Categories | Genre Fiction |
Author | Delia Owens |
Publisher | G.P. Putnam’s Sons; Standard Edition (March 30, 2021) |
Language | English |
Paperback | 400 pages |
Item Weight | 2.31 pounds |
Dimensions |
5.47 x 0.84 x 8.22 inches |
I. Book introduction
New York Times Readers Pick: 100 Best Books of the 21st Century
For years, rumors of the “Marsh Girl” have haunted Barkley Cove, a quiet town on the North Carolina coast. So in late 1969, when handsome Chase Andrews is found dead, the locals immediately suspect Kya Clark, the so-called Marsh Girl. But Kya is not what they say. Sensitive and intelligent, she has survived for years alone in the marsh that she calls home, finding friends in the gulls and lessons in the sand. Then the time comes when she yearns to be touched and loved. When two young men from town become intrigued by her wild beauty, Kya opens herself to a new life—until the unthinkable happens.
Where the Crawdads Sing is at once an exquisite ode to the natural world, a heartbreaking coming-of-age story, and a surprising tale of possible murder. Owens reminds us that we are forever shaped by the children we once were, and that we are all subject to the beautiful and violent secrets that nature keeps.
Plot
Part I: The Marsh
In 1952, six-year-old Catherine Danielle Clark (nicknamed “Kya”) watches her mother abandon her and her family due to violent abuse from her husband, Kya’s father. While Kya waits in vain for her mother’s return, she witnesses her older siblings, Missy, Murph, Mandy, and Jodie, all leave as well, due to their father’s drinking and physical abuse. After her mother leaves, her father burns most of her mother’s wardrobe and paintings.
Alone with her father—who temporarily stops drinking—Kya learns to fish. Her father gives her his knapsack to hold her collections of shells and feathers. The illiterate Kya paints these shells and feathers, as well as the marsh’s creatures and shorelines, with watercolors her mother left behind.
One day Kya finds a letter from her mother in the mailbox and leaves it for her father to find, as she cannot read. When she returns to their home, she finds that he has burned the letter. He returns to drinking and takes long, frequent trips away to gamble. Eventually, he does not return at all, and Kya assumes he is dead, making him the last of the family to leave her alone in the marsh. Without money and family, she survives by gardening and trading fresh mussels and smoked fish for money and gas from Jumpin’, a black man who owns a gasoline station at the boat dock. Jumpin’ and his wife Mabel become lifelong friends to Kya, and Mabel collects donated clothing for her.
As Kya grows up, she faces prejudice from the townspeople of Barkley Cove, North Carolina, who nickname her “The Marsh Girl.” She is laughed at by the schoolchildren on the only day she goes to school and is called “nasty” and “filthy” by a pastor’s wife. However, she becomes friendly with Tate Walker, an old friend of Jodie’s who sometimes fishes in the marsh. When Kya loses her bearings one day, Tate leads her home in his boat. Years later, he leaves her feathers from rare birds, then teaches her how to read and write. The two form a romantic relationship until Tate leaves for college at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He promises to return, yet later realizes Kya cannot live in his more civilized world because of how wild and independent she is, and leaves her without saying goodbye.
Part II: The Swamp
Delia Owens’s novel is set in a North Carolina marsh like the one illustrated above.
In 1965, Kya is 19. Chase Andrews, Barkley Cove’s star quarterback and playboy, invites her to a picnic, during which he tries to have sex with her. He later apologizes, and the two form a romantic relationship. He shows her an abandoned fire tower, and she gives him a necklace of a shell he found during their picnic, strung on a rawhide string. Despite her suspicions, she believes Chase’s promises of marriage and consummates their relationship in a cheap motel room in Asheville, North Carolina. After seeing in a newspaper that Chase has become engaged, Kya realizes his promises of marriage were a ruse. She then ends their relationship.
Tate, having graduated from college, visits Kya and attempts to apologize for having left her and confesses his love for her. Still hurt from his betrayal, she rejects him. Despite this, she allows him inside her shack, and he is impressed by her expanded collection of seashells. He urges her to publish a reference book on seashells, and she does so as well as on seabirds. With the extra money, she renovates her home. The same year, Jodie, now in the Army, also returns to Kya’s life, expressing regret he left her alone and breaking the news their mother had suffered from mental illness and died of leukemia two years previously. Kya forgives her mother for leaving but still cannot understand why she never returned. After advising Kya to give Tate a second chance, Jodie sets off for Georgia, leaving Kya a note with his phone number and address.
Some time later, while relaxing in a cove, Kya is confronted by Chase. After an argument ensues, Chase attacks Kya, beating her and attempting to rape her. She fends him off and loudly threatens to kill him if he doesn’t leave her alone. The encounter is witnessed by two fishermen nearby. Back at her shack, Kya fears that reporting the assault would be futile as the town would blame her for “being loose”. The next week, she witnesses Chase boating up to her shack and hides until he leaves. Remembering her father’s abuse, Kya fears retaliation from Chase, knowing “these men had to have the last punch”.
