare down upon the Quag and imagine I could see the wee tiny spec of a beast-boy sittin upon some lonesome rock – poor thing. I’d wave to him and all. Howbe? I’d say. Don’t envy ye down there upon that godforsaken isle – keep the chin up though, and if ye ever have the time and means, come visit me on the moon someday, thou wouldst be most welcome.

Anywise, comin twort the bothy, I saw the hasp were loose and the door wide open. I thought it were the wind at first, till I heard rummagin round inside. Comin down upon my knees, I scurried along the ground till I reached the windowsill from where I peeped inside.

‘Hoy!’ bawled I, risin to the feet and runnin to the threshold. ‘Hoy! Scat!’

A goat were stood inside, nibblin on oddments what bin left upon the table.

‘Out! Git!’

She turnt to look upon me as though I were the one what should explican himsen – What’s thou want then, eh? sayt she. These goats roamed the Quag and were sayt to bin here since afore the Prelate and his kin ever set foot upon it. They were a skewbald and hairy lot – the goats that is – what with the fringe comin way down past the eyes and all. How they saw aught were beyond me.

‘Mmmmeeeehhhh,’ sayt she, afore turnin back to her meal of rare and inedible things.

I recognised the goat for she had very particular markins upon the snout. Noh long after I’d come out to the Wastes I’d managed to catch her, as I had notions of usin her for milk the way they done in Grathico.

‘Thou shalt provide me with milk!’ declared I, like a commandment from the heavens – very satisfied with mysen I were.

Next mornin though I wakened to find one end of the rope still attached to the bothy while the other were become all tattered and goatless – Thanks for the sleepover and all beast-boy but I have become bored and am goin back to my cullies forta roam the Wastes and bleat my skull off. Didnoh blame her truth be tolt. There were a whole herd of em what strolled by every-now-a-then, up there in a distance, upon the rocks noh far from the cave, and it were her what allway stopped to look upon me – There he is lads, tried to keep me tethered to that tumbledown pile of sticks with a rope – mooncalf! Then they’d all bleat emsens dozy laughin at me – swear to God.

Anywise, it were the same goat tormentin me. I had to come in behind her so as to manoeuvre her slat-ribbed and bony sen out the bothy – No rope this morrow mooncalf? enquizzened she, very brazen as she trotted out the door.

I grabbed one of the spears I’d made especial for fishin and headed twort Melas, for now the baskets of slops were at an end I’d have to be fierce vigilant if I werenoh to starve all agether. Comin to the top of the cliff w. . .