The Language of Trees
By: Ilie Ruby
Paperback: 368 pages
Publisher: Avon A (July 20, 2010)
*copy provided by publisher for review on TLC Book Tours
Mesmerizing, magical and haunting, The Language of Trees is a story that will remain with the reader long after the final words have been read. The story of these amazing characters will continue to shadow the reader's memory, tidbits surfacing out of the blue.
With poetically beautiful prose, Ilie Ruby brings to life the story of the Ellis family who has encountered one tragedy after another. The latest, the disappearance of wife, mother, sister and daughter, Melanie. Gone, without a trace or explanation, Melanie leaves behind her beloved son and husband. Once an addict, authorities toss this disappearance aside, saying that she will return when she is ready. Melanie's mother and husband, Lion, know different, however. Melanie has changed her life, turning it around for the better and embracing life with her heart and soul. Something horrible has happened and those who love Melanie will not rest until she is found.
The Language of Trees is also the story of newly divorced Grant Shongo, who has returned to Canandaigua Lake to repair his wounds and find a life worth living once again. It is not long before he meets his ex-love, Echo, who has returned to look out for her ailing father. Sparks fly and electricity crackles between the two, as circumstances and forgiveness bring them together once again. Will that new bond be broken once secrets of the past surface? Lives will forever change as ghosts of what once was re-surface and draw the town into their unrelenting grasp.
Ilie Ruby writes a debut novel sure to put even the most published of writer to the test. The Language of Trees is destined to transcend time and generations, resembling the folklores and folktales, which are rich within the story itself. I truly was absorbed within Ms. Ruby's writing and found myself transfixed with the town of Canandaigua Lake and its residents. Ms. Ruby's use of description and characterization are beyond amazing and enable the reader to quickly and easily become absorbed within the story. I do want to mention that, though loving the author's style of writing, the fact that the story is written in present tense was a bit difficult for me at times. I cannot say for sure why, perhaps it is just the fact that I have not read many books written in this tense. That being said, I simply adored every other aspect of The Language of Trees and eagerly await more works by the talented Ilie Ruby!
*overall rating 4/5
About The Language of Trees:
Devastated over the breakup of his marriage, Grant Shongo returns to his hometown of Canandaigua Lake, a little community where everyone knows everyone’s business, though they may pretend not to. Living in isolation at his family’s old cabin, Grant begins to wonder if he isn’t being haunted by the spirit of Luke Ellis, a young boy who mysteriously drowned one night in the lake. Grant is drawn back into the world when a young man, Lion, pleas for help to find his missing wife, Melanie. Theories abound about her disappearance — has she skipped town like she used to on a drug-induced relapse, or could something far more sinister be at play? Is her abduction in any way related to her brother’s death all those years ago?
Sparks fly when Grant’s first love Echo returns to town, and with the chance at enjoying life again, the pair becomes hopeful about nursing old wounds together. But will uncovering the truth about Melanie’s disappearance threaten their blooming happiness? As the past inexorably draws Grant and Echo in, long-buried secrets will surface that will affect everyone involved in the rescue effort for the rest of their lives.
Excerpt:
PROLOGUE
May 1988
The silken hair of the three children glows bone white in the moonlight as they paddle the stolen canoe out into the icy waters of Canandaigua Lake. The May wind is like a rabid wolf howling in the darkness, darting this way and that, biting at the rain as it sweeps across the surface in blustery sheets, hitting the children's flushed faces. The children know that on nights like this, the spirits of the Seneca Indians are weeping. Some are buried out on Squaw Island, a few miles away, and the children know if they put an ear close to the water's surface, they will hear the spirits calling, inviting them under.
Melanie Ellis, the eldest, sets her heavy wooden paddle down at the stern, and leans her thin body over the side of the canoe to listen for their whispers. Her long blond hair trails over the water, making large ripples. Her purple cotton dress billows up, revealing two bruised knees. Maya, just eight, jostles the boat as she pounds her fists and drums on the canoe’s seat. Little Luke sits precariously on the canoe’s edge, his head of blond curls tossed in the wind. Luke can withstand a thing like the foul weather, even if he is only seven, even if his body is so light, his skin so pale under the glowy moon, his sisters tease him that he looks like a ghost.
The sky becomes a deep pearl gray as the fog thickens around the coast of Squaw Island, a mystical and forbidden place that the children have only dreamed of visiting. Surrounded by a man-made barrier of large granite rocks, it is the only place on earth where rare white lime deposits known as Water Biscuits exist. Illuminated by moonlight, they cling to its shores.