Kya is offered a chance to meet her publisher in Greenville, North Carolina, and takes the bus there to meet him. After she returns home the next day, some young boys find Chase dead beneath the fire tower. The sheriff, Ed Jackson, believes it to be a murder on the basis of there being no tracks or fingerprints, including Chase’s, around the tower. Ed speaks with sources and receives conflicting statements. He learns the shell necklace Kya gave to Chase was missing when his body was found, even though he wore it the night he died. Kya was seen leaving Barkley Cove before the murder, then returning the day after Chase died. There also were red wool fibers on Chase’s jacket that belonged to a hat Tate had given to Kya. Convinced she is the culprit, Ed arrests Kya near Jumpin’s wharf, charges her with first-degree murder, and jails her without bail for two months.
At Kya’s trial in 1970, only contradictory and circumstantial evidence is provided. Kya’s lawyer, Tom Milton, debunks the prosecutor’s arguments as there was no evidence that Kya was at the fire tower on the night of Chase’s death. The jury finds her not guilty. She returns home and reconciles with Tate. They live together in her shack until she dies peacefully in her boat at the age of 64. Later, while searching for Kya’s will and other documents, Tate finds a hidden box with some of her old possessions and poems she had written. He finds a poem that alludes to Chase’s murder, and, underneath the poems, the shell necklace Chase wore. Tate burns the poems and the rawhide string before dropping the shell onto the beach. Kya is buried on her property near the shack.
Editorial Reviews
- “A painfully beautiful first novel that is at once a murder mystery, a coming-of-age narrative and a celebration of nature….Owens here surveys the desolate marshlands of the North Carolina coast through the eyes of an abandoned child. And in her isolation that child makes us open our own eyes to the secret wonders—and dangers—of her private world.”—The New York Times Book Review
- “Steeped in the rhythms and shadows of the coastal marshes of North Carolina’s Outer Banks, this fierce and hauntingly beautiful novel centers on…Kya’s heartbreaking story of learning to trust human connections, intertwine[d] with a gripping murder mystery, revealing savage truths. An astonishing debut.”—People
- “This lush mystery is perfect for fans of Barbara Kingsolver.”—Bustle
- “A lush debut novel, Owens delivers her mystery wrapped in gorgeous, lyrical prose. It’s clear she’s from this place—the land of the southern coasts, but also the emotional terrain—you can feel it in the pages. A magnificent achievement, ambitious, credible and very timely.”—Alexandra Fuller, New York Times bestselling author of Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight
- “Heart-wrenching…A fresh exploration of isolation and nature from a female perspective along with a compelling love story.”—Entertainment Weekly
- “This wonderful novel has a bit of everything—mystery, romance, and fascinating characters, all told in a story that takes place in North Carolina.”—Nicholas Sparks, New York Times bestselling author of Every Breath
- “Delia Owen’s gorgeous novel is both a coming-of-age tale and an engrossing whodunit.”—Real Simple
- “Evocative…Kya makes for an unforgettable heroine.”—Publishers Weekly
- “The New Southern novel…A lyrical debut.”—Southern Living
- “A nature-infused romance with a killer twist.”—Refinery29
- “Anyone who liked The Great Alone will want to read Where the Crawdads Sing….This astonishing debut is a beautiful and haunting novel that packs a powerful punch. It’s the first novel in a long time that made me cry.”—Kristin Hannah, author ofThe Great AloneandThe Nightingale
- “Both a coming-of-age story and a mysterious account of a murder investigation told from the perspective of a young girl…Through Kya’s story, Owens explores how isolation affects human behavior, and the deep effect that rejection can have on our lives.”—Vanity Fair
- “Lyrical…Its appeal ris[es] from Kya’s deep connection to the place where makes her home, and to all of its creatures.”—Booklist
- “This beautiful, evocative novel is likely to stay with you for many days afterward….absorbing.”—AARP
- “This haunting tale captivates every bit as much for its crime drama elements as for the humanity at its core.” —Mystery & Suspense Magazine
- “Compelling, original…A mystery, a courtroom drama, a romance and a coming-of-age story, Where the Crawdads Sing is a moving, beautiful tale. Readers will remember Kya for a long, long time.”—ShelfAwareness
- “With prose luminous as a low-country moon, Owens weaves a compelling tale of a forgotten girl in the unforgiving coastal marshes of North Carolina. It is a murder mystery/love story/courtroom drama that readers will love, but the novel delves so much deeper into the bone and sinew of our very nature, asking often unanswerable questions, old and intractable as the marsh itself. A stunning debut!”—Christopher Scotton, author of The Secret Wisdom of the Earth
- “A compelling mystery with prose so luminous it can cut through the murkiest of pluff mud.”—Augusta Chronicle
- “Carries the rhythm of an old time ballad. It is clear Owens knows this land intimately, from the black mud sucking at footsteps to the taste of saltwater and the cry of seagulls.”—David Joy, author of The Line That Held Us
About the Author (Delia Owens)
Delia Owens (born April 4, 1949) is an American author, zoologist, and conservationist. She is best known for her 2018 novel Where the Crawdads Sing.
