Book: The Drago Tree
Author: Isobel Blackthorn
Published: 29 September 2015
Publisher: Odyssey Books
Synopsis:
Haunted by demons past and present, geologist Ann
Salter seeks sanctuary on the exotic island of Lanzarote. There she meets
charismatic author Richard Parry and indigenous potter Domingo, and together
they explore the island.
Ann’s encounters with the island’s hidden treasures
becomes a journey deep inside herself as she struggles to understand who she
was, who she is, and who she wants to be.
Set against a panoramic backdrop of dramatic island
landscapes and Spanish colonial history, The Drago Tree is an intriguing tale
of betrayal, conquest and love, in all its forms.
Below is an exclusive interview with author Isobel Blackthorn
Q: What genres have
you covered so far in your writing and what genres would you like to experiment
with in the future?
Isobel
Blackthorn: So far I have written my version of a tragicomic drama and a tragicomic
romance, and a suspense/thriller and a Gothic horror novel. I’m currently at
work on a mystery crime novel. I plan to write a romp, but I think I’ll have to
find myself in a very lighthearted mood to do it. I’d like to experiment with
magic realism one day.
Q: How much research
did you have to do for The Drago Tree?
IB: There was an enormous
amount of research involved, everything from the history of the setting,
through to the geology, the geography and the culture. Fortunately I used to
live on Lanzarote, one of the Canary Islands off the coast of Morocco and where
the story is set, but that was twenty-five years ago. I trawled through scores
of websites in English and in Spanish, watched Youtube videos, read numerous
books and spent a lot of time on Google maps. I did my absolute best to be accurate
about every single detail.
Q: How many drafts do
you go through to reach the final version of your book?
IB: I write a first draft,
which takes me several months. This version is usually sketchy and there is
much to develop. I set that draft aside for a few weeks or months while I work
on something else. To get the story to a second draft phase and ready for beta
readers, takes me three runs through. I attend to revisions, embellish where
needed (my first draft is generally only about 45,000 words), next I craft the
sentences and paragraphs, then I go through the text looking for anything that
jars.
Once I
have some feedback from my beta readers, I go through the text twice more, the
last time perfecting every single thing I can find. If I still find things to
fix on every page, then I go through it again and again, until looking at it
makes me feel physically sick. That’s when I decide to send it to my publisher.
Q: What are you
currently working on?
IB: I am working on a
mystery crime novel. It’s the sequel to The
Drago Tree. I had started out thinking I’d try my hand at crime, which
scared me quite a bit as crime readers are a very exacting group and there are
numerous fabulous crime writers out there. Once I’d started to re-engage with
my characters, I, or rather we, decided to head more in the direction of
mystery. Although there is certainly an element of crime and so far the story
seems to have the energy of a crime novel too. I’ll have to see how it turns
out.
Q: You mention in
your bio that the occult tends to find a way into your writing, which of your
novels have that theme? Would you consider writing a full paranormal novel?
IB: There are elements of
the paranormal in The Drago Tree. At
the time of writing, I was captivated by Isabel Allende’s The House of the Spirits, although I wouldn’t call my novel magic
realism. I don’t know if I would write a paranormal novel but anything is
possible! The occult features most strongly in my next novel, A Perfect Square, due for release in
2016.
Q: What countries
would you like to visit in the future?
IB: I am about to fly to
back to Lanzarote, the first time in twenty-six years. I’m also visiting
Scotland, which I am very excited about. I’ll be staying in Edinburgh, a city I
have not yet visited, and I’m told filled with bookshops! I adore beautiful
scenery and dry climates. I’d love to visit Canada and Eastern Europe. Then
there’s North Africa – Morocco perhaps. And I’m more and more fascinated by the
Middle East, with all of its rich cultures. A tragedy what’s happening there.
An excerpt from The Drago Tree
Heading back to Haría, Ann took
the circuitous route, driving north along the coast road that skirts the edge
of La Corona’s outpourings. The solitude—there was no other car in
sight—interrupted by that annoyingly cautionary school mistress lodged in her head,
berating her for accepting Richard’s invitation.
Before long, La Corona swept into
view to the west, singular in the landscape, a decapitated cone of russet-black
rock. Ann drove slowly, taking in the malpais, a lava plain sustaining only
lichens and euphorbias, the shore-side broken now and then by pockets of creamy
sand. With La Corona in view to her left, the ocean to the right, the scene was
primordial. Travelling by car seemed out of joint with these surroundings. She
felt an impulse to throw her arms wide and yell into the wind. Yet there were
few places to pull over.
