An author’s life and writing process is often misunderstood
and when I read the synopsis of The
Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley, I knew I had to read it. It is about an
author that is writing an historical novel about the Jacobite rebellion of
1708. She chooses to write the story through her ancestor’s eyes and much to
her surprise she finds that everything she writes turns out to be historically
accurate.
When the images and the words are flowing, it is called many
things, including “finding your muse” or being “in the zone”. The best way for
me to describe it is the outside world falls away as if the author is looking
through a portal to another world, another place, another time. The characters
there become more real than those in the author’s orbit as the plot, the
challenges, the heartbreak and triumphs take over.
Kearsley describes this process flawlessly; the characters
that prod at the author in the middle of the night until she arises and writes
down their words… Their circumstances looming even in the light of day… And the
sadness that creeps in once a book is completed and the characters must be set
aside.
Within The
Winter Sea is the book the author is writing, which takes us back to
1708 Scotland and King James’ determination to win the English throne, casting
the Catholics and sympathetic Protestants against those opposed to a Catholic
king. It is a story I delved deep into with the writing of Cloak and Mirrors
and the historical book, Checkmate: Clans and
Castles. It was hard for me as an American to imagine the wars and
conflicts between the Catholic and Protestant faiths, which began in earnest in
Scotland and Ireland during the time of Henry VIII and continue even today in
parts of Northern Ireland. Yet more wars have been conducted in the name of
organized religion than any other cause.
Kearsley’s story unfolds like one told by Daphne du Maurier.
It takes the reader back to the early 18th century, to horses and
carriages, manor houses, class systems, allegiances and betrayals, and the high
price many must pay simply to exist. At its heart is Slains, a manor house set
against the sea, and through her expert descriptions, she transports the reader
to the cove next to the water, to the rolling waves and cloudy skies, and to
the horizon where our heroine watches for the sails of a ship that will bring
her love back to her—and herald the beginning of war.
As the author within the story pieces the scenes together,
she finds that everything she writes is true, despite believing initially that the
fragments and images were simply brought forth by her imagination. It is an
intriguing plot twist and based on recent scientific evidence, a theory known
as genetic
memory or ancestral memory.
There are three types of memories and two, procedural memory
and semantic memory, can indeed be inherited. It is even theorized that savants
are demonstrating ancestral memories since they often show aptitudes in music,
art, mathematics and languages at such an early age that they could not
possibly have learned it during their short lifetime.
Far-fetched? Consider this: what is an instinct? When a
newborn colt struggles to rise to its feet within moments of birth, what
compels it to do so? One theory is the generations of horses before it learned
that the ability to run could save them from predators. While breeding
angelfish, I learned that fry during their most vulnerable period could
literally jump across the tank at any sudden movement or sound. Without that
unexpected jump, they would most likely be eaten in the wild. Sea turtles break
out of their shells on a beach and know to make their way to the water, braving
threats and challenges along the way. Couldn’t each of these instincts be
attributed to generations before them that learned these are the ways in which
to survive?
The answer is yes, and now science is mapping the genome
that allows these memories to be passed down from one generation to the next,
ensuring the survival of the species.
Kearsley takes this a step further, with genetic semantic
memory. As the author within her story writes the scenes of her ancestor, she
knows things she couldn’t have possibly have read or been exposed to otherwise.
And though it is left to the reader to determine whether it is coincidence or inherited
memory, the argument for the latter is compelling.
When I was writing Songbirds are Free,
there were fellow authors and friends that thought I must have been Mary Neely
reincarnated, because the scenes I envisioned, the places she was brought, the
experiences she had, later were confirmed to be true. While I never believed I
was Mary Neely reincarnated, the concept of genetic memory appears to be far
more plausible. Since I was very young—in fact, as far back as my earliest
memories—I have had a fear of being kept prisoner. It is not a fear of attack
or death, but rather held against my will and to this day, I cannot read a book
or watch a movie about someone caged or made a slave. It wasn’t until I began
writing Mary’s story of her capture by Shawnee warriors and her three years as
a slave in which she tried time and again to escape, that the pieces began to
come together in my mind. By the time I finished the story, I felt as though I
no longer feared capture—perhaps because I knew Mary, in the end, did escape
and find her way home. But the question still remains: since I was obviously
never captured and held against my will in this lifetime and the fears were
there long before I began to read or watch television, where did they come
from?
Whatever your beliefs, if you enjoy history, romance and
suspense, I strongly recommend Susanna’s Kearsley’s The
Winter Sea.