Delia Owens was born and grew up in southern Georgia, where she spent most of her life in or near true wilderness. She received a Bachelor of Science degree in zoology from the University of Georgia, and a PhD in animal behavior from the University of California, Davis.
Delia Owens met Mark Owens in a protozoology class at the University of Georgia when they were both graduate students studying biology. They married in 1973, and in 1974 moved to southern Africa to study animals in the Kalahari Desert and Zambia. She wrote about Africa in her memoirs Cry of the Kalahari, The Eye of the Elephant, and Secrets of the Savanna. The couple were expelled from Botswana and are wanted for questioning in Zambia in relation to a murder investigation. They are no longer married. Since returning to the United States, Delia Owens has been involved in bear conservation.
Her debut novel, Where the Crawdads Sing, was released in 2018. It became one of the best-selling books of all time. It was adapted into a 2022 film of the same name.
II. Reviewer: Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
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1. JESSICA reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
a reread before the movie comes out because, for once, a film adaptation looks amazing and i actually want to see it.
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there are currently 582 people waiting for this book at my library. at first i thought that notification was a glitch; but then i read this, this impossibly tender story, and now im shocked as to why the waitlist isnt twice that.
there is a reason this book has become so sought after, and it feels like a privilege to have experienced it. this is one of the most memorable coming-of-age stories i have read in quite some time. it is a story that proves the growth of a person and the cultivation of nature are not mutually exclusive. this book is a celebration of all life, human and mother earth alike.
there is a very special connection between kya and the environment which raised her. the elegant prose and lyrical depictions of the marshlands are so beautifully comforting, guiding the reader through kyas world, just as it guided her throughout life. i cannot describe what an intimate feeling it is, to see the world through kyas eyes. its so enlightening to see someone comprehend that even though there is a harshness to surviving, there is also immense wonder and beauty.
this story is as touching as it is inspiring. and i now have a very strong desire to take an evening walk, look at the stars, and just marvel at the world in which i live.
↠ 5 stars
2. CHELSEA HUMPHREY reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
I’m typically skeptical of books that are hyped to high heavens and end up on every book club list for months straight, not because they aren’t worthy, but because I can let my expectations get the best of me and keep me from fully enjoying a wonderful book. This book exceeded my already high expectations; it emanates a quiet power, a slow drawing in and connection of reader to book, one that I found myself able to get lost in due to the lush atmosphere and the depth of emotion. I can see now why this book is getting so much attention, and am thrilled to see that for once the hype train was right on track.
3. MATTHEW reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
At the time of reading, this book seems to be the most hyped book in my Goodreads feed. Not a minute goes by without a review or update from this book popping up. If you know me, you know that no matter the type of book or the subject matter, if it is hyped I want to give it a go. With that in mind, when I started this, the only thing I knew about it was its hype – I knew zero about the story, genre, type of book, etc. I just had a cover and a title!
Did it live up to the hype?
I think it did. I was entertained by the story and found it very easy to follow. It was a bit of historical fiction with some mystery involved eventually rounding off with a little courtroom drama. One of my favorite phrases to use when applicable is that “heart-strings were pulled”, and there was definitely some of that happening here. I think if you like a good, well-told story you will like this one.
Who do I recommend it to?
Historical fiction fans for sure. Especially those interested in mid-20th Century American fiction. Issues of race and public perception at that time are key to the plot.
I am not sure there was enough mystery/courtroom drama to interest fans of those genres if that is specifically what you are looking for. But, there is enough if you just need to satiate a small hunger.
Also, while only a little steamy at times, I think fans of stories with some romance will enjoy this one. Again, if you need a lot of hot a heavy in your romance, you will not find it here, but the relationships in the story should be of interest.
Should you read it?
I feel like this story has a little of a bunch of genres and not too much of any. Because of this, I think it will appeal to a wide audience. So, if you have seen the hype in your feed, too, and have been wondering, I think you should try it out. You may not be blown away, but I don’t think you will be disappointed.
4. DAVID PUTNAM reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
This starts out as a wonderful book well worth a five-start rating. The voice of the coming of age Kya is truly amazing. Had the craft been sustained through to the end of the book this could have easily been compared to, To Kill a Mocking Bird.
The setting is marvelous and carries the same weight as a main character. Absolutely wonderful descriptions.
The author does a magnificent job creating the character of Kya, with details that make her come alive on the page. This book would have worked fine just as a coming of age novel minus the mystery of the murder.
The insertion of the secondary plotline is disruptive and breaks the flow of the story. Part of the problem is the dramatic shift in voice from Kya to the sheriff. Kya is handled masterfully, the sheriff, not so much. These disruptive scenes are kept short but they are still speed bumps that urged me to put the book down.
The author is a wonderful craftsman. At about page 150 the author wanted to emphasize one part of a scene and shifted from past tense to present tense just for a few paragraphs. The transition and its impact were wonderful, and done so well it was practically invisible.