Another kilometre and she spotted
a turning up ahead. She slowed and eased the car into a small and empty parking
bay. She left the car and followed a narrow path through boulder and scree to a
lick of white sand nearby. The beach felt desolate, the silence cut by the wind
and the slap of small waves.
She stood at the waterline,
watching the gentle swell, the black terrain closing in all around her, and the
misgivings she felt in accepting Richard’s dinner invitation gave way to a
familiar moiling. She yearned to expunge the hurt that had taken up residence
in her heart like an unwelcome lodger. Running away from her marriage hadn’t
achieved much. She had distance, but she was still who she was, who’d she’d
allowed herself to become. Two decades of study and research, in recent years
wading through the murky waters of the Isis, all the while paddling about in
the murk of her personal life and suffering the occasional flood. He’d frightened
her this time, with that frustrated fist of his in their final row. What was
that about? Burnt toast? It might as well have been. They’d been arguing the
same old ground. It always came down to her career and his ego.
She wanted to forget. Let this atmosphere
of tremendous isolation consume her. She thought she must be the only living
creature on this beach; she saw no birds, no lizards, no crabs, not even a fly.
She took a deep breath of the cooling ocean air then slipped off her sandals
and paddled her feet in the wash, enjoying the chill and the gentle push and
pull.
Her thoughts wandered back to the
night before she left Willinton for the airport. Too distraught to stay another
moment in her house, she spent those hours ensconced in her office with nothing
to occupy her frazzled mind. So she’d researched the island—its topography, its
geology, its history—trawling the tourism sites, frustrated by the shallow
summaries and contradictory information, eventually stumbling on a book freely
available with the noble title The
Canarian. Two pages in, immersed in the journals of two priests who had set
sail on the voyage that conquered Lanzarote, she’d forgotten the Hydrology
Centre, her tattered marriage, the tumult of her heart.
Now she was here, it was easy to
imagine that past. Beyond the bay, the wind and the ocean swell pushed south,
the flow of the Atlantic perfect sailing for the ambitious conqueror, Juan
Bethencourt. The year was 1402 when he set sail, determined to take possession
of the Fortunate Islands on behalf of any kingdom willing to strike a good
deal.
Marauding Spanish adventurers
covetous of the profits procured from dyes and slaves had long favoured
Lanzarote. Beholding the ocean, she could imagine the sickening undertow in the
bellies of the beleaguered islanders each time they saw a ship on the horizon.
Guadarfia, the island’s king and ruler of a peaceful and amiable tribe of one
thousand islanders, was understandably tired of the pillaging and enslavement
of his people. When he met with Bethencourt he granted permission for the
conquering party to stay and build a fort in the island’s south in exchange for
the islanders’ protection. It must have seemed to Guadarfia a reasonable
agreement. Neither man could have foreseen the treachery that lay ahead.
She walked along the shore with
her feet in the shallows, picking her way around the smattering of black
boulders, scanning about for a small rock to take with her. She went out on the
flat rocks that flanked the bay, then slipped on her sandals and picked her way
into the malpais. She didn’t get far. The terrain was impossible.
Returning to the waterline, she
ambled about some more. She wanted to take with her something distinct but,
like the tourists, the rocks were uniform. Eventually she settled on a pebble
of grey-black basalt partially embedded in the sand. The pebble was smooth and
cold and oddly comforting. She put it in her pocket and went back to the car.
After another sandy cove, the
road curved east and she drove towards the barren massif that ran along the
western coast. The sun backlit the massif, the ridge silhouetted against
streaks of apricot merging into the azure of the sky. Several calderas pimpled
the land to the southwest. The lava plain, to the south of her now, rose to meet
its mother, La Corona, a monolith of black in the fading light.
She felt herself expand in the face of what she saw. Ever since
her first geology field trip in the Lake District she had known there exists
something profound and ineffable in the relationship between nature and the
human beholder, a capacity to feel exhilarated by nature’s beauty, as if she
could transcend her little life in the face of the earth’s grandeur. A
picturesque scene of rolling green and copses of oaks; a paradise of tropical
rainforest meeting turquoise lagoon; the drama and majesty of rugged mountains
and cliffs; the desert plains of Australia, vast and unchanging in every
direction; or like here, a simplicity of contrast. Nature never failed to
seduce Ann with its charm.
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Also, check out Nadaness In Motion's book review of The Drago Tree by Isobel Blackthorn.
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