The island is too far out to swim, but not to row.
Melanie plunges the paddle into the icy water. Squinting toward the hazy distance, she can see the island encircled by feather trees brushing the sky, the edges of its shoreline vanishing into the lake. The high water level has swallowed up the land bridge that once connected it to the mainland. Long ago, the island was so large one could get lost in the trees. During a war in 1779, Indian women and children escaped to safety across this bridge to hide in the droves of trees that covered the island and Melanie has always imagined them seeking shelter in the knees of trees and praying silently, sitting still as stone, and breathing so quietly that even the wind wouldn’t notice them. Just as she, herself, has done on nights when her father drinks too much and the smartest thing to do is sneak out of the house and hide, and breathe without making a sound, and imagine that she is disappearing.
The drops of rain are coming harder now, not soft marbles that roll down her face, but drops that feel like a million needles. Everything going on at home is distant now, pushed into darkness by the clamoring rain and the scent of restless spirits.
The storm is kicking up.
Thunder wracks the sky as Melanie forces the paddle against the waves. The wind howls, rolling the water like a serpent under the canoe. The lake begins to buck and push. The waves splash up against the sides of the boat, drenching the children in icy water. Maya and Luke have started to cry, begging her to go back. Melanie pushes her wet hair out of her eyes and glances behind her toward the Shongo’s property. For a moment, unmoving, she is captivated by the sight of the Diamond Trees, the two great willows whose flickering leaves, when caught in the moonlight, create diamonds of light scattered across the water. These trees light the way for those who are lost. She quickly turns back toward the island, trying to gauge the distance ahead. She can see it out there in the mist, floating toward her.
The waves are pushing the canoe toward the island.
The heavy paddle slips from Melanie’s hands, the waves wrestling it away. She crawls toward the front of the canoe, straining to retrieve it, but the paddle is quickly disappearing into the darkness. The boat is tossed aimlessly, caught halfway between the mainland and the island. The children cry out for help, their voices lost in the fog as they hold on to each other. Icy water surges up, filling the boat. Melanie must think fast. She edges toward the middle of the canoe, takes a deep breath, and plunges her hands into the numbing water to paddle. Luke reaches out for her, but she pushes him back, trying to keep the island in view. As the waves pull the boat closer, Melanie suddenly sees something: a figure moving on the island. Through the moonlit mist, her eyes can just make out the shimmering silhouette of a man so tall storm clouds rest on his shoulders. His body is so large that when he bends over with his shovel, he carries the moon on his back. He is digging furiously.
Trembling, Melanie calls out to him but her voice disappears into the crashing waves. She hears her siblings whimpering, and looks at their small bodies huddled against the seat, frozen, wide-eyed, watching her. Bracing her feet against the sides of the canoe for balance, she waves one arm at the giant as she struggles to stand. The island is closer now but the giant does not hear her. As the waves tip the canoe back and forth, she leans her weight from side to side, yelling to the giant again and again. Then there is a sudden roar of thunder followed by a whip of lightning that cracks the surface of the lake. In the flash, Melanie can see the giant more clearly, his wide face and black hair. She watches now as he throws down his shovel and picks up a large axe. Her eyes focus on the shadows as he lifts the axe into the air and down again, over and over, as though smashing the moonlight.
Maya catches the shock on her sister’s face as Melanie panics, tipping the canoe, her feet slipping out from underneath her. Melanie falls, her cheek slamming against the seat, her arms and legs scraping and sliding against the cold wet floor. Her vision blurs. And as she begins to black out, she can see Maya moving near the edge of the boat, the red of her dress darkening into the sky’s gray. She can hear the sound of her name being called through the wind.
Small cries are wrestled into a deadening quiet. Rain stops. Then there is nothing but the swishing of the boat.
Near dawn, the sky is hushed pink. Wisps of clouds rise from the chalky white shoreline of Squaw Island. Melanie is awakened by the soft scrape of white stones against the canoe’s floor. Peeking out from the island’s thin trees is the rusted door of an old boy scout cabin. Where there once was a giant, now only his imprint is left in the trees, his dark shadow clinging to the leaves and branches.
Floating in a lucent pool, Melanie trembles as she pushes herself up, despite the piercing pain that weighs her head down. She whispers Luke’s name as her eyes search for him.
Melanie feels her heart quicken when she doesn’t see Luke in the canoe. Only Maya, who is staring at her, her arms wrapped around herself, her dress, torn at the shoulder.
Melanie scans the horizon. On the island, she can see a shovel stuck in a pile of dirt.