The story is character driven which is my favorite kind of book, however when handling the mystery part of the story, the protagonist doesn’t dig up the clue. Two different witnesses at two different times, and long after the crime has occurred, comes forward and says, “Oh, I might have seen something that night. I just didn’t think it was important.” For me this too is a minor distraction but it could have easily been avoided.
The character voice matures as the character gets older and is real and believable. This is difficult to do and the way it is done here is truly an art form.
I all but put the book down three quarters of the way through when the murder case was described. I just couldn’t buy it. The quick alternating scenes in that last quarter of the book, the jail and court scenes too often disrupted the fictive dream and tossed me out of the story. There is a definite tone change that comes from a shift in the craft. The voice is lost with the shifting from character to character, too many points of view. And the use of cliché’s like “I walked into a door,” and “I jus’ didn’t fall off a turnip truck.” didn’t match the wonderful craft in the first three quarters of the book. It almost feels as if the ending had not been planned, or more likely was rushed.
The ending was predictable because of the way the protagonist pov was handled (or avoided), and that there really wasn’t any other possibility, no red herrings to choose from so it left only one possible outcome. There wasn’t twist at the end. I wasn’t surprised at all. So reluctantly I have to give this one four stars instead of a five plus.
David Putnam author of the Bruno Johnson series
5. SONNY N reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
A Captivating and Lyrical Masterpiece!
Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens is a breathtaking novel that effortlessly blends mystery, romance, and coming-of-age elements into a beautifully written and emotionally resonant story. Reese Witherspoon’s Book Club pick lives up to its high expectations and then some!
The novel follows Kya Clark, the enigmatic “Marsh Girl” who grows up isolated in the swamps of North Carolina. Owens masterfully brings Kya’s world to life with vivid descriptions of the natural landscape and a deep, atmospheric narrative that immerses you fully in the setting. The writing is lyrical and evocative, painting a rich tapestry of the marshland and its inhabitants.
Kya’s journey from an abandoned child to a resilient young woman is portrayed with such depth and sensitivity. Her character is compelling and multifaceted, and her struggle for survival and acceptance is both heart-wrenching and inspiring. The relationships she forms throughout the novel, particularly those with Tate Walker and Chase Andrews, are complex and add layers of emotional depth to the story.
The dual narrative, which weaves together Kya’s coming-of-age story with a suspenseful murder mystery, is expertly handled. The plot twists and turns are engaging and well-crafted, keeping readers on the edge of their seats as they piece together the mystery alongside Kya. The ending is both satisfying and thought-provoking, leaving a lasting impression.
Overall, Where the Crawdads Sing is a stunning debut novel that showcases Delia Owens’ talent for storytelling and her deep understanding of human emotions and nature. It’s a novel that resonates long after the last page is turned. For anyone who loves a beautifully written story with rich characters and a captivating plot, this book is a must-read. Highly recommended for its emotional depth, exquisite prose, and unforgettable narrative!
6. BRITANIE reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
i loved this book so much, set in the marshes of north carolina, it’s the story of kya clark, the “marsh girl,” who’s left to fend for herself after her family abandons her. kya’s connection with the wild around her is so beautifully written, and the way she grows up alone in nature is both heartbreaking and inspiring.
i have to admit, when i first started reading, i struggled a bit with the dialect. but after doing a little research on the accents of that time and place, i found myself slipping right into it, which made the reading experience even richer. owens does such a beautiful job of pulling you into the setting and era.
what i loved most is how delia owens weaves together kya’s coming-of-age story with a mystery that keeps you hooked. it’s a mystery thriller but also a tender coming-of-age story, with a deep love for nature interwoven throughout. the themes of survival, resilience, and the deep bond between humans and nature really resonated with me. reading about kya’s journey felt like a rollercoaster of emotions. i cried (ugly cried!!!), i smiled, and my heart ached for her. it’s impossible not to root for kya as she overcomes so much hardship.
the romance in the story adds a tender, sweet layer that feels so genuine. it really got to me. (oh, tate❤️) there’s a quiet strength in kya that i found incredibly empowering, almost like reading a memoir of surviving against all odds.
if you’re looking for a book that’s beautifully written and emotionally gripping, you have to read where the crawdads sing. it’s perfect for anyone who loves stories about overcoming adversity with a blend of mystery and romance. this book has definitely earned a spot in my top favorites. and yes, i watched the movie too—it was amazing—but seriously, the book is always better! 🥹
7. JOY BERRI reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
Worth the wait
I waited several years to read this book, thinking that it would be depressing. I finally started and couldn’t put it down. The subject matter has a poignancy, but it’s beautifully written, crafted to perfection, bringing us into Kya’s world – the marshlands of North Carolina. We’re introduced to the depth and detail of nature in all of its swampy glory – growing to love the life and creatures of the marsh as Kya did. Delia is a master of drawing in the reader with beautiful prose that reflects unadorned exquisite magic of this world juxtaposed to the narrow minded horror of the human condition. Truly enjoyed this work of art.
