Novels with a Sense of Place

I have recently two books that offer a wonderful sense of place. Vacationland by Sarah Stonich is set in the far north of Minnesota, along Lake Superior. Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens is set in the North Carolina marshes. 

Vacationland with quilt Michigan Autumn by Nancy A. Bekofske

Reading Laurentian Divide through Bookish I fell in love with Hatchet Inlet and the people of Naledi lodge. I learned that the novel is based on Sarah Stonich's set of interconnected short stories Vacationland and found a copy through my local library.

If anything, I would say that Vacationland is even better than the novel. And that's saying a lot, folks. I feel like I know so much more about these characters and their experience. Hatchet Inlet becomes more "real" and vivid in these stories. The depth of human experience in all its varieties that Stonich elicits from a small group of people is profound. The stories left me heart sore and some will stay vivid in my mind for a very long time.

The sense of place comes alive through the character's love of this far north land where Chicagoans come to summer but few have the stamina to stay year round. And in descriptions that leave a visual image.

Much of the resort is pocked with neglect: a sack of mortar left leaning near a wall has hardened to its own shape, with tatters of sack flapping; a tipped wheelbarrow has a maple sapling sprung through its rusted hole. Flat stones form a run of stairs have eroded to a jumble below, and high on the plateau old cabins lean like a trio of gossips, their eaves and sills lushly bumpered with moss...Bunchberry has berried and the sumac has gone bright. A fork in the path leads to a bog, where each footprint fills with water and spindly tamarack drop yellow needles. At her feet are colorful pitcher plants looking tropical and misplaced amid the hair-cap and hornwort...Water hyacinths, leatherleaf, bog rosemary--soft and woody plants in various stages of growth and bloom and rot make for a heady decay. from short story Hesitation in Vacationland by Sarah Stonich 

Bunchberries in bloom, Upper Peninsula of Michigan near Lake Superior. Photo by Gary L. Bekofske

stones near the Lake Superior shore in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Photo by Gary L. Bekofske

I heard so much about Delia Owen's first novel Where the Crawdads Sing. I had high expectations, based on reviews by Goodreads friends. 

I found it to be a good page-turner read, with a vivid sense of place. The author's love of the North Carolina marshland shines in lovely descriptive passages. I enjoyed this aspect of the novel.

The further I read into the book, the less satisfied I was with the plot which stretched my credulity. And the supporting characters were standard stereotypes: good boy, bad boy, drunk father, a mother who has run off, the victim of societal prejudice.

It is the story of an abandoned child who shuns society and manages to survive with the help of a kindly African American family who offers her covert charity. There is a boy who loves her too much (and teaches Kya to read) but leaves her, and a boy who loves himself more and leaves her. The girl grows up to become an expert on marsh flora and fauna, illustrating and writing scientific books about the marsh. There is a suspicious death, a trial, and an unexpected reveal.

I am in the minority in rating this as an average read. Entertaining enough. The marsh is memorable and the best-drawn 'character' in the novel. But it is hard to believe that a small child would be left alone to raise herself, ignored by society, survive without incident, and grow up to become a self-educated scholar and science writer. There was foreshadowing but no real lead up for the twisted ending.

I recalled the quote from Alice in Wonderland:

“There's no use trying,” she said: “one can't believe impossible things.” “I daresay you haven't had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

If you are willing to believe the impossible, Kya's story will tug your heartstrings.

The novel is filled with wonderful observations of the flora and fauna of the marsh. Kya is so connected to the land, her boyfriend knows she could not survive penned up into "civilization" and the teeming human life of the city. It is this wild world that feeds her soul.

Sandhill Crane in the Seney National Wildlife Preserve marsh, Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Photo by Gary L. Bekofske
This is the setting for The March King's Daughter by Karen Dionne

Other novels I have read this year with a sense of place include:

The March King's Daughter by Karen Dionne, set in Michigan's Upper Peninsula near Seney Wildlife Preserve

Virgil Wander by Leif Enger, set in Minnesota along Lake Superior

Marlena by Julie Buntin set in Northern Michigan near Lake Superior

Once Upon a River by Bonnie Jo Campbell set on and near the Kalamazoo River in Michigan

Hard Cider  by Barbara Stark-Nemon set in the Leelanau Peninsula in Michigan

A Collar for Cerberus by Matt Stanley set in Greece

Historical fiction

Burial Rites by Hannah Kent

Our Homesick Songs by Emma Hooper set in Newfoundland

The River by Starlight by Ellen Notbohm set in Montana

The Winter Station by Jody Shields set in Manchuria

The Winter Soldier by Daniel Mason set on the Eastern Front of WWI

Laurentian Divide by Sarah Stonich

When I read the opening pages of Sarah Stonich's novel Laurentian Divide was I quite taken by the people in Hatchet Inlet.

"The topic over at Pavola's was death," the novel begins, not the weekly sort occurring at the Senior Cedars or the tragic kind after two local girls were killed in a "drunken swerve", but the "theoretical"--Rauri Paar has not shown up in town since the spring ice break. The customers at Pavola's are concerned and postulating the various ways Rauri may have kicked the bucket.

We meet Pete and his father Alpo, and sisters Laurie and Sissy who run the cafe, and various locals, most all with Finnish names and demonstrating their independent and stubborn heritage. Pete gratefully thinks, "I've never known a Finn to do things the easy way. Thank God, I'm half Irish. Thanks, Mom."

Sissy runs the cafe and is engaged to the widower Alpo, twenty years her senior. Early onset Alzheimers runs in Sissy's family, so their risk is mutual. Pete lost his wife and children to his alcoholism but is seven months sober. His backstory is heartbreaking, hinting at a shattered childhood that Alpo is unaware of.

Rauri wandered into town decades ago after the war and took up his isolated residence. When the land became a preserve he won a lifetime right to live there. If he leaves for over two months, he loses his protection and land. He had to be on the island. Someone should go check on him. It takes three hours and several portages to reach Rauri's home, not a trip for the fainthearted.

The Laurentian Divide in Minnesota is a continental divide which determines which direction and to what sea water flows. It seems an apt symbol. Love requited or unrequited, careers, sobriety or escape, community or isolation--the decisions the characters make determine if they are swept into the killing frigid Arctic or swim into the warmth of Equatorial waters.

But as Sissy remembers,"Cathy says life isn't something that happens to you--how you choose to react to what happens is life."

I received a free ebook from Bookish First in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

The town and characters appeared in Stonich's previous book Vacationland.

The Laurentian Divide
Sarah Stonich
University of Minnesota Press
$22.95
ISBN 9781517905620