A heavy curtain of mist slowly lifts off the water.
The lake still reflects each star, as though it were holding on, unwilling to let them fade.
“It’s all your fault,” Maya whispers, with pale eyes.
May 1988
The silken hair of the three children glows bone white in the moonlight as they paddle the stolen canoe out into the icy waters of Canandaigua Lake. The May wind is like a rabid wolf howling in the darkness, darting this way and that, biting at the rain as it sweeps across the surface in blustery sheets, hitting the children's flushed faces. The children know that on nights like this, the spirits of the Seneca Indians are weeping. Some are buried out on Squaw Island, a few miles away, and the children know if they put an ear close to the water's surface, they will hear the spirits calling, inviting them under.
Melanie Ellis, the eldest, sets her heavy wooden paddle down at the stern, and leans her thin body over the side of the canoe to listen for their whispers. Her long blond hair trails over the water, making large ripples. Her purple cotton dress billows up, revealing two bruised knees. Maya, just eight, jostles the boat as she pounds her fists and drums on the canoe’s seat. Little Luke sits precariously on the canoe’s edge, his head of blond curls tossed in the wind. Luke can withstand a thing like the foul weather, even if he is only seven, even if his body is so light, his skin so pale under the glowy moon, his sisters tease him that he looks like a ghost.
The sky becomes a deep pearl gray as the fog thickens around the coast of Squaw Island, a mystical and forbidden place that the children have only dreamed of visiting. Surrounded by a man-made barrier of large granite rocks, it is the only place on earth where rare white lime deposits known as Water Biscuits exist. Illuminated by moonlight, they cling to its shores.
The island is too far out to swim, but not to row.
Melanie plunges the paddle into the icy water. Squinting toward the hazy distance, she can see the island encircled by feather trees brushing the sky, the edges of its shoreline vanishing into the lake. The high water level has swallowed up the land bridge that once connected it to the mainland. Long ago, the island was so large one could get lost in the trees. During a war in 1779, Indian women and children escaped to safety across this bridge to hide in the droves of trees that covered the island and Melanie has always imagined them seeking shelter in the knees of trees and praying silently, sitting still as stone, and breathing so quietly that even the wind wouldn’t notice them. Just as she, herself, has done on nights when her father drinks too much and the smartest thing to do is sneak out of the house and hide, and breathe without making a sound, and imagine that she is disappearing.
The drops of rain are coming harder now, not soft marbles that roll down her face, but drops that feel like a million needles. Everything going on at home is distant now, pushed into darkness by the clamoring rain and the scent of restless spirits.
The storm is kicking up.
Thunder wracks the sky as Melanie forces the paddle against the waves. The wind howls, rolling the water like a serpent under the canoe. The lake begins to buck and push. The waves splash up against the sides of the boat, drenching the children in icy water. Maya and Luke have started to cry, begging her to go back. Melanie pushes her wet hair out of her eyes and glances behind her toward the Shongo’s property. For a moment, unmoving, she is captivated by the sight of the Diamond Trees, the two great willows whose flickering leaves, when caught in the moonlight, create diamonds of light scattered across the water. These trees light the way for those who are lost. She quickly turns back toward the island, trying to gauge the distance ahead. She can see it out there in the mist, floating toward her.
The waves are pushing the canoe toward the island.
The heavy paddle slips from Melanie’s hands, the waves wrestling it away. She crawls toward the front of the canoe, straining to retrieve it, but the paddle is quickly disappearing into the darkness. The boat is tossed aimlessly, caught halfway between the mainland and the island. The children cry out for help, their voices lost in the fog as they hold on to each other. Icy water surges up, filling the boat. Melanie must think fast. She edges toward the middle of the canoe, takes a deep breath, and plunges her hands into the numbing water to paddle. Luke reaches out for her, but she pushes him back, trying to keep the island in view. As the waves pull the boat closer, Melanie suddenly sees something: a figure moving on the island. Through the moonlit mist, her eyes can just make out the shimmering silhouette of a man so tall storm clouds rest on his shoulders. His body is so large that when he bends over with his shovel, he carries the moon on his back. He is digging furiously.
Trembling, Melanie calls out to him but her voice disappears into the crashing waves. She hears her siblings whimpering, and looks at their small bodies huddled against the seat, frozen, wide-eyed, watching her. Bracing her feet against the sides of the canoe for balance, she waves one arm at the giant as she struggles to stand. The island is closer now but the giant does not hear her. As the waves tip the canoe back and forth, she leans her weight from side to side, yelling to the giant again and again. Then there is a sudden roar of thunder followed by a whip of lightning that cracks the surface of the lake. In the flash, Melanie can see the giant more clearly, his wide face and black hair. She watches now as he throws down his shovel and picks up a large axe. Her eyes focus on the shadows as he lifts the axe into the air and down again, over and over, as though smashing the moonlight.