8. MICHAEL J reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
A really good read. The screen play followed the book pretty close.
I purchased the kindle version of this book. I read it right after I downloaded it. It wasn’t until 2 years later that I saw film. I watched the film version with my wife. I own and read a lot of books. I typically don’t discuss my books with my wife. But when I saw the film was going to be on tv, I watched it with my wife. She read the book and I’m reading it again. This is one of the best that I’ve had the pleasure of reading.
9. LIZ reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
I can’t get over how perfect this book is. The writing grabbed me from literally the first page and kept me entranced. And the story! How can your heart not help but ache for Kya? First her mother leaves, then her siblings, even her ne’er do well father. Left to her own devices by the entire town, she survives without schooling or any aid. The preacher’s wife calls her white trash and hurries her child away from Kya convinced she carries disease.
The marsh is a character in its own right. Owens does a magnificent job describing it so that we feel we are there, seeing every plant, bird and insect along with Kya. Owens paints the surroundings just like Kya paints, with a fine brush intent on getting every detail right.
There are so many heartbreaking moments in this book. Kya just can’t understand why everyone leaves her. The murder mystery was very well done and I had no clue how it would play out. The suspense was killing me.
So, this is my first five star book of 2019. It has everything – beautiful writing, great characters and suspense. Highly recommend it!
10. KEVIN KUHN reviews Where the Crawdads Sing
“Where the Crawdads Sings” is a rich, well-written novel that, like a good southern meal, left me satisfied and content but not engrossed or astonished as the back cover promised. Maybe I’m a little burned out on young girl coming of age stories having read two others in the prior year. “All the Ugly and Wonderful Things” was more raw and honest, and “Educated” was more emotional and personal, being a memoir. Still, Owens’ might be the best writer of the three, and is at her best describing the flora and fauna of the North Carolina wetlands. All three of the books are touted as debut novels (which I guess technically is true), but Owens is already an award-winning and bestselling author of non-fiction wildlife books.
Let’s breakdown what I like and didn’t about this novel. Delia Owen’s and her publisher clearly knocked it out of the part with the cover and title. But more important – Owen’s writing is lush and vivid, mostly in setting, but the characters felt fully formed to me as well. The plot was rich, first with a dysfunctional family, then as a survival story, and finally as a murder whodunit. I did like how the author interspersed the beginnings of the murder mystery component in the form of flash forwards, throughout the book, increasing the conflict and intrigue earlier into the book. And while the author left me enough clues to guess the ending, it was engaging until the end.
My biggest issue was that the plot was largely predictable. The plot flowing along like a meandering river, not like the twists and turns and tributaries of a dense marsh. The pacing wasn’t bad, but it did get a bit choppy in the middle. I don’t want to leave any spoilers, but let me just say, a few plot points weren’t surprising, but they popped up, out of nowhere, making me feel like I had missed some pages. In addition to the plot, I also never became invested in the characters, maybe because I’m a little burned out on this type of story line. While the swamp and the creatures and the waterways felt real enough to me, the characters themselves, while being well described and true to their motives, didn’t quite pull me in.
Big picture, I enjoyed reading the story, never felt bored, but it was as much of the description of the setting and the major plot questions, then it was an emotional investment. A descriptively written, and interestingly plotted story that transitions from a coming of age tale to a murder mystery.
III. Where the Crawdads Sing Quotes by Delia Owens
The best book quotes from Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
“She laughed for his sake, something she’d never done. Giving away another piece of herself just to have someone else.”
“Faces change with life’s toll, but eyes remain a window to what was, and she could see him there.”
“Within all the worlds of biology, she searched for an explanation of why a mother would leave her offspring.”
“I wasn’t aware that words could hold so much. I didn’t know a sentence could be so full.”
“His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what’s necessary to defend a woman.”
“Autumn leaves don’t fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar.”
“Unworthy boys make a lot of noise”
“If anyone would understand loneliness, the moon would.”
“lot of times love doesn’t work out. Yet even when it fails, it connects you to others and, in the end, that is all you have, the connections.”
“Why should the injured, the still bleeding, bear the onus of forgiveness?”
“There are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot.”
“She knew the years of isolation had altered her behavior until she was different from others, but it wasn’t her fault she’d been alone. Most of what she knew, she’d learned from the wild. Nature had nurtured, tutored, and protected her when no one else would.”
“How much do you trade to defeat loneliness?”
“Sometimes she heard night-sounds she didn’t know or jumped from lightning too close, but whenever she stumbled, it was the land who caught her. Until at last, at some unclaimed moment, the heart-pain seeped away like water into sand. Still there, but deep. Kya laid her hand upon the breathing, wet earth, and the marsh became her mother.”
“Time ensures children never know their parents young.”
“Female fireflies draw in strange males with dishonest signals and eat them; mantis females devour their own mates. Female insects, Kya thought, know how to deal with their lovers.”
“Faces change with life’s toll, but eyes remain a window to what was…”
“Autumn leaves don’t fall; they fly. They take their time and wander on this, their only chance to soar. Reflecting sunlight, they swirled and sailed and fluttered on the wind drafts.”
“She could read anything now, he said, and once you can read anything you can learn everything. It was up to her. “Nobody’s come close to filling their brains,” he said. “We’re all like giraffes not using their necks to reach the higher leaves.”
“Please don’t talk to me about isolation. No one has to tell me how it changes a person. I have lived it. I am isolation,” Kya whispered with a slight edge.”
“What d’ya mean, where the crawdads sing? Ma used to say that.” Kya remembered Ma always encouraging her to explore the marsh: “Go as far as you can — way out yonder where the crawdads sing.”
Tate said, “Just means far in the bush where critters are wild, still behaving like critters.”“Sand keeps secrets better than mud.”
“Needing people ended in hurt.”
“time is no more fixed than the stars. Time speeds and bends around planets and suns, is different in the mountains than in the valleys, and is part of the same fabric as space, which curves and swells as does the sea.”
“Ya need some girlfriends, hon, ’cause they’re furever. Without a vow. A clutch of women’s the most tender, most tough place on Earth.”
“I must let go now. Let you go. Love is too often The answer for staying. Too seldom the reason For going. I drop the line And watch you drift away. “All along You thought The fiery current Of your lover’s breast Pulled you to the deep. But it was my heart-tide Releasing you To float adrift With seaweed.”
“Kya laid her hand upon the breathing, wet earth, and the marsh became her mother.”
“Most of what she knew, she’d learned from the wild. Nature had nurtured, tutored, and protected her when no one else would. If consequences resulted from her behaving differently then they too were functions of life’s fundamental core. Tate’s devotion eventually convinced her that human love is more than the bizarre mating competitions of the marsh creatures. But life also taught her than ancient genes for survival still persist in undesirable forms among the twists and turns of man’s genetic code. For Kya it was enough to be part of this natural sequence as sure as the tides. Kya was bonded to her planet and its life in a way few people are. Rooted solid in this earth. Born of this mother.”
“She’d given love a chance; now she wanted simply to fill the empty spaces. Ease the loneliness while walling off her heart.”
“Some parts of us will always be what we were, what we had to be to survive…”
“That’s what sisters and girlfriends are all about. Sticking together even in the mud, ’specially in mud.”
“Amanda Hamilton poem: “I must let go now. Let you go. Love is too often The answer for staying. Too seldom the reason For going. I drop the line And watch you drift away. “All along You thought The fiery current Of your lover’s breast Pulled you to the deep. But it was my heart-tide Releasing you To float adrift With seaweed.”
“Leaning on someone leaves you on the ground.”
“Not waiting for the sounds of someone was a release. And a strength.”
Excerpted from Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
1.
Ma
1952
The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh’s moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog. The palmetto patches stood unusually quiet except for the low, slow flap of the heron’s wings lifting from the lagoon. And then, Kya, only six at the time, heard the screen door slap. Standing on the stool, she stopped scrubbing grits from the pot and lowered it into the basin of worn-out suds. No sounds now but her own breathing. Who had left the shack? Not Ma. She never let the door slam.
But when Kya ran to the porch, she saw her mother in a long brown skirt, kick pleats nipping at her ankles, as she walked down the sandy lane in high heels. The stubby-nosed shoes were fake alligator skin. Her only going-out pair. Kya wanted to holler out but knew not to rouse Pa, so opened the door and stood on the brick-‘n’-board steps. From there she saw the blue train case Ma carried. Usually, with the confidence of a pup, Kya knew her mother would return with meat wrapped in greasy brown paper or with a chicken, head dangling down. But she never wore the gator heels, never took a case.
Ma always looked back where the foot lane met the road, one arm held high, white palm waving, as she turned onto the track, which wove through bog forests, cattail lagoons, and maybe-if the tide obliged-eventually into town. But today she walked on, unsteady in the ruts. Her tall figure emerged now and then through the holes of the forest until only swatches of white scarf flashed between the leaves. Kya sprinted to the spot she knew would bare the road; surely Ma would wave from there, but she arrived only in time to glimpse the blue case-the color so wrong for the woods-as it disappeared. A heaviness, thick as black-cotton mud, pushed her chest as she returned to the steps to wait.
Kya was the youngest of five, the others much older, though later she couldn’t recall their ages. They lived with Ma and Pa, squeezed together like penned rabbits, in the rough-cut shack, its screened porch staring big-eyed from under the oaks.
Jodie, the brother closest to Kya, but still seven years older, stepped from the house and stood behind her. He had her same dark eyes and black hair; had taught her birdsongs, star names, how to steer the boat through saw grass.
“Ma’ll be back,” he said.
“I dunno. She’s wearin’ her gator shoes.”
“A ma don’t leave her kids. It ain’t in ’em.”
“You told me that fox left her babies.”