Maya catches the shock on her sister’s face as Melanie panics, tipping the canoe, her feet slipping out from underneath her. Melanie falls, her cheek slamming against the seat, her arms and legs scraping and sliding against the cold wet floor. Her vision blurs. And as she begins to black out, she can see Maya moving near the edge of the boat, the red of her dress darkening into the sky’s gray. She can hear the sound of her name being called through the wind.
Small cries are wrestled into a deadening quiet. Rain stops. Then there is nothing but the swishing of the boat.
Near dawn, the sky is hushed pink. Wisps of clouds rise from the chalky white shoreline of Squaw Island. Melanie is awakened by the soft scrape of white stones against the canoe’s floor. Peeking out from the island’s thin trees is the rusted door of an old boy scout cabin. Where there once was a giant, now only his imprint is left in the trees, his dark shadow clinging to the leaves and branches.
Floating in a lucent pool, Melanie trembles as she pushes herself up, despite the piercing pain that weighs her head down. She whispers Luke’s name as her eyes search for him.
Melanie feels her heart quicken when she doesn’t see Luke in the canoe. Only Maya, who is staring at her, her arms wrapped around herself, her dress, torn at the shoulder.
Melanie scans the horizon. On the island, she can see a shovel stuck in a pile of dirt.
A heavy curtain of mist slowly lifts off the water.
The lake still reflects each star, as though it were holding on, unwilling to let them fade.
“It’s all your fault,” Maya whispers, with pale eyes.
About Ilie Ruby:Ilie Ruby won the Phi Kappa Phi Award for Fiction, the Edwin L. Moses Award, a Kerr Foundation Fiction Scholarship, the Wesleyan Writer’s Conference Scholarship in NonFiction, and the Barbara Kemp Award for Outstanding Teaching and Scholarship. She has published poems and short stories in literary and online magazines, and is the former fiction editor of The Southern California Anthology. A graduate of the Professional Writing Program at the University of Southern California, she has worked for PBS in Honduras, as well as taught elementary school in Los Angeles. Ms. Ruby lives near Boston. This is her first novel.
Please visit Ilie Ruby's website: http://www.ilieruby.com/
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Please be sure to visit these other amazing blogs also on tour with Ilie Ruby and TLC!
Tuesday, July 20th: I’m Booking It
Wednesday, July 21st: Café of Dreams
Monday, July 26th: Library Queue
Wednesday, July 28th: Fizzy Thoughts
Thursday, July 29th: Alison’s Book Marks
Monday, August 2nd: Chaotic Compendiums
Wednesday, August 4th: Take Me Away
Thursday, August 5th: Booksie’s Blog
Monday, August 9th: Jenny Loves to Read
Tuesday, August 10th: Chefdruck Musings
Thursday, August 12th: Books Like Breathing
15 comments:
I have to agree, this was a really amazing book. Haunting is a good description-- it's approaching a week since I finished reading the book, and I still can't stop thinking about it.
I'm oddly glad to know I'm not the only one that was thrown off-kilter by the used of present tense.
Great review. I can't wait to read this one.
I love a good peppering of poetic prose, sounds like a great read!
Sounds like an intriguing book. Thanks for the review. Wouldn't have known about it if I hadn't come to your site. ")
Carole
The Romance Reviews
I'm not a fan of present tense either, though some authors are better at using it than others. I'm still looking forward to reading this book, though, because of the great things I've heard! I'll be reviewing it in August!
I saw a review for this yesterday and just fell in love with the cover.
Terrific review, April. This book sounds fascinating.
I'm torn ... this book sounds really good, but I have a hard time with missing children stories. I can't decide whether I should read this or not!
Thanks for being a part of the tour - I'm thrilled that you enjoyed this one.
Definitely adding this to my TBR and Wish lists! Thanks for the great review, April....
i've had my eye on this book!
i'm glad you enjoyed it so much. i can't wait to get it and read it now.
This one sounds terrific and intriguing.
I've been hearing some great things about this book. Looks like it's one for the need to read list.
I'm looking forward to reading this book. I saw the author on a panel in New York and she's fascinating.
Thank you, April, all these months later, for these beautiful words about The Language of Trees.
xo
Ilie
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