“Yeah, but that vixen got ‘er leg all tore up. She’d’ve starved to death if she’d tried to feed herself ‘n’ her kits. She was better off to leave ’em, heal herself up, then whelp more when she could raise ’em good. Ma ain’t starvin’, she’ll be back.” Jodie wasn’t nearly as sure as he sounded, but said it for Kya.
Her throat tight, she whispered, “But Ma’s carryin’ that blue case like she’s goin’ somewheres big.”
The shack sat back from the palmettos, which sprawled across sand flats to a necklace of green lagoons and, in the distance, all the marsh beyond. Miles of blade-grass so tough it grew in salt water, interrupted only by trees so bent they wore the shape of the wind. Oak forests bunched around the other sides of the shack and sheltered the closest lagoon, its surface so rich in life it churned. Salt air and gull-song drifted through the trees from the sea.
Claiming territory hadn’t changed much since the 1500s. The scattered marsh holdings weren’t legally described, just staked out natural-a creek boundary here, a dead oak there-by renegades. A man doesn’t set up a palmetto lean-to in a bog unless he’s on the run from somebody or at the end of his own road.
The marsh was guarded by a torn shoreline, labeled by early explorers as the “Graveyard of the Atlantic” because riptides, furious winds, and shallow shoals wrecked ships like paper hats along what would become the North Carolina coast. One seaman’s journal read, “rang’d along the Shoar . . . but could discern no Entrance . . . A violent Storm overtook us . . . we were forced to get off to Sea, to secure Ourselves and Ship, and were driven by the Rapidity of a strong Current . . .
“The Land . . . being marshy and Swamps, we return’d towards our Ship . . . Discouragement of all such as should hereafter come into those Parts to settle.”
Those looking for serious land moved on, and this infamous marsh became a net, scooping up a mishmash of mutinous sailors, castaways, debtors, and fugitives dodging wars, taxes, or laws that they didn’t take to. The ones malaria didn’t kill or the swamp didn’t swallow bred into a woodsmen tribe of several races and multiple cultures, each of whom could fell a small forest with a hatchet and pack a buck for miles. Like river rats, each had his own territory, yet had to fit into the fringe or simply disappear some day in the swamp. Two hundred years later, they were joined by runaway slaves, who escaped into the marsh and were called maroons, and freed slaves, penniless and beleaguered, who dispersed into the water-land because of scant options.
Maybe it was mean country, but not an inch was lean. Layers of life-squiggly sand crabs, mud-waddling crayfish, waterfowl, fish, shrimp, oysters, fatted deer, and plump geese-were piled on the land or in the water. A man who didn’t mind scrabbling for supper would never starve.
It was now 1952, so some of the claims had been held by a string of disconnected, unrecorded persons for four centuries. Most before the Civil War. Others squatted on the land more recently, especially after the World Wars, when men came back broke and broke-up. The marsh did not confine them but defined them and, like any sacred ground, kept their secrets deep. No one cared that they held the land because nobody else wanted it. After all, it was wasteland bog.
Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws-not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes. It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.
Ma didnÕt come back that day. No one spoke of it. Least of all Pa. Stinking of fish and drum likker, he clanked pot lids. ÒWharÕs supper?Ó
Eyes downcast, the brothers and sisters shrugged. Pa dog-cussed, then limp-stepped out, back into the woods. There had been fights before; Ma had even left a time or two, but she always came back, scooping up whoever would be cuddled.
The two older sisters cooked a supper of red beans and cornbread, but no one sat to eat at the table, as they would have with Ma. Each dipped beans from the pot, flopped cornbread on top, and wandered off to eat on their floor mattresses or the faded sofa.
Kya couldn’t eat. She sat on the porch steps, looking down the lane. Tall for her age, bone skinny, she had deep-tanned skin and straight hair, black and thick as crow wings.
Darkness put a stop to her lookout. Croaking frogs would drown the sounds of footsteps; even so, she lay on her porch bed, listening. Just that morning she’d awakened to fatback crackling in the iron skillet and whiffs of biscuits browning in the wood oven. Pulling up her bib overalls, she’d rushed into the kitchen to put the plates and forks out. Pick the weevils from the grits. Most dawns, smiling wide, Ma hugged her-“Good morning, my special girl”-and the two of them moved about the chores, dancelike. Sometimes Ma sang folk songs or quoted nursery rhymes: “This little piggy went to market.” Or she’d swing Kya into a jitterbug, their feet banging the plywood floor until the music of the battery-operated radio died, sounding as if it were singing to itself at the bottom of a barrel. Other mornings Ma spoke about adult things Kya didn’t understand, but she figured Ma’s words needed somewhere to go, so she absorbed them through her skin, as she poked more wood in the cookstove. Nodding like she knew.
Then, the hustle of getting everybody up and fed. Pa not there. He had two settings: silence and shouting. So it was just fine when he slept through, or didn’t come home at all.
But this morning, Ma had been quiet; her smile lost, her eyes red. She’d tied a white scarf pirate style, low across her forehead, but the purple and yellow edges of a bruise spilled out. Right after breakfast, even before the dishes were washed, Ma had put a few personals in the train case and walked down the road.
The next morning,Kya took up her post again on the steps, her dark eyes boring down the lane like a tunnel waiting for a train. The marsh beyond was veiled in fog so low its cushy bottom sat right on the mud. Barefoot, Kya drummed her toes, twirled grass stems at doodlebugs, but a six-year-old canÕt sit long and soon she moseyed onto the tidal flats, sucking sounds pulling at her toes. Squatting at the edge of the clear water, she watched minnows dart between sunspots and shadows.
Jodie hollered to her from the palmettos. She stared; maybe he was coming with news. But as he wove through the spiky fronds, she knew by the way he moved, casual, that Ma wasn’t home.
“Ya wanta play explorers?” he asked.
“Ya said ya’re too old to play ‘splorers.”
“Nah, I just said that. Never too old. Race ya!”
They tore across the flats, then through the woods toward the beach. She squealed as he overtook her and laughed until they reached the large oak that jutted enormous arms over the sand. Jodie and their older brother, Murph, had hammered a few boards across the branches as a lookout tower and tree fort. Now, much of it was falling in, dangling from rusty nails.
Usually if she was allowed to crew at all it was as slave girl, bringing her brothers warm biscuits swiped from Ma’s pan.
But today Jodie said, “You can be captain.”
Kya raised her right arm in a charge. “Run off the Spaniards!” They broke off stick-swords and crashed through brambles, shouting and stabbing at the enemy.
Then-make-believe coming and going easily-she walked to a mossy log and sat. Silently, he joined her. He wanted to say something to get her mind off Ma, but no words came, so they watched the swimming shadows of water striders.
Kya returned to the porch steps later and waited for a long time, but, as she looked to the end of the lane, she never cried. Her face was still, her lips a simple thin line under searching eyes. But Ma didn’t come back that day either.
2.
Jodie
1952
After Ma left, over the next few weeks, Kya’s oldest brother and two sisters drifted away too, as if by example. They had endured Pa’s red-faced rages, which started as shouts, then escalated into fist-slugs, or backhanded punches, until one by one, they disappeared. They were nearly grown anyway. And later, just as she forgot their ages, she couldn’t remember their real names, only that they were called Missy, Murph, and Mandy. On her porch mattress, Kya found a small pile of socks left by her sisters.
On the morning when Jodie was the only sibling left, Kya awakened to the clatter-clank and hot grease of breakfast. She dashed into the kitchen, thinking Ma was home frying corn fritters or hoecakes. But it was Jodie, standing at the woodstove, stirring grits. She smiled to hide the letdown, and he patted the top of her head, gently shushing her to be quiet: if they didn’t wake Pa, they could eat alone. Jodie didn’t know how to make biscuits, and there wasn’t any bacon, so he cooked grits and scrambled eggs in lard, and they sat down together, silently exchanging glances and smiles.
They washed their dishes fast, then ran out the door toward the marsh, he in the lead. But just then Pa shouted and hobbled toward them. Impossibly lean, his frame seemed to flop about from poor gravity. His molars yellow as an old dog’s teeth.
Kya looked up at Jodie. “We can run. Hide in the mossy place.”
“It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” he said.
Later, near sunset, Jodie found Kya on the beach staring at the sea. As he stepped up beside her, she didnÕt look at him but kept her eyes on the roiling waves. Still, she knew by the way he spoke that Pa had slugged his face.
“I hafta go, Kya. Can’t live here no longer.”
She almost turned to him, but didn’t. Wanted to beg him not to leave her alone with Pa, but the words jammed up.
“When you’re old enough you’ll understand,” he said. Kya wanted to holler out that she may be young, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew Pa was the reason they all left; what she wondered was why no one took her with them. She’d thought of leaving too, but had nowhere to go and no bus money.
“Kya, ya be careful, hear. If anybody comes, don’t go in the house. They can get ya there. Run deep in the marsh, hide in the bushes. Always cover yo’ tracks; I learned ya how. And ya can hide from Pa, too.” When she still didn’t speak, he said good-bye and strode across the beach to the woods. Just before he stepped into the trees, she finally turned and watched him walk away.
“This little piggy stayed home,” she said to the waves.
Breaking her freeze, she ran to the shack. Shouted his name down the hall, but Jodie’s things were already gone, his floor bed stripped bare.
She sank onto his mattress, watching the last of that day slide down the wall. Light lingered after the sun, as it does, some of it pooling in the room, so that for a brief moment the lumpy beds and piles of old clothes took on more shape and color than the trees outside.
A gnawing hunger-such a mundane thing-surprised her. She walked to the kitchen and stood at the door. All her life the room had been warmed from baking bread, boiling butter beans, or bubbling fish stew. Now, it was stale, quiet, and dark. “Who’s gonna cook?” she asked out loud. Could have asked, Who’s gonna dance?
….
Note: Above are quotes and excerpts from the book “Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens”. If you find it interesting and useful, don’t forget to buy paper books to support the Author and Publisher